Title: Not Today, Cupid Author: Jennifer Bonds Series: The Harts #2 Genre: New Adult Contemporary Romance
As compiled by Scarlett Evans—executive assistant, grad student, and reluctant admirer of CEO Nick Hart’s snacktastic abs
Well, my fellow corporate drones, it’s another less-than-exciting investor meeting with the executives (Loud Talker, Human Buzzword, Master Delegator). And at the front, CEO Nick Hart, the world’s coldest—and ok, unbelievably sexy—tech badass. The man hasn’t smiled in the history of ever, he runs a tight ship filled with miserable employees, and gosh, he just really does not love feedback. Especially from me.
Development updates, acquisition delays, and…holy hell, why does he keep looking at me? I don’t work for him. I work for his brother. Which is good, because otherwise I’d spend every meeting secretly wondering what actually lies beneath that cool, aloof demeanor. Like, is he an uptight geek in the boardroom…and a sexy-assed freak in the bedroom?
He’d better not find out I’m the one stuffing the company suggestion box. What’s so wrong with a Valentine’s Day Social, anyway? But the fact that my notes are less professional and more entertainment is one seriously dangerous game. Because if he ever found out what I really thought of him, there’d be all kinds of sweet, delicious hell to pay…
“I’ve gotta admit, I’m dying to know what you just signed up for.”
“That makes two of us.” I shove my burger aside. There’s no way I can eat it now. Not with the prospect of some half-baked project hanging over my head like a guillotine.
Miles smirks. “Drumroll, please.”
I give him the finger, but Beck indulges him, tapping the edge of the table.
“Anonymous says we need a—oh, this is too perfect.” Miles howls as Beck and I stare at him, waiting for the punchline. “A—” He chokes on his laughter and has to take a drink of water before continuing. “A Valentine’s social!”
He’s messing with me.
He has to be. Who would put that in the suggestion box? This is a place of business, not a fucking romper room.
Even if sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference.
“Let me see.” I reach for the laptop, shooting Beck a dark look. They’re both laughing like hyenas now. “Have you two been stuffing the suggestion box?”
“Don’t look at me,” Beck says, shaking his head. “I don’t have time for that kind of petty prank.” He chuckles. “It is pretty ironic, though. You know, since the only thing you hate more than Valentine’s Day is the suggestion box.”
Miles is laughing so hard now it’s a wonder he doesn’t bust a blood vessel.
Asshole.
Could this be his doing, some ass-backward attempt to make me appear likable?
It doesn’t matter. I’m not doing it.
“Pick something else. February fourteenth is the Epos launch. The timing is terrible and four weeks isn’t nearly enough time to put something like this together.”
“Oh, no you don’t.” Miles wags a finger at me. “You already agreed. Besides, that was the last one.”
Fucking hell. Leave it to Miles to pick the one week the damn thing isn’t overflowing.
“No way. It can’t be done.”
“Not with that attitude,” Miles says through peals of laughter. When he finally gets control of himself, he adds, “Relax. If anyone can handle it, it’s you.”
It’s true. I’ve never walked away from a challenge in my life, but what the hell do I know about planning a social? I’m the last person in the world who should plan this event.
On the other hand…
It could be the perfect opportunity to prove I’m not the controlling bastard Scarlett thinks I am.
Arrogant. Uptight. Cold.
Her words chip away at my brain with maddening persistence. I shouldn’t care what she thinks. I know it on a cerebral level, but after last year’s bad press, her ludicrous, ill-informed assessment is infuriating.
Salt on an open fucking wound.
“So?” Beck spears a piece of lettuce with his plastic fork. “Are you going to do it?”
My gaze slides from Miles to Beck and back again. It won’t be easy—I’m already spread thin with the Epos launch—but I’m no quitter. With a little time and a plan of attack, I can do this. And who better to help plan a Valentine’s social than Miles’s snarky, highly organized, whip-smart assistant?
“I’ll do it on one condition.” A slow grin curves my lips. “I want Scarlett to help.”
Jennifer Bonds is the USA Today bestselling author of sizzling contemporary romance with sassy heroines, sexy alphas, and a whole lot of mischief. She’s a sucker for enemies-to-lovers stories, laugh-out-loud banter, and over-the-top grand gestures. Jennifer lives in Pennsylvania, where her overactive imagination and weakness for reality TV keep life interesting. She’s lucky enough to live with her own real-life hero, two adorable (and sometimes crazy) children, and one rambunctious K9. Loves Buffy, Mexican food, a solid Netflix binge, the Winchester brothers, cupcakes, and all things zombie. Sings off-key.
From New York Time’s bestselling author R.L. Mathewson comes the prequel to the disturbingly funny romantic comedy series, Neighbor from Hell.
She couldn’t do this anymore.
After watching her best friend and the man that she’d been in love with her entire life propose to another woman, Morgan decided that it was time to finally move on. She made plans, plans that Eric didn’t know about and she planned to keep it that way, but unfortunately for her, one bet destroyed everything, leaving her with no choice but to be there for her best friend one last time.
He was done.
After catching his fiancée cheating on him, Eric Bradford was done wasting his time on women that he had absolutely no hope of falling in love with. He just needed time, a chance to get away, and he just needed…
Her.
Determined to figure out how he kept screwing up his life, Eric takes his best friend on the honeymoon that he’d spent a fortune on and asked her for one more favor, one that would change everything, and leave him with no choice but to do whatever it takes to stop the one woman that meant everything to him from finally walking away.
“I’m curious about something,” Eric said as he joined her.
“Why I haven’t killed you yet?” Morgan asked, blinking up at the large man that was going out of his way to piss her off for some reason.
Shrugging it off, Eric said, “I just assumed that you haven’t figured out what to do with my body.”
“Oh, no, I have a plan,” Morgan assured him as she reached up and pushed her glasses back up her nose. “Uncle Jared helped me come up with it when I was six after I told him that you stole the cupcake that I was planning on sharing with him.”
“Why am I not surprised that you betrayed me?” Eric asked with a long-suffering sigh and a sad shake of his head as they stepped in line.
“Because I learned from the best?” Morgan asked with a pointed look up at Eric as she shifted her bag over her shoulder, only to murmur, “Thank you,” when Eric reached over and took the bag from her and put it over his shoulder before he grabbed his bags again.
“There is that,” Eric murmured, not really sounding all that concerned to discover that she’d been planning his demise since they were six.
“Are you going to tell me what you’re curious about?” Morgan asked, pushing her glasses back up her nose as they moved up in line.
“I’ve been wondering why you were doing shots with the asshole last night,” Eric said, taking her by surprise, mostly because she’d thought, hoped really, that he forgot about that.
“I was enjoying the festivities?”
“At a party that you weren’t even planning on attending?” Eric drawled as he shot her a look that told her that he had absolutely no plans of letting this one go, which admittedly was a bit of a problem for her.
Clearing her throat, Morgan said, “I’m sorry. What were we talking about?”
“Why you’re refusing to tell me why you let my cousin talk you into doing shots,” Eric murmured, gesturing for her to start talking.
Swallowing hard, Morgan went for, “I don’t remember?” since admitting the real reason that she’d allowed Trevor to talk her into doing shots would only bite her in the ass. Granted, when she decided to go to the dinner rehearsal, she hadn’t planned on drinking, but when Trevor handed her a shot of whatever it was that was in that small glass, she decided that getting drunk sounded like a wonderful idea.
Mostly because she didn’t think that she would be able to go through with telling Eric that she was in love with him without a little liquid courage. She should have just left, but…
New York Times Bestselling author, R.L. Mathewson was born in Massachusetts. She’s known for her humor, quick wit and ability to write relatable characters. She currently has several paranormal and contemporary romance series published including the Neighbor from Hell series.
Growing up, R.L. Mathewson was a painfully shy bookworm. After high school she attended college, worked as a bellhop, fast food cook, and a museum worker until she decided to take an EMT course. Working as an EMT helped her get over her shyness as well as left her with some fond memories and some rather disturbing ones that from time to time show up in one of her books.
Today, R.L. Mathewson is the single mother of two children that keep her on her toes. She has a bit of a romance novel addiction as well as a major hot chocolate addiction and on a perfect day, she combines the two.
If you’d like more information about this series or any other series by R.L. Mathewson, please visit www.Rlmathewson.com
Title: The Rebel Heir Author: Whitley Cox & Ember Leigh Series: Winter Harbor #3 Genre: Contemporary Small-Town Romance
The only way to save our small town is by working with the enemy … but hearts might get broken in the process.
Colton
I don’t do emotional attachments. Those who love me get hurt. I keep people at arm’s length and never let women in my bed long enough for the sheets to get warm. But when the granddaughter of my family’s mortal enemy comes to me for help, something in me shifts. Lily Summers is a sassy, snarky, filter-free blonde with a brain—and mouth—that never quits. Besides the sexual tension between us that keeps me awake at night, we only have one thing in common: neither of us wants the big city developer coming into Winter Harbor and destroying the integrity of the town with high rises and casinos. We’re an unlikely team, but Lily has passion and Winter Harbor likes her, so I bite my tongue at her non-stop chatter and do what’s right for the town. I never planned on falling for someone—let alone the enemy—but when we give into our attraction, I’m suddenly doing things I never thought I would … and it’s all for her. Together, it seems like we can take on the world—or at the very least, Dunlop Holdings. But when a shocking development rocks Winter Harbor, its accompanied by an unsavory truth about Lily. Now the question is: who is going to get hurt the worst? Whether it’s me, Lily, or Winter Harbor itself, only one can survive the fallout.
*** This is the third book of the Winter Harbor series which features a quirky small town, secrets galore, and three estranged brothers who find the key to healing comes from the women who steal their hearts.
Rain met my back, cool against the warm, humid tang of the air. I made quick work of inspecting each tire, but I found the problem before I’d finished making the rounds. The rear passenger tire was deflating. I swore under my breath and kicked at the flat tire.
Lily’s door opened, and she hopped out, glaring at me like I’d called her the worst type of flower name. Then her gaze dropped to the tire.
“So this is my fault, huh?” She propped her hands on her hips, staring at me expectantly.
“Get inside,” I told her, wiping rain from my forehead. “I’ll handle this.”
“Well, if it’s my fault, I should help, right?”
I sighed, heading for the bed of the truck. I knew there had to be a spare tire somewhere. Carson wouldn’t have a truck without a spare, right?
“I’m talking to you,” Lily said, following close behind.
“Yeah, I hear you.”
“Well, if I apparently can cause tires to deflate simply from my mere existence, then surely I can help fix them by standing near you?”
I heaved a sigh as I lowered the tailgate. I’d had the forethought to cover Lily’s things with a tarp before we left, but I hadn’t exactly canvassed the truck to see where a spare tire might be lurking. I pushed some things around, looking for a secret wheel well. “Well, I think we can safely say that you standing next to me isn’t helping. So thanks, but no thanks.”
She let out a frustrated noise, glancing up to the heavens. “Colton Winters, you are such a jerk. Do you know that?”
I did know that. But it was part of my strategy. I needed her to hate me, because if she didn’t, then I’d most certainly begin pursuing her.
And I couldn’t have that. Not when so much of my life was built around transience. Around have a good fucking time. Around one-and-done.
Lily was annoying. Not only that, she was smart, interesting, and getting more beautiful to me by the day. She was dangerous, at least to life as I’d known it thus far. I’d had enough disruptions in the past year, between discovering my dad died and then reconnecting with my brothers in Winter Harbor. Not to mention leaving my former life behind, which I’d quite enjoyed as an international vagabond.
I didn’t need to add someone like Lily to my long list of unexpected—and mostly unwelcome—life changes.
I must have remained silent for too long because she continued. “Whatever. You know what? It doesn’t matter. I thought you were maybe a regular guy underneath all the barbs and the shitty aloofness, but I was wrong.”
“It’s ’cause you love regular guys so much, huh?” My words tumbled out before I could even decide otherwise. I knew I shouldn’t go there, but it was too late. The dam had broken.
“Huh?”
“Regular guys. Like Dennis. With the polos and the khakis.” I smirked as I glanced at her, palming the tailgate. We were both mostly soaked with rain by now, but I didn’t mind. It was humid, and I loved the way the rain made her shirt stick to her chest. I’d been staring at that bare shoulder all day, wondering what it tasted like, and now that it was wet and shiny, all I wanted to do was lick it. “And probably the completely lackluster performance in bed, too.”
She huffed, crossing her arms. “No, that’s— No. I don’t look for that. I just—”
“What is it, Lilium?” I squatted to peer beneath the truck and spotted the bulging spare wheel well. I made quick work of opening it. Mud smeared my forearms as I tugged the tire out and hauled it to the passenger side. I snatched the tools next, wiping my rain-soaked face with the collar of my T-shirt. I took Lily silence as my permission to continue needling her.
“You want me to be a regular guy, don’t you?” I kneeled in front of the tire, glancing up at her before I got to work jacking up the truck. “Too bad for you, I’m not.” Her rain-soaked shirt was plastered to the contours of her body. I jerked my gaze away. After our surprisingly hot kisses, followed by our first genuine connection, I was ten seconds from losing every ounce of cool around her. Seeing her more of her body did not help matters. “Just let the fucking jerk fix the tire and get inside the truck, okay?”
“No.” She crossed her arms again. I had to admit, her defiance was hot. But she didn’t know that she was playing with fire.
“Lily,” I said, more forcefully this time, as I finished jacking up the truck with a frustrated burst of air. “I need you out of my sight, okay? Let me fucking fix this tire.”
“Why can’t I be here? I should supervise. Make sure you’re not being a regular guy about it.”
I ground my teeth, weighing my options. I did want her out of my sight. But more than that, I wanted to see how far I could push the envelope. I knew there could be no way she’d be into me—I’d made sure of it over the past months of knowing her. But what was the harm of finding out for sure?
“If I have to stare at your perfect tits heaving out of your top for even one more second, I’m gonna explode. And I mean that in exactly the way you think I do. So just get. In. The. Fucking. Truck.”
Realization washed across her face. Her cheeks went pink again, and I was hard as a rock watching her. Fuck. I focused on ignoring Lily as I started loosening the first lug nut.
After what I’d said, I didn’t know what I expected from her. But I certainly didn’t expect her to step over my arms—as I finally removed the lug nut—and tower over me with a satisfied smile on her face.
“Lily—”
“If I have to watch you working on this truck with your muscles flexing in this rain for even one more second, then I’m going to explode. So what are we going to do about it?”
I gaped up at her, caught between awestruck and horny. I knew what we were going to do about it. Or at least what I’d love to do about it.
“Well, I’m pretty sure I suggested the solution,” I snapped, dropping the wrench as I inspected her bare calves from this close. Goose pimples covered her skin, flaring where my breath hit her legs. “Which was to separate us entirely. But it looks like you don’t want a regular guy after all.”
She shook her head, staring down at me with raw passion and vulnerability slashed across her face. I caught her drift. I was good at catching the drift when it came to situations like these. I touched the outsides of her ankles, dragging my fingertips slowly up the sides of her legs.
“What happens on the road from Portland,” she said, her voice growing shakier the higher my hands ran. “Stays on the road from Portland.”
A Canadian West Coast baby born and raised, Whitley is married to her high school sweetheart, and together they have two beautiful daughters and a fluffy dog. She spends her days making food that gets thrown on the floor, vacuuming Cheerios out from under the couch and making sure that the dog food doesn’t end up in the air conditioner. But when nap time comes, and it’s not quite wine o’clock, Whitley sits down, avoids the pile of laundry on the couch, and writes.
A lover of all things decadent; wine, cheese, chocolate and spicy erotic romance, Whitley brings the humorous side of sex, the ridiculous side of relationships and the suspense of everyday life into her stories. With single dads, firefighters, Navy SEALs, mommy wars, body issues, threesomes, bondage and role-playing, Whitley’s books have all the funny and fabulously filthy words you could hope for.
Ember Leigh has been writing erotic romance novels since she was far too young. A native of northern Ohio, she currently resides near Lake Erie with her Argentinean husband, where they run an Argentinian-American food truck and wrangle two wild boys.
