Title: The Reluctant Bride Author: Monica Murphy Genre: Contemporary Romance
Everyone’s for sale, including me. One moment I’m the forgotten daughter of one of the most wealthy families in the country, and the next I’m the blushing bride in an arranged marriage. My fate is sealed in my wedded union with a complete stranger.
In public, Perry Constantine is the life of the party. Easygoing. Adored. In private, he’s brooding. Dark. Angry. But so am I. It’s a contest of wills to see who will break in the bedroom first, and while I try to remain strong, I find myself craving the very man I swore to hate.
I shuffle through the papers—damn this contract is thick—until I come across a photo. I pull it out and stare at it, trying to come up with some sort of feeling I might have toward this Charlotte Lancaster person upon first seeing her.
Nothing. I feel nothing.
The photo is from what I can only assume is a debutante ball.
She’s wearing a ridiculous white dress that looks like an over frosted wedding cake.
Her smile is small. Reluctant. Her eyes are blue, crystal clear like a perfect spring sky. Her hair is blonde and done up in the most elaborate style it overwhelms her small features.
I prefer brunettes. Happy, sexy as fuck brunettes who know how to have a good time and laugh a lot. Redheads too.
I don’t discriminate.
Well, I might discriminate against grumpy looking blondes who seem pissed at the world.
“She looks like an angry virgin,” I finally say, my gaze still on the photo.
“Perry,” Mother admonishes.
Winston smothers a laugh.
“Didn’t she refuse to dance with every guy who asked her the night of her debut?” I remember reading something about this. My mother and Winston share a look, but don’t answer me. “Yeah, pretty sure she even turned down her father. Bet that pissed him off.”
“None of that matters,” Mother says. “I’m sure she’s changed.”
Yeah right.
I toss the photo onto the table, immediately banishing her face from my thoughts.
“She’s not my type.” “If she spreads her legs, she’s your type,” Winston says gruffly.
The sound of the curtain in her changing room being pulled open echoed into my changing room, so I made sure my dick wasn’t visible, then pulled back my own curtain.
Jamie was zipping up Alexandra’s dress—the royal blue bandage strapless one—but she whipped around to face me when Jamie was finished.
Her eyes widened, pupils dilated, nostrils flared. It was a primal reaction that I would have to be an idiot to miss.
I had a primal reaction of my own—in my pants.
“Holy fuck,” I breathed.
She glanced away, but the smile that lifted one side of her mouth was dead sexy.
“You’re getting that one,” I said.
She smoothed her hands down the sides, turned on one foot, and glanced at herself in the mirror. “Yeah, I like it, too.”
“You can’t wear those two together, though,” Jamie said. “The blues are too close in color, but not close enough. If you know what I mean?”
Alexandra and I nodded.
“He should just wear a dress shirt and maybe dark gray pants when you wear that dress.”
“I have dark gray pants in the room,” I said, hooking a thumb toward my changing room and a stack of pants on the bench.
I stepped out and away from my room to get a better look at myself in the mirror outside the changing rooms. “What do you think?”
“I think it’s a perfect fit,” Jamie said. “Doesn’t even look like you’ll need tailoring.”
Alexandra nodded. “Looks good.” I caught her checking out my ass and grinned, but when she saw me see her, her eyes whipped up to the ceiling as if a flock of geese had just flown overhead.
“You guys got any brown wingtips?” I asked, focusing my gaze on Jamie.
He nodded. “Sure do. Size?”
I glanced back at Alexandra and smiled as I said, “Thirteen.”
I did not miss the flare of her eyes or the way they drifted down to the front of my pants.
“Eyes up here, lady,” I said, catching her gaze back in the mirror.
Startled, she ditched the surprised look and went with a glare before returning to her changing room and dramatically pulling the curtain closed again.
“What is the dynamic of your relationship?” Jamie asked, glancing back and forth between me and the closed changing room curtain.
“She’s my fiancée,” I said chipperly. “But she’d rather not be.”
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.
Title: Flare Author: Jay Hogan Series: Style Series #1 Genre: M/M Contemporary Romance
My own fashion label. The shiny new sign above the door means everything. My dream. My life. Worth every gruelling hour I’ve spent making it happen. Nothing can stop me now. Not the fear. Not the nightmares. Not my sad excuse for a love life. And certainly not Beckett Northcott, the sexy English professor who wouldn’t know a fitted shirt if it slapped him in the face and who has flannel down to an art form.
I don’t date for a very good reason, and yet Beck makes me want to break every damn one of my rules. But with my debut at Fashion Week looming, my business in trouble, and Beckett Northcott peeling open my terrified heart to a future I’ve never imagined, the threads of my carefully woven life are unravelling at the seams.
I could walk away. Or I could take a chance that Beck and I might just have what it takes to fashion a new life, together. A fresh design from a new cloth.
Shayne extolled the virtues of his lookbook in painful detail, careful to point out all the high-profile designers he’d modelled for. The message was clear. If I wanted Flare, my shiny new label, to succeed in its first appearance at Fashion Week, I needed him, front and centre. I didn’t even have an open call going. He’d just arrived on the doorstep of Flare and assumed I’d be interested, no, gagging to see him. I’d have choked on the sheer audacity if it wasn’t for the fact he had a point.
I did need something, but it certainly wasn’t his or anybody else’s bullshit.
My gaze flicked over his shoulder to where my shop assistant stood with his lips flattened against the glass, his tongue darting obscenely in and out. Kip made no bones about his gutter-dragging opinion of the excruciatingly beautiful but arrogant-as-fuck model, and I made a fair attempt at swallowing my laugh. But the resulting half snort almost blew the show.
Shayne spun in his seat, but you had to be quicker than that to catch Kip Grantham napping—his attention locked on his steamer as he pressed my new season feather-collared jackets fresh from my manufacturer. He gave Shayne a waggle of his fingers that got ten points for insolence but didn’t fool anyone.
Shayne turned back with his lip curled. Beauty never made up for a personality that verged on the nasty, which was only one of the reasons Shayne wouldn’t be gracing my runway anytime soon. The other reason being his tendency for drama with a capital D, and I prized composure as much as looks in the models I employed.
“All my slots are gone for this year, sorry,” I lied unapologetically, doing my best to ignore Kip thumbing his nose in the background.
“That’s not what I heard,” Shayne said tartly.
Bugger.
“I can wear anything well, and you know it.”
Which was unfortunately true, but beside the point. “I’m sure you’ll have a ton of designers clamouring to add you to their list once they know you’re back. I’ve already chosen the one pinch-hitter model I’m allowed from outside the casting call. You missed that day, right?” I couldn’t resist the dig.
He sniffed. “I was overseas. Miami. Stockholm.” He waved a hand in the air. “The casting agency contacted my agent, of course, but it couldn’t be helped.”
Behind Shayne, Kip gave an epic eye-roll that would’ve given the London Eye a run for its money.
Shayne studied his fingernails. “And yes, I’ve had a lot of requests since I returned. But I like your work, Rhys. It’s a little raw, but there’s a freshness to it—”
I imagined strangling the man by his Hermes scarf, knowing Kip would help me hide the body.
“—and since this is your debut year, I thought I’d give you first shot at me. I can help make that splash you need.”
Again, unfortunately true. But Jesus fucking Christ, he’d never speak like that to a seasoned designer. It was all I could do not to boot the arsehole from my office, but New Zealand fashion was a tiny industry, and the last thing I wanted was to earn a name for myself as a prima donna in my first year.
“I’m flattered you thought of me.” I almost choked on the words as Kip mimed hanging himself with his tie while walking downhill. “But not this time.” Read ever.
Shayne stared, bewildered, like I’d lost my ever-loving mind, and maybe I had. Then he shrugged. “Well, I hope you don’t come to regret your decision.” He shoved his lookbook in his fashionable Burberry satchel with an audible huff. “Young-gun invites only happen once, right?”
“Right.” I nodded sagely, wondering if it would be considered a service to humanity to throttle dickhead sanctimonious pricks on a Friday afternoon before they were let loose on an unsuspecting weekend. If it wasn’t, I was going to petition for a law change. “I guess I’ll have to rely on my actual designs, won’t I?”
He sent me a look that said he knew there was an insult in there somewhere, but I wasn’t worth the effort to search for it.
“I should be getting back to work.” I pushed to my feet and circled around the desk, making it clear the meeting was over.
Shayne gathered his coat and satchel and then stood. “I, um, ended things with Marc, in case you were wondering.”
I wasn’t and looked puzzled just to piss him off. “Marc?” I knew damn well who he was talking about.
He narrowed his gaze. “Marc Norman.”
“Oh. Shame.” I felt oddly relieved for Marc, who was in fact a lovely guy, if a bit . . . vacant.
Shayne ran his gaze slowly up my body and I suddenly needed a shower. “Maybe you and I could do . . . something?”
Not in a million years. “Thanks, but I’m too busy to date right now.”
He shot me a sly grin. “It wouldn’t have to be a date.”
And yeah, I might’ve thrown up in my mouth. “The answer’s still no.” I plastered a grin in place. “Sorry.”
A spark of annoyance flashed in his eyes, but he didn’t push.
“Let me walk you out.” I ushered Shayne past Kip, who discreetly stabbed a finger in and out of his mouth, and then out the front door of Flare and into the crisp June air laced with salt from the harbour beyond. As soon as the coast was clear, I spun back to my assistant, my mouth open in a silent scream. Kip raced to my side, and together we watched Shayne cross the road and disappear from view in a cloud of Yves St Laurent and pissy flounce.
“Oh. My. God. That man is a douchebag of the highest order.” Kip slipped his arm through mine and pulled me toward the service desk. “He’s always dropping into the shop looking for you. I put him off as often as I can, but he does actually spend money, so I don’t want to piss him off too much. I don’t know why he’s so fucking popular.”
I snorted a laugh. “You mean apart from his scorching angular waifish look and ability to have both men and women drooling over their credit cards as they rush to buy whatever the fuck he wears?”
Kip huffed. “People will follow any idiot off a cliff if they look like they know what they’re doing. Your clothes stand on their own, Rhys. They don’t need a pretty clothes horse.”
I shot him a look and he pulled a face. “Okay, maybe one or two pretty clothes horses wouldn’t go amiss.
Jay is a 2020 Lambda Literary Award Finalist in Gay Romance and her book Off Balance was the 2021 New Zealand Romance Book of the Year.
She is a New Zealand author writing mm romance and romantic suspense, primarily set in New Zealand. She writes character driven romances with lots of humour, a good dose of reality and a splash of angst. She’s travelled extensively, lived in many countries, and in a past life she was a critical care nurse, nurse educator and counsellor. Jay is owned by a huge Maine Coon cat and a gorgeous Cocker Spaniel
There are few things I enjoy more than messing with Taylor Palmer. She’s such a priss with her tight, corporate skirts and her high heels. Someone’s got to bring her down to Earth.
She glares at me and parades her dates into my bar like she thinks it’ll bother me. She’s on the hunt for a husband, but she’s doing it all wrong. She’s never going to be into one of these nerds. She really wants a man like me, but I’m not on the market.
I can help her find a guy she can stomach. And if she decides to break her celibacy streak with me in the meantime, good for her…and me. But she better not get attached. She also needs to quit making me feel things I don’t understand.
Taylor
I’ll never forgive John Chapman for what he did to my best friend. I don’t care that she’s forgiven him, is close friends with him now, and even seems to be pushing me toward him. It’s because he and I are the last two single people in our friend group. All will be right in the world if he and I just connect. Forget it.
He fancies himself some kind of dating coach. He says he can find me the right guy. He certainly couldn’t do worse than I’ve been doing. I guess it won’t hurt to let him help.
The only problem is he won’t quit making his own moves on me, and they are working, impressively. I can’t fall for him. He’s made that crystal clear. But as we grow closer, I have to wonder if I’m chipping away at his cement walls, just a little bit.
Welcome to Destiny Dunes, where the only thing hotter than the Florida sun is the romance between this resort’s employees. Each book in this steamy series focuses on your favorite romance tropes. Once you enter the gates of Destiny Dunes, you’ll never want to leave!
“Are you watching this at all, or are you just eating my ice cream?” Chapman asks.
“I thought it was my ice cream.”
We both stick our spoons in at the same time and they clatter together. “Back off,” he says, tapping my spoon with his.
“I was in here first,” I say.
He gets a spoonful. “Fine, take it,” he says, putting it in my mouth. It happens so fast that I accept it without argument. He stares at me, and I can feel the moment moving into something more intimate. I search for a delay tactic while I figure out where I want this to go with him tonight.
I put my palm to my forehead. “Oh no, brain freeze,” I say through my mouthful of ice cream.
“Amateur,” he says, getting a bite. He watches me, and then wraps his arm around my head, covering my forehead with his giant hand. “I’ll warm you up.”
I slide my gaze over to him, unable to control my draw to him, and he gives me that mischievous look. I can feel him coming in for a kiss. His lips meet mine, and I’m about to sink in, when my senses slap me across my face. I pull away. “What are you doing?”
“I’m healing you from your brain freeze.”
“With your lips?”
“My kiss doesn’t make you hot?”
If he only knew. “I thought we weren’t allowed to kiss again.”
“We’ve already broken the seal. We can kiss all we want.”
“You’re not afraid I’ll try to slide a ring on your finger while you’re not looking?”
“We’ll be fine as long as you make sure you’re not falling for me.”
“What makes you think your kisses are so electric that I’m going to fall all over myself to be with you?”
“It might not even necessarily be just me. Let’s face it, you’re a modest girl. I doubt you sleep around very much. I doubt you even kiss guys often.”
I glare at him.
“Am I wrong?”
I don’t answer. I’m not giving him the satisfaction.
“All these guys you’ve been going on these dates with, have you been kissing them good night?”
I remain silent.
He raises his eyebrows. “Taylor, come on. You have the worst poker face I’ve ever seen.”
“Why are you so interested in this?”
“Because I think you don’t kiss guys often. And I don’t want you to get the wrong idea that since we’ve kissed a couple of times now, that means we’re some kind of thing. Because we’re not anything.”
I take the ice cream and stand up. “You have made that so clear, especially when you kissed me just now. Crystal clear.” I walk to the kitchen and shove the carton in the freezer.
He follows me in there. “I thought it might be a good idea for you to get a little practice in.”
“You arrogant asshole. I’ve kissed plenty of guys.”
“Who’s the last one you kissed before me? Easton?”
I give him a rueful smile. “It eats you up that he and I lived together, doesn’t it?”
“I’m not buying that you weren’t with him.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “I’m not selling anything.”
He takes a step toward me, and I take one backward, finding my butt against the counter and my heart pounding.
“Admit you’re lying,” he says.
“Admit you’re jealous.”
“Why would I be jealous?”
“You really want me to answer that?”
“I’m setting you up with other guys. If I were jealous, I wouldn’t be doing that.”
“Why are you doing that, by the way?”
“I’m scratching your back and you’re scratching mine.”
I shake my head at him.
“We could help each other out in other ways,” he says.
“Oh yeah?”
He runs his knuckle up my arm, sending a shimmer through my chest. “We could satisfy a certain need for each another.”
Melissa Chambers writes contemporary novels for young, new, and actual adults. A Nashville native, she spends her days working in the music industry and her nights tapping away at her keyboard. While she’s slightly obsessed with alt rock, she leaves the guitar playing to her husband and kid. She never misses a chance to play a tennis match, listen to an audiobook, or eat a bowl of ice cream. (Rocky road, please!) She has served as president for the Music City Romance Writers and is the author of the Love Along Hwy 30A series, the Before Forever series (YA), and Courting Carlyn (YA).
Cooper Cruz knows what it means to be surrounded and bound by family.
Loyalty, brotherhood, and protection are all learned, earned, and respected by him and the Ravage Motorcycle Club family he grew up in. At the same, he’s a man, having fun and living the life he has always envisioned, until a trip to Florida spins his world on his axis.
Bristyl Daniels knows what it means to be smothered and bound by family.
Bonds run deep with her father and all the members of the Sinister Sons Motorcycle Club she has grown up in. But now she’s all woman and wishes they would see she isn’t a little girl anymore. Then one phone call gives her a chance meeting with a biker like no other. One she can’t get off her mind.
When her favorite band comes to play at a motorcycle rally in her hometown, Bristyl decides it’s worth the risk to sneak off for a little fun. When a situation gets heated, Cooper and the Ravage MC step in, setting off a chain of events, both good and bad in both their lives.
As the dust settles, Bristyl will have to come to some very hard decisions. Meanwhile, Cooper knows exactly what he wants and now needs to convince his woman it’s worth the risk.
Ryan Michele is the Wall Street Journal and USA Today Bestselling author of over 40 romantic suspense novels. She found her passion bringing fictional characters to life, being in an imaginative world where anything is possible. Her knack for the unexpected twists and turns will have you on the edge of your seat with each page. She is best known for her alpha, bad boy bikers and strong, independent heroines who refuse to back down. When she’s not writing, you can find her on her swing, watching the water ripple in the pond and plotting her next book.
What happens when a romance author agrees to test romance tropes in virtual reality?
Following divorce number two, Zoe Woods is jaded, bitter, and unable to write her latest novel. For an author whose brand is all about finding true love, that’s kind of a problem.
Desperate to revive her romantic optimism, Zoe accepts an offer from an unlikely place to beta test virtual reality romance tropes. Unfortunately, Zoe jumps in too fast, and instead of a fun romp in virtual Romancelandia to rekindle her creativity, she finds one debacle after another.
Regretting her choices, Zoe realizes nothing is ever what it seems when it comes to love and romance and fantasy vs real world. The only thing she does know for sure is that virtual reality definitely bites.
“Xander?” I called. “Do I get any kind of directions or do I just go …” The rest of my sentence was swallowed as a man on a horse galloped up a nearby hill, heading straight for me. He wasn’t close enough that I could make out his expression yet, but I could see that he had long, dark hair that swept away from his face … and he was massive. Like Conan the Barbarian massive.
I gulped, my first instinct to run. As the horse’s hooves thundered closer, I could no longer sublimate my flight response, despite knowing I was in a fantasy world. Spinning on my heels, I took off at a dead sprint in the opposite direction. I made it only about a few yards when my feet tangled in my annoyingly cumbersome skirt, and I fell to my hands and knees.
“Shit,” I muttered, glancing frantically over my shoulder at my pursuer.
“Clara, lass, why are you runnin’ from me?” The man’s deep voice, dipped in a delightful Scottish brogue, washed over me as he pulled the horse to a halt, bewilderment playing across his chiseled features.
“Do I know you?” Hmmm … interesting. I also sound Scottish.
The man’s full lips turned down into a scowl as he dismounted and made his way to me. Before I could utter another word, he’d lifted me to my feet, resting his warm hands on my shoulders. “Are you all right, Clara? Did you hit your head?”
Nice touch. He sounded Scottish but not ridiculously so. It wasn’t historically accurate, but who needs perfection when it comes to fantasy? Besides, I hated when other authors wrote too much of an accent into their books, making it almost as difficult to decipher on the page as it would be out loud. Of course, I often got criticized for doing the opposite. To each their own, I supposed … Although, I probably should mention to Xander that it might be a good idea to let the client choose that particular detail. It isn’t one size fits all when it comes to fantasies. Or, maybe it already is a choice and this is just mine? Yeah, it would have been really helpful if I had more information going into this. Thanks a lot, Xander.
“Clara? Tell me what’s goin’ on with you, lass. You have me worried.”
I wasn’t exactly sure how to play this one. “Umm … maybe I hit my head? I can’t be sure.”
The man blinked a few times as if processing my response. “What do you mean by you can’t be sure? Do you not remember?”
I nibbled on my bottom lip. “No?” Now that I was no longer being motivated by fear, all I could do was stare at the perfection of man-candy being offered up to me. Where had the image for him come from? My mind? Algorithms? Bah. Guess it doesn’t matter. He’s here, and he’s beautiful.
Scooping me up in his arms, the man hopped back onto his horse with no effort, as if I weighed less than nothing. “I told you not to go wanderin’ off by yourself. Now you’ve gone and hit yer head, knocking Lord knows what out of it. What am I gonna do with you, Clara? You’re the most stubborn woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.”
“What’s your name?”
“Och, I have a full day of training, but I can see yer goona be needin’ a doctor immediately.” He swept some of my hair off my forehead, gazing down at me tenderly as he cradled me closer. “Don’t worry, Clara, I’ll take care of you.” Butterflies divebombed my stomach. “Okay,” I managed on a breathy sigh, much to my horror. Oh, get a hold of yourself. This guy doesn’t actually exist. He’s made up of pixels and … other techy stuff. Whatever.
Ava Wixx escaped into books at a young age and decided to stay there. It was only a matter of time before she was driven to create her own fantasy worlds from fear of running out of places to explore. Reader, writer, dreamer … Ava only toils in reality when absolutely necessary. She lives in North Carolina with her husband, and spoiled mini-poodle.
Join Master Kingsley and his pet Tate at rock bottom, where their true love story can finally begin. The beautiful and the ugly, the tears and the laughter…and the introduction of a man’s first foray into kink as a submissive Daddy.
We screwed up, Master.
It wasn’t until I stood there alone in the ashes, raw, naked, enraged, and in more pain than I could handle that I realized we’d been wrong from the beginning. I saw our history in the rubble—all our memories, the pictures filled with devotion and laughter, my wholehearted submission to him. And we had to rewrite the ending. We had to. Kingsley and I couldn’t be over. I missed him so much that it hurt to breathe. But we had burned out.
We will burn again, baby.
Our biggest mistake had been to put an expiration date on a love destined for eternity. We’d been blinded by our kinks not lining up perfectly. We’d let fears and insecurities rule in silence, and it was time to confront them head on. We were going to expose ourselves, push every limit, and reignite. Because Tate and I belonged in the fire. We played hard and loved even harder. I wouldn’t allow the unknown to terrify us, to restrict us, even if our new path was…unconventional. Even if we brought in someone else to light the match for us.
By the time pizza got here, I was painfully aware of Lee’s presence. I’d heard his low chuckle a couple times from where he sat on Lucian and KC’s porch. The cabins were maybe twenty or thirty feet away from the edge of the patio, yet it felt like Lee was standing right behind me.
It was a good thing I had my back to them. Otherwise, I would’ve glued my stare to him.
The one glimpse I’d gotten wasn’t nearly enough. Shay had been right. Lee did look as bad as me, which gave me conflicting emotions. It hurt me to see him hurt, at the same time as I found comfort in that he was struggling too. Did that make me a bad person?
I wanted to see him again. Unlike me, he’d never given much thought to what he wore; he was a jeans and T-shirt guy. Or a hoodie now that the weather was turning for the colder. And I kinda loved that about him. His style, or lack of it, represented comfort and familiarity to me. I didn’t know how many times I’d put on one of his hoodies when I had to spend an evening without him, if he was on call or something. He was wearing one of his old Navy hoodies right now, one of my favorites.
I could just picture him sitting over there, casually, one foot resting on his knee, the foot always bouncing a little, probably a smoke between his fingers… And he often ran a hand through his hair. Hair that tended to fall into his eyes. Hair that I’d always liked to tuck behind his ear. Which sometimes annoyed him in a cute way. Like, “Get your paws outta my face, pet.” And he’d narrow his eyes at me before he nipped at my cheek and—
Oh my God. I couldn’t go on like this. I couldn’t keep playing these scenarios in my head; I got so swept away by them, to the point where I could almost smell his hoodie, feel his lips on my neck, hear his warm voice…
A rushing sound invaded my ears. My heart started pounding, and my vision blurred and became unfocused. The grief gripped me so tightly that I didn’t know what to do with myself, but a second later, my flight instincts kicked in. I shot up from my seat and sent the chair flying backward, and then I was running inside. Jesus fuck, my chest hurt. It felt like it was about to cave in.
I heard both Ivy and Shay call my name, but I kept running. Through the club area, out into the lobby, where I took the stairs. I was just fucking done. Done with the depression, done with the pain, done with feeling like my future had just been stolen from me.
I made it to the third floor, and I was a goddamn mess. Fingers trembling, breathing erratic, I unlocked the door to my guest room and all but stumbled inside. A beat later, panic swallowed me whole.
Shit. I couldn’t breathe. I bent over and planted my hands on my knees, and I choked for air. My skin prickled and went numb in waves, my heart wouldn’t stop slamming against my ribcage, and then dizziness washed over me.
I can’t deal anymore. I give up. Send me to the fucking psych ward.
I heard a strangled groan, or maybe a gasp, and knew it came from within. Black spots filled my vision.
I’m often awkwardly silent or, if the topic interests me, a chronic rambler. In other words, I can discuss writing forever and ever. Fiction, in particular. The love story—while a huge draw and constantly present—is secondary for me, because there’s so much more to writing romance fiction than just making two (or more) people fall in love and have hot sex.
There’s a world to build, characters to develop, interests to create, and a topic or two to research thoroughly.
Every book is a challenge for me, an opportunity to learn something new, and a puzzle to piece together. I want my characters to come to life, and the only way I know to do that is to give them substance—passions, history, goals, quirks, and strong opinions—and to let them evolve.
I want my men and women to be relatable. That means allowing room for everyday problems and, for lack of a better word, flaws. My characters will never be perfect.
Wait…this was supposed to be about me, not my writing.
I’m a writey person who loves to write. Always wanderlusting, twitterpating, kinking, cooking, baking, and geeking. There’s time for hockey and family, too. But mostly, I just love to write.
Gwen Parks writes compelling romance stories that make the hero and heroine a little desperate. She enjoys reading angsty romances in her spare time and listening to her carefully curated playlists. Second chance romance is her favorite trope to read. She loves when the hero fights for his leading lady and having the heroine a little headstrong. She loves spending her summers in the sun and out playing with her three dogs.
Title: Hard Count Author: S.R. Grey Series: Men of Fall #5 Genre: Football Romantic Comedy
Pro footballer Mike Vinceton desperately wants to get away before the Comets’ new season begins.
Lucky for him the tropical destination he chooses turns out to be perfect.
Not only does he find himself rested and refreshed, but he just met the most tantalizing woman. Her name is Lexi, and their connection is insane.
Too bad their time is cut short—before Mike can learn her last name . . . or where she lives.
Alas, such is life.
Resigned that he’ll never see Lexi again, Mike returns to Ohio to head off to training camp. But what he doesn’t know is he’s about to run into her again, in a most unexpected place.
See, Lexi is the Comets’ owner’s daughter. And though her dad would love for her to take more of an interest in the team, that definitely doesn’t include her dating a player.
Hell no!
Cue the sneaking around . . . and Mike and Lexi praying her dad doesn’t find out.
S.R. Grey is a USA Today Bestselling Author of the popular Boys of Winter hockey books and Men of Fall football novels. Both series can be read in any order or as standalones. Other New Adult and Romantic Suspense works of hers include the Judge Me Not books, the Promises series, the Inevitability duology, A Harbour Falls Mystery trilogy, and the Laid Bare series of novellas. When not writing Ms. Grey can be found reading, traveling, running, and cheering for her hometown sports teams. Sometimes all at the same time!
IS IT TOO LATE FOR ADELE TO RETURN TO HER DAUGHTER’S LIFE?
When her ex-husband reappears in her life determined to spend more time with their child, Adele Collier allows him to take Judy to France for the summer. As the summer goes by, an internal battle rages in Adele’s heart. Can she give up her glamorous lifestyle to win her daughter’s heart?
Six-year-old Judy is more than happy to trade Adele’s neglect for her father’s adoring care. She loves his vineyard and wishes she could stay there forever, but someday she must return to England. Can Judy trust her mother again?
By the time Granny, Aunt Millie, and Judy finished cleaning the incredibly cluttered flat, it was past noon and soon Judy’s “little friends,” as Granny called them, would be arriving for the party.
In truth, Judy didn’t know her “friends.” They were all grandchildren of her granny’s many church friends who Judy had only met a few times and didn’t much care for. But she supposed that wasn’t quite fair. She just didn’t know them.
However, Granny wanted Judy to have friends, so Judy would try. She’d do anything to please Granny, after all. Who else in this world did she have to please who would actually notice?
Aunt Millie, she supposed, but Aunt Millie just wanted a hug every so often and some acknowledgement that she existed. Judy could do that. After all, wasn’t that what she wanted, too?
Granny set about preparing the refreshments only to find a disturbing lack of the correct ingredients. So she gave Judy a list and told her to run across the street to the grocery and give it to Mr. Tilney along with a little purse containing the sum that would be required to make the purchases.
As Judy exited the flat building, she noticed a tall, skinny man sitting on the curb, wearing a rumpled business suit. He had removed his hat and was twirling it around and around on his finger. His reddish hair was messy and his blue eyes distant. He had a small mustache on his upper lip—at least it was neatly clipped, though. A mustache was bad enough, but a messy mustache was unbearable in Judy’s opinion.
Judy tilted her head to the side, took a step nearer the man, and tried to see what he was staring at across the street.
She could see nothing worth such serious deliberation. Just Mr. Tilney’s store and Mother’s flower shop and the small flat over the flower shop.
The man seemed to be staring at nothing, into a distance that didn’t really exist.
He turned. The two stared at each other for a few incredibly long seconds before he cleared his throat.
“Who are you?” His voice was strangled, and his eyes fastened on her face in a hungry sort of way.
She didn’t know what to think of that. It didn’t seem mean, but she’d been given so many warnings about mean men that she knew she ought to be cautious. “Judy.” Surely telling him her name wouldn’t hurt a thing.
“I know. At least, most of me knew.” The man straightened his back and looked her up and down before returning to her face, a bashful grin twisting his lips.
“Then why did you ask?” asked Judy.
“Because I wanted to be sure.” He ran a hand through his hair and watched her with eyes a bit closed, like he was wincing in pain. “Sometimes it’s good to double check before assuming something, especially if you’ve gotten in trouble before for not being sure and assuming and moving too fast for your own good.”
“Oh.” That made sense, she supposed. Caution was definitely preferable. One didn’t make mistakes if one were cautious, and mistakes weren’t something her mother appreciated. Especially ones that caused a mess Mother had to clean up. Not that she ever cleaned unless she absolutely must. Mother didn’t mind most messes. The cleaning up messes part, however? It made Mother most cross. Judy hated when her mother went from not caring at all to being cross. It was the worst feeling in the world.
“You look like your Aunt Lola,” said the man, referring to the paternal aunt who visited occasionally. “But your hair isn’t curly like hers.”
“I know,” said Judy. “It’s curlier when my braids aren’t so tight.” She tugged one to show how tight and unforgiving it was.
“Mine would curl if I let it grow, probably. Like my mother’s hair.” His voice was raspy, and Judy wondered if it was always like that or if he was just sad right then. “Who told you you look like her?”
“Aunt Lola,” said Judy.
“Oh.” He stood. Judy was obliged to crane her neck to continue looking him in the eye. He was quite tall, and not just because Judy was quite short. Her mother was half his size, she was sure. “Are you supposed to be talking to strangers?” the man asked.
Judy shook her head. “I’m supposed to be getting these things and hurrying back,” she said, holding up the slip of paper.
He accepted the grocery list and gave it a looking over before passing it back to her. “Well, then you’d best be about your business.”
“Will you be about your business, too?” Judy asked.
The man nodded, and his voice cleared a bit as he replied. “I will. I need to see my sister before I go to a party, or she’ll be mad at me. We can’t have that.”
“Good. You looked lonely sitting on the street there.”
“Did I?” The man had an odd little twist to his lips now that told her he had some sort of feeling that wasn’t quite comfortable.
Judy offered a bit of a smile to set him at ease. “Yes. And that’s no good! After all, there are so many people in the world that one oughtn’t to be lonely!”
Or at least one oughtn’t to be lonely when one was a big man who could go anywhere and meet anyone. Judy couldn’t really make friends because she got in trouble for wandering off, and it was hard enough making friends anyway, but the man could do anything he wanted. He could make dozens of friends. Judy felt a flash of jealousy but quickly reined it in.
The man laughed dryly. “Well, what if there was only one person in the world a fellow wanted to be with?”
“Then he’d better be with that person.” Judy glanced across the street. “I’d better go. Granny will be worried. Besides, I guess you are a stranger, and Aunt Millie says you might be mean, even in places I think are safe. She’s most afraid someone will be mean to me.”
“Very well. Run along, Judy.”
Judy paused. “How’d you know my name?” Strangers weren’t supposed to know her name.
“You told me, baby,” the man reminded her, eyes twinkling.
“Oh,” said Judy. She stood still for a moment, contemplating whether strangers ought to call her “baby,” then she hurried across the street and into Mr. Tilney’s store.
In no time at all, she was back out with the groceries. The man was gone.
Kellyn Roth is a historical romance & women’s fiction author who writes about the empty places where hope has the most room to grow. Her novels include the inspirational Victorian family saga, The Chronicles of Alice and Ivy, and the Kees & Colliers series, which follows a broken family in the tumultuous years of the first half of the 20th century.
Kellyn is a student of the Author Conservatory, a virtual assistant, and a writing coach. When not building her author career, she is likely getting lost somewhere in the Pacific Northwest with her friends, watching period dramas and facetious comedies, or spending time with her husband.
