Opposites attract in this laugh-out-loud romantic comedy about a free-spirited lawyer who is determined to find the perfect match for the grumpy bachelor at her cousin’s wedding.
After a devastating break-up, celebrity-obsessed lawyer Zara Patel is determined never to open her heart again. She puts her energy into building her career and helping her friends find their happily-ever-afters. She’s never faced a guest at the singles table she couldn’t match, until she crosses paths with the sinfully sexy Jay Dayal.
Former military security specialist Jay has no time for love. His life is about working hard, staying focused, and winning at all costs. When charismatic Zara crashes into his life, he’s thrown into close contact with exactly the kind of chaos he wants to avoid. Worse, they’re stuck together for the entire wedding season.
So they make a deal. She’ll find his special someone if he introduces her to his celebrity clients. But when their arrangement brings them together in ways they never expected, they realize that the perfect match might just be their own.
“So what kind of woman are you looking for? Let me guess. Professional. Sophisticated. Classy. Intelligent. Basically, Lucia but younger, or do you like a little Mrs. Robinson between the sheets?” She took another bite of her hot dog. Was there any better food?
“My relationship with Lucia is strictly professional,” Jay said. “But yes, I’d be interested in someone similar.”
“So, you want a mini-me,” she teased. “I mean a mini-you. Not me. Obviously. Lucia is pretty much the opposite of me, which is another reason I knew that job wouldn’t work out.”
“You have ketchup on your cheek.” He took a napkin and gently dabbed it at the corner of her mouth.
Desire flooded her veins followed by a wave of desolation. She could easily fall for a man like Jay. Smart, handsome, ambitious, successful, and yet she sensed a longing in him, a secret Jay waiting to be free.
“Is it gone?” Her voice came out in a whisper.
He leaned in and studied her with a serious intensity that took her breath away. He was so close she could see the gentle dip in his chin, the dark stubble of his five-o’clock shadow even though it couldn’t be much past four o’clock. His lips were firm and soft, his mouth the perfect size for kissing. She drew in his scent: pine and mountains and the rich, earthy scent of the soil she’d turned in the garden when her family was whole and she never had to wonder whose house she was in when she woke up in the morning.
But this wasn’t the time to be thinking about being held in Jay’s strong arms or what it would be like to kiss him, or how just being near him calmed all the wayward thoughts in her head. She was supposed to be concentrating on finding him a match and where she should get autographed when he made the promised celebrity introduction.
“We should go.” She jumped up so abruptly her half-eaten hot dog fell to the grass. “I have to get back to the office, and I don’t want to exceed your two-hour-and-forty-five-minute time limit.”
Jay picked up the hot dog and carried it to the nearest bin. “When do you want to meet again?”
His question sent a curious thrill rocketing through her veins. She hadn’t put him off with her rambling, or her quest for the perfect hot dog, or even the uncomfortable questions she’d asked as they lounged in the sun. She couldn’t have been more excited if he’d asked her on second date. Except he wasn’t really interested in her that way, and she needed to keep that in mind. The last thing she wanted was to get into a Cyrano situation where she would be forced to help someone else win the heart of the man she loved. She made a mental note to rewatch the 1973 Broadway version of the play with its soaring ballads and rousing word- and swordplay as a reminder of the heartbreak that could result.
She pulled out her phone and pretended to study the screen to stop herself from saying something stupid like how about tonight? “Hmmm. I have a big settlement meeting on Friday so the rest of my week is shot. I’ll have to let you know.” If he noticed her cool dismissal, he didn’t react. Instead, he said the one thing that would ensure she wouldn’t be able to sleep until she saw him again. “I’ll be waiting.”
Sara Desai has been a lawyer, radio DJ, marathon runner, historian, bouncer and librarian. She lives on Vancouver Island with her husband, kids and an assortment of forest creatures who think they are pets. Sara writes sexy romantic comedy and contemporary romance with a multicultural twist. When not laughing at her own jokes, Sara can be found eating nachos.
Title: The Ritual Author: Shantel Tessier Genre: Dark Contemporary Romance
The Chosen One
I vow. You vow. We vow.
Barrington University is home of the Lords, a secret society that requires their blood in payment. They are above all—the most powerful men in the world. They devote their lives to violence in exchange for power. And during their senior year, they are offered a chosen one.
People think growing up with money is freeing, but I promise you, it’s not. My entire life has been planned out for me. I never got the chance to do what I wanted until Ryat Alexander Archer came along and gave me an option for a better life. He offered me what no one else ever had—freedom.
I chose to be his. He made me believe that anyway, but it was just another lie. A way that the Lords manipulate you into doing what they want.
After being sucked into the dark, twisted world of the Lords, I embraced my new role and allowed Ryat to parade me around like the trophy I was to him. But like all things, what started out as a game soon became a fight for survival. And the only way out was death.
Shantel is a USA Today & Wall Street Journal Bestselling Author. Who lives in Oklahoma with her high school sweetheart, who is a wonderful, supportive husband and their two daughters. She loves to spend time cuddled up on the couch with a good book. She considers herself extremely lucky to get to do what she loves while wearing pajamas. Going to concerts and the movies are just a few of her favorite things to do. She hates coffee, but loves wine. Although she has a passion to write, her family is most important to her. She loves spending evenings at home with her husband and daughters, watching Netflix.
As the last of my kind, I’ve long lived in the shadows. But, with the death of my father, I have a dying wish to fulfill, and I can no longer keep quiet. I can no longer stand back and watch as the Santa Claus Organization takes everything from us. So, I launch an attack that was doomed from the start. I am but one krampus up against the cruelest organization in the world. I knew it was a long shot. I knew I would likely die.
Then something surprising happens. The most recent Santa Claus comes into my life, and I don’t know what to make of him. He wasn’t what I was expecting. He’s supposed to be a puppet. A heartless, despicable Santa. But he’s not. He’s … a good person?
Do I have things wrong? Have I had them wrong all along? Or am I falling for the biggest con in the world?
Either way, change is coming for North Pole, and this is sure to be the deadliest Christmas on record and a time that no one will ever forget.
“Son …” Father’s voice is weak as he attempts to wave me over to him. However, his hand can barely lift from his bed, and his fingers only briefly twitch. He’s been sleeping most of the day, and now that he’s awake, I realize how much worse he’s doing than yesterday. There hasn’t been a doubt about this fact in months, but looking at him now, it’s undeniable.
My father is dying.
“Father!” I cry, dropping the half full pitcher of water into the sink then rushing over to him.
“I’m sorry, son. But I cannot …” He coughs, and I wrap my arm around his back, lifting him to sit up and wait until the rattling cough ends.
“Just breathe, Father. Just keep breathing,” I beg, my voice wavering under the intense emotion choking me.
I don’t want to lose him. I don’t want him to die. But my father’s once vibrant red skin is now a dull pink. His once strong, virile horns are now wilted and soft to the touch. The man who was so imposing when I was a child is now stuck in a body that has become only lifeless skin and bones. Even his tail barely twitches anymore.
“I’m sorry, but this is the end for me,” he finally gets the words out.
“No!” I immediately deny, refusing to let him leave me. He can get better. There has to be a way. There has to be a cure.
“Yes,” he counters. “But you must continue to fight.”
I scoff but bite my tongue on telling him that fighting is futile. Our once strong resistance is now just me. Most of our people died, and those who weren’t killed left without so much as a goodbye. They have given up, and I can’t say I blame them. As much as I loathe the SCO—Santa Claus Organization—I understand how tiring keeping up this fight is. After years of being made redundant, the naughty lists my people compiled, being ignored and thrown away, we lost our means of working and usefulness, which means we have no money on which to survive. We became pariahs in the Santa community and had to run just to survive their genocide of us. The surrounding woods around North Pole are our savior.
We hoped hiding would have been enough for them. We hoped the SCO would just leave us alone. They didn’t. Instead, they sent out their best assassins to kill us all off.
Just six months ago, my father was shot by one of their assassins. I managed to get him away to our hidden cabin, attempting to nurse him back to health, but it has been a futile endeavor. He never recovered from the wound. Instead, it became infected.
It has taken six months to overwhelm his body. His injuries have eaten away at him, killing him from the inside. Leaving this cabin to attempt to get help has been impossible, given what awaits us out in the forest to kill us both. I have been sentenced to stay in this small cabin and watch my father slowly die.
“Promise me you’ll fight,” he begs, his gaze pleading with mine.
How can I deny him his dying wish?
A big part of me wants to do what so many others did—run away and leave this burden that he’s placed on me behind. There is no way out of our predicament. The SCO are too big, too powerful, too impossible to defeat. And there is only me to take up this fight.
It’s a suicide mission. There is no hope that I can take down the SCO on my own. Maybe even having a full army behind me won’t be enough.
I glance over at the board we made, the rough plans pinned to it, ones we made while Father rested. Most of it is filled with wild ideas that I know will never work. Many things laid out would never be possible. Nevertheless, it gave Father hope and something more to live for, so I wrote down his ideas and mapped out plans based on old building blueprints that we managed to scrounge up. Many of these might not even be accurate any longer. Still, each day we planned was another day Father kept breathing.
Now he wants me to go through with it. He’s willing to sacrifice his only son to this war.
I stare over at a small mirror propped up on the other side of the room. It’s more a broken shard at this point. Reflected in it is my father, his weakened state undeniable. And then there is me. I’m not sure how old I am, since age has never been a milestone we have celebrated. I’m much smaller than Father.
Before he was shot, he used to tell me that I was just a youngling with much still to learn. I used to wish I could be fully grown like him. I yearned to be older. Now he insists I’m of an age where going to war is acceptable. Shamefully, I find myself wishing I’m too young for something so big and scary. I don’t feel ready for this.
“Please, Claw, you are the last remaining krampus. This is your destiny.”
I’m not sure why I’m surprised by his demand. Of course my own dreams of being able to live a life away from certain death and war is absurd. To even think I could live years into a mature age is asking for too much. And any imagination about having a family or partner is only a silly fantasy.
Clearly, it’s my destiny to die this way. But maybe I can take down some of the SCO with me. Maybe I can cause them just a small amount of the pain that they have brought onto me.
That would only be fair, right?
My father has always said that our duty is always to find the naughty children of the world and make sure they aren’t rewarded for their bad behavior. Is there anyone naughtier than the SCO?
No, I don’t think there is.
“I promise, Father. I will take down the SCO, and I will kill Santa Claus.” Or die trying.
His smile is weak, yet I see the relief buried in his gaze.
“I’m so proud of you, my son. You have been my light throughout so much darkness.”
“Father …” I choke out, my throat closing up under the onslaught of emotions I cannot handle.
Losing Mom when I was just a small child was unbearable. Knowing she left us was almost worse than if she had died. Father always stuck by me, though. He never abandoned me.
Until now.
“I love you, Claw,” he says, his voice barely a whisper as his eyes close and his body falls limply against me.
“No! Father? Father!” I cry, shaking him much too hard, but he doesn’t stir. He doesn’t open his eyes.
He’s gone.
I blink my tears away and focus on the pinboard across from him.
Anger ignites inside me, a never-ending burning flame that I know will only be snuffed out with my dying breath.
Jessica lives in Adelaide, South Australia. When she is not writing, you can find her reading, napping or watching excessive amounts of TV. Connect with her on Facebook and Goodreads.
