An NFL quarterback turned small-town coach gets sacked by a Texas beauty queen in this swoony, passionate romance from Wall Street Journal bestselling author Ilsa Madden-Mills.
Gorgeous, talented, and brilliant, NFL quarterback Ronan Smith has the world in his hands. But after losing his career and his fiancée in a car accident, he falls into a pit of grief and bad choices. When a mysterious girl shows up to his party, he feels drawn to her and makes her his…for one night.
Former beauty queen Nova Morgan is on a mission. Scantily clad as a princess from a galaxy far, far away, she sneaks into a high-profile party to capture the attention of her favorite quarterback. But her hopes crash after an awful one-night stand.
Fast-forward two years. Broke and desperate, Nova returns home to Blue Belle, Texas, where, by a cosmic twist of fate, her broody neighbor is none other than Ronan, the shiny new football coach everyone adores. But he has no idea who she is.
The booster club keeps shoving women at Ronan to keep him in town. His solution? He proposes fake dating to Nova. But things heat up for real under these Friday-night lights when he realizes she’s the one who slipped away.
Has this jaded beauty found her forever baller, or will his past keep them apart?
Wall Street Journal, New York Times and USA Today best-selling author Ilsa Madden-Mills is best known for her angsty new adult romances and romantic comedies.
Eight of her eleven novels have placed in the Amazon Top 10 Best-seller List: Dirty English #1; Fake Fiancée and I Dare You #2; I Bet You, Filthy English, and Very Bad Things #6; Boyfriend Bargain #8; The Last Guy, her collaboration with Tia Louise, #4.
A former high school English teacher, she adores all things Pride and Prejudice, and of course, Mr. Darcy is her ultimate hero.
She’s addicted to frothy coffee beverages, cheesy magnets, and any book featuring unicorns and sword-wielding females. Feel free to stalk her online.
Kelly, a successful investment manager from Tel Aviv, is living it up. She is single, rich and happy to be with men just to scratch an itch. Embarking on a no strings attached relationship with the hot, much younger Slava feels like a great idea—and he’s totally up for it.
Ilan, an ambitious and charming investigator working for the Israeli Securities Authority, is trying to untangle a huge market manipulation scheme. He needs Kelly to crack the case, but whistleblowing might jeopardize everything she’s ever worked for. Ilan, however, can be very persuasive. Soon, and against their better judgment, they start mixing business with pleasure.
But, when Ilan asks her to stop seeing Slava, Kelly realizes that no-strings doesn’t mean it’s easy to let go. With her livelihood on the line and her love life a mess, can Kelly keep it together, or has she thrown one too many balls in the air?
Slava took off his T-shirt and used it to pat his armpits. He heard a few scattered catcalls and whistles, giggling girls elbowed each other and young moms pushing strollers stared. Slava took it in stride. He applied fresh deodorant, rummaged some more in his bag, pulled out a clean white T-shirt, and put it on. A slight sea breeze zigzagged its way past the seaside hotels to reach his bench and caress his flushed face.
The weather was warm, but the relentless Mediterranean sultriness hadn’t yet arrived in full. He thought about how unbearably hot the small Bat Yam apartment he shared with his mother would get in the summer. Slava chuckled—the Hebrew word for apartment, “dirra”, sounded like “dryannaya dyra”—Russian for “crappy hole”. Slava and Olga Korman both agreed that Bat Yam’s gray, crowded tenement blocks warranted the cheap rents. It had two redeeming qualities: its closeness to Tel Aviv, and the beautiful beaches. Slava would get up early every morning—even before his mother went out to clean houses—walk 1.5 km to the Bat Yam boardwalk, and practice Tai Chi for twenty minutes. It was the best time of his day, not counting the days when he treated Kelly. Somehow, some time ago, the ninety minutes he spent touching her had become the highlight of his week.
Slava checked his phone. It was twenty-five past six—Kelly was seriously late today. Fortunately, her appointment was always the last one. She truly needed his massages. At the beginning of every session, her shoulders were knotted, her neck was rigid, and her back stiff. It would take Slava nearly thirty minutes to de-stress Kelly—more than double the time it took his other clients.
Kelly was different in every other way too. She was the only one who lived in Tel Aviv proper, south of the Yarkon river. Slava knew she must make a lot of money to afford the two-bedroom apartment she rented. She never tried to flirt with him or make small talk. Slava wasn’t good at small talk and didn’t like it. Flirting made him acutely uncomfortable. Kelly would turn off her phone and stay quiet, and Slava could relax, put on music, and attune himself fully to her body.
He recognized her dark hair and light blue helmet. Standing up, he waved, and she braked right next to him. Her brown curls danced as she freed her head from the small, stylish helmet. Her wide mouth was curved into an apologetic smile.
“Hola, Slavito. Sorry I’m late—it got crazy at the office.”
Slava shrugged and smiled back without answering. How could he be angry with her when she called him “Slavito” and gazed at him with those liquid, caramel eyes of hers? Slava stole a glance at the slender, attractive woman striding confidently alongside him. She was totally out of his league.
Mia Sivan is an Israeli woman who lives, works and loves in Tel Aviv. The city is as much a part of her books as any other character.
Mia has worked as a senior investment manager for many years, and the books she writes draws much from her personal experience, as well as real-life scams that took place in the Israeli financial market.
When not writing or dreaming up steamy scenes, she lives with her handsome husband and even handsomer two sons, and enjoys long walks by the beach (it’s Tel Aviv, it’s never too cold).
Title: Fauxmance Author: Cookie O’Gorman Genre: Young Adult Contemporary Romance
Fauxmance (fow-mans): Term for a romantic relationship that is fake. Real feelings, like love, are strictly prohibited. See also: Why would anyone enter a fake relationship?
Eighteen-year-old Magnolia believes in true love.
Or she did.
When her boyfriend dumps her the day before her sister’s wedding, Maggie is devastated—but her broken heart is only part of the problem. Maggie is the maid of honor, and her sister insists: Every member of the bridal party must have an escort. No exceptions.
Thank goodness for Hayden Davenport.
Sarcastic, cocky, a surprisingly good listener and self-professed player, when Maggie gets stuck in an elevator with the handsome stranger, she thinks she’s found the perfect wedding date. Unfortunately, Hayden hates weddings. Like really hates them.
But one soul-shattering kiss changes everything.
Maggie needs a fake boyfriend. Hayden wants to prove he’s changed his playboy ways. Faking it should be easy. The hard part?
Remembering it’s all pretend and not falling in love for real.
This book features two opposites with sizzling chemistry, a sweet, hopeless romantic and a cynical bad boy who’ll steal your heart. Elevators, fake romance, and weddings, oh my! Get ready to swoon, laugh, and say ‘I do’ to this heartfelt YA romance.
Cookie O’Gorman writes YA & NA romance to give readers a taste of happily-ever-after. Small towns, quirky characters, and the awkward yet beautiful moments in life make up her books. Cookie also has a soft spot for nerds and ninjas. Her novels ADORKABLE, NINJA GIRL, The Unbelievable, Inconceivable, Unforeseeable Truth About Ethan Wilder, The Good Girl’s Guide to Being Bad, The Kissing Challenge (YA novella), and WALLFLOWER are out now! She is also the author of NA sports romances The Best Mistake and The Perfect Play. Her newest release CUPCAKE came out on November 2, 2021!
Dance is in Cami’s blood, but a bombshell diagnosis puts her on the sidelines. Now returning for her senior year of college, she’s determined to prove she is the dancer she once was. Each year, at the end of the semester, the campus hosts a dance festival. Cami knows this is her shot at redemption, but while at a party, things go horribly wrong and Cami suddenly has a new boyfriend: Marsh Lincoln.
Marsh Lincoln has two left feet…
He doesn’t dance. A nasty accident haunts Marsh and he’s just ready to graduate. Until he’s told he’s missing credits. The only class left to fill his missing credits? Ballroom dancing. To make matters worse, his girlfriend breaks-up with him in front of everyone at a party, leaving him with a new girlfriend he’s never met before…
It takes two to tango…
Acting like the perfect couple isn’t easy when you’ve just met. When the lines between what’s real and pretend blurs, they have to ask themselves: Can you catch feelings for something that’s all pretend?
Tinia (TUH-NIA) Montford is a Pisces who’s a sap for romance, especially when there’s (tons of) kissing. Loves eighties sitcoms and will consume anything with chocolate. She graduated from the University of San Francisco with a degree in English and Graphic Design.
She is a world traveler having climbed a volcano in Nicaragua, scaled Angkor Wat in the blistering sun, and roamed the Acropolis of Athens. Oh, she also dabbles in short stories occasionally.
If you can’t catch her writing, you can bet she’s overindulging on poke bowls, listening to the same four songs, or chilling with her adorbs doggie. She is currently pursuing her MFA in Fiction.
Biochemist Talya knew what she’d discovered was too dangerous to reveal. After two months as a captive of the mob, she’s broken…until she’s rescued by two devastatingly sexy men.
Relentless billionaire Henri Fortin gives Talya a safe place to recover…after purchasing her at a forbidden auction. It wasn’t the most traditional rescue, but now that she’s in his home, Henri will do anything to protect her.
Milo wasn’t able to save Talya before. He’s haunted by the fact that he had to walk away and leave her captive. Now that she’s secure he should leave…but he doesn’t want to. Because he’s drawn to Talya and Henri.
However the past, and the promises they made to Europe’s most powerful secret society, aren’t the only things standing in their way. They’re all keeping secrets…and the Camorra isn’t finished with Talya.
Virginia native Mari Carr is a New York Times and USA TODAY bestseller of contemporary romance novels. With over one million copies of her books sold, Mari was the winner of the Romance Writers of America’s Passionate Plume award for her novella, Erotic Research. She has over a hundred published works, including her popular Wild Irish and Compass books, along with the Trinity Masters series she writes with Lila Dubois.
Lila Dubois is a multi-published, bestselling author of erotic, paranormal and fantasy romance. Her books have been nominated for many awards including RT Book Reviews Erotic Novella for Undone Rebel and the Golden Flogger. Having spent extensive time in France, Egypt, Turkey, Ireland and England Lila speaks five languages, none of them (including English) fluently. Lila lives in California with her own Irish Farm Boy and loves receiving email from readers.
I’m just a human, standing in front of the devil… …trying not to succumb to my darkest desires.
The truth is, all a girl really needs is chocolate and a lifetime supply of AA batteries.
Well, that and revenge on the ex that destroyed my career as an investigative journalist.
Which is why the devilishly handsome dark angel that saved my life is nothing more than a means to an end. Getting close to him will resurrect my career.
But when he looks at me like I’m his greatest desire, I can’t resist the temptation of knowing what forbidden fruit like him would taste like.
After all, I’ve learned my lesson. This time it’s just pleasure, no attachment.
Because men like him were made to break hearts, and mine can’t afford anymore cracks.
The way he looked at me, as if he were nervous but at the same time, wanted something from me. I knew his reputation, of course. And though I had zero desire to be one of hundreds, I had to admit that it felt good to think that a man who could have any woman here was choosing me.
Maybe Alexis is right. Maybe I need a one-night stand.
A glance at his lips had me wondering if he was as talented with that mouth as his reputation said he was. The thought flashed through my brain and straight to my clit so fast that I couldn’t breathe for a second.
And that’s why I should’ve gotten those batteries for my vibrator last week. I’m way too horny to think straight.
“Listen,” I said, shifting away from him with an iron will, “I have no judgment on what you do with the copious amounts of women you’ve pursued over the years.”
“Funny, it doesn’t sound that way,” the words were spoken more bite than before.
“I just don’t want to be one of them.”
“And who says you would be?”
I leveled a look that said I could see right through him and shook my head.
“You know,” he said, closing the distance I’d created a moment ago. “maybe you’re not my type.”
“Oh dear, I’ve wounded your fragile ego.”
He laughed.
“Hardly.”
Now it was my turn to lean in. I knew that, in this dress, such a move would show more cleavage. I was playing with fire. But for once, I wanted the upper hand when it came to a man, and I had a feeling showing Nathan what he couldn’t have was the way to do it.
“You’re not the kind of man that likes to lose, are you?”
“I don’t experience it very often, let’s put it like that.”
“Oh, so you’re saying this is new for you?”
“Having a woman play hard to get when what she really wants is to climb me like a tree?”
My lips parted with surprise, because while I was rehearsing why I should run away, I was indeed wanting that.
Now Nathan leaned in again, which brought him very close to my lips. He stared at them with a hungry glint in his eye that stole my breath. When was the last time a man had looked me like that?
He’ll use you and throw you out with the morning trash, don’t forget that.
I pressed my lips together and stood up a little straighter, barely getting an inch more space between us.
“It happens sometimes,” he continued.
“And let me guess,” I said, proud of the fact that my voice was still hard as granite, “they always give in?”
He grinned at me like I was the prey and he was going to savor every square inch of me. It sent heat pooling in my core, which I grit my teeth against.
“If you’re not going to tell me your name,” he said, “I’ll just call you Red.”
I frowned at the change in subject. What the hell was he talking about? Then I looked down at the dress and blushed.
“My name is Tessa.”
“Too late, Red suits you. And on the subject of women giving in. Yes, they do.”
I swallowed.
“Oh, really?”
“Yes, and do you want to know why?”
Before I could answer, Nathan continued. His voice took on the feel of molten chocolate on my skin, all sweet, dark seduction.
“Because they want to know what it’s like, just once, to be thoroughly explored like the delicious specimens of beauty they are.”
My lips parted and I took in a surprised breath.
Nathan’s eyes zeroed in on me, his body so close to mine that I could feel the heat radiating from him. His smile faded and he brought his lips to my ear. The feather touch of his breath on my cheek sent shivers down my spine. I was frozen in place, helpless against the power of the lust he’d stoked in me. “I bet no one’s ever taken the time to do it properly, have they?” he whispered.
Trish has been obsessed with stories about female heroes ever since she put on her first pair of Wonder Woman under-roos and spun around. After realizing that fear of failure had been holding her back, Trish became her very own hero and participated in National Novel Writing Month in 2015.
Since then, Trish has braved the constant attacks of her nemeses Inner Critic and No Time, in order to achieve the impossible: An artistic life with two kids!
Trish was one of the co-creators of the super hero comedy web series “The Collectibles”. She’s also one of the masterminds behind Superhero-Fiction.com, a one stop shop for superhero books, and one of the hosts of the Geekorama podcast.
Her first novel “Serpent’s Return” was re-released in 2019 and is the first book in an Urban Fantasy Superhero series, The Vigilantes: The Rise of Heroes. She writes Superhero Urban fantasy under T.L. Heinrich, and Superhero Romance under Trish Heinrich You can find her and her superhero series at www.trishheinrich.com
As survivors of not only a plane crash, but two other impossible tragedies, we’d more than earned a life of peace. But time and time again, we were shown that fate had no intention of giving that to us.
Remi and I were soulmates. Plain and simple. Our love should have died in the depths of our darkness, but the sun still exists even when it’s not shining.
The secrets of our past threatened to destroy us at every turn, but for Remi, I would never stop fighting for our future.
The world took everything from us.
And we would stop at nothing until we took it all back—forever.
Her blue eyes sparkled in the glow of the airplane reading light. “It really is.”
I shook my head and went back to mindlessly flipping the pages of a magazine I’d bought at the terminal back in Colorado. I’d picked it up with hopes it would be a distraction from the cyclone raging within me on our way back to Atlanta. The minute she ordered that drink, I’d known it was a lost cause.
Her hand came across the armrest and landed on my thigh. “Bowen, stop. It’s not a big deal.”
It was the truth. Compared to everything we’d been through, our house could have been swallowed by a sinkhole and it wouldn’t have been considered a big deal.
Honest to God, I was lucky to still have her at all. It had only been nine months since we’d met, but we’d lived a thousand lives in that time. Unfortunately, that also meant we’d died almost as many deaths.
Terrifying, tortuous, agony-filled deaths.
We’d also found love though—immeasurable amounts of it.
I stared down at her engagement ring. I’d cashed out a huge chunk of my savings account and still had to open a line of credit with the jewelry store to buy the three-karat princess-cut ring. The payment was roughly the same as I paid for my truck each month, but the tears in her eyes as she’d sat in her hospital bed, clutching it to her chest the day I proposed, made it all worth it.
She was worth it. Every day, every tear, every worry-filled minute shaved off my life.
I’d do it all again.
If only I weren’t so helpless to save her. I loved that woman. Whole heart. Whole soul. Bend me, break me, crack me open and she would have been there. No matter how bad it got, she was always a part of me.
I wasn’t sure anymore if she could say the same.
“Bowen,” she whispered, just as she’d done so many times before. It was a plea. One she knew I’d answer no matter the situation. No matter how mad I got. No matter how much I feared losing her again.
My gaze instinctively lifted to hers.
She smiled and the sight caused an ache in my chest. It was a lie.
God, I missed her smile.
“Baby, I’m okay.” She tilted her head to her drink. “I hate flying. That’s all this is.”
That was a lie too.
My shoulders fell and a loud breath tore from my burning lungs, but I let myself pretend, my mind going back to a time when it could have been the truth.
I thought of the nights we’d shared multiple bottles of wine and made love, laughing and moaning under the covers until the sun crept across the horizon. She’d rested peacefully in my arms. No nightmares. No crying in her sleep. No insomnia. Just even breaths, her head on my shoulder, and her body wound around mine so tightly it was like a second skin.
But that was the past.
The unreachable, insurmountable past.
The plane jerked, forcing me back to the present.
“Shit.” She moved her hand off my thigh to grasp her drink as it sloshed all over her. “Crap, crap, crap,” she chanted, using a cocktail napkin to dry the dark-red pool of tomato juice on her white pants.
For a moment, I sat there and watched her struggle. It wasn’t the most chivalrous thing to do, but I was all out of grand gestures.
She unbuckled her seat belt and lurched to her feet, her phone along with a handful of ice cubes from her lap falling to the floor. “Damn, this is going to leave a huge stain.”
The plane jerked again and she stumbled forward, crashing into the seat in front of her before I could catch her arm.
“Dammit, sit down before you get hurt.”
Ignoring me, she bent over to fish her phone from under the seat. “Hit the button for the flight attendant. I need some club soda and a lemon. STAT.”
“No, what you need is to sit down.”
I gave her arm a tug and dragged her down to the seat. Using the tip of my boot, I swept her phone toward her. Aforementioned lack of chivalry aside, I was no contortionist; leaning over to pick it up was out of the question.
She folded her upper body over my lap and blindly patted around the floor. I fought the urge to run my fingers through the back of her hair. In the beginning, it would have been a no-brainer. I’d have curled forward and suggestively whispered in her ear, “Since you’re already down there…”
She would have grinned up at me, her whole face filled with mischief as she traced a finger over my zipper, ignoring anyone who dared to watch her as she replied, “You mean down here?”
I’d have grabbed her hand and made her stop even though I was the one who had started it. She had no filter. She always took it one step too far. I’d loved that about her when we’d first met. It was fresh and exciting, a far cry from the stuffy women I’d dated in the past.
But now, she was in the past too. We were in the past.
Originally from Savannah, Georgia, USA Today bestselling author Aly Martinez now lives in South Carolina with her four hilarious children.
Never one to take herself too seriously, she enjoys movies that can surprise her with a twist, charcuterie boards, and her mildly neurotic golden retriever. It should be known, however, that she hates pizza and ice cream, almost as much as writing her bio in the third person.
She passes what little free time she has reading anything and everything she can get her hands on, preferably with a glass of wine by her side.
“Mr. Lexington, your seat is this way.” I look up to see Branson, black cigar pants fitted tightly around his powerful thighs, a red tie the color of my dress—as in, spot on, not a shade off. His hair is combed back, eyes sparkling with darkness as he takes me in.
He ignores the usher, choosing instead to aim a death glare at Dominic. “You’re in my spot.”
“No, he is not.” I roll my eyes. The nerve of him.
He smirks. “I wasn’t talking to him.” Before I can protest, he pulls me up, spinning me until I land on his lap. “Don’t make a scene, Darling. Trust me, the media is already having a field day with you.” Smug bastard is smiling. I can hear it in his voice.
His lips ghost over my shoulder as his arms wrap around my waist. “Anyone told you how beautiful you look tonight?”
“Yes.” It is too easy to want to melt into his arms, lay my head upon his shoulder, and just breathe for the first time in what feels like weeks.
“Anyone who actually matters? Because as far as I’m concerned, I’m the only one allowed to compliment you. And you look even better than beautiful tonight.”
“How so?” I cannot hide my curiosity, no matter how much I want to. I want to get up and demand him to leave, but truth is, I am out of my element here and his presence lessens my anxiety. “Because you look like mine.” Be still my heart. Do not—I repeat, do not—let the butterflies out of the cage.
The exiled “sixth family” of the New York mafia. We’re the good guys.
People don’t fear us…much. They respect us.
The five of us? We’re the Brooklyn Brothers.
And we protect what’s ours.
After a gunshot wound to the chest, I died on an operating table. Then I came back to life. Yet the thing that’s going to take me down is a redheaded Irish bartender who has a pension for trouble and drinking me under the table. Ash Donahue is brave, beautiful, and scarily street wise. In fact, she’s the only woman I’ve ever met who seems remotely capable of handling the kind of baggage a man like me comes with.
Not to mention, she has secrets that could very well rival my own.
I’m a soldier, a warrior. That’s all I’ll ever be. No woman wants to be strapped with that for the rest of her life. But every time we remind ourselves why we’re completely wrong for each other, we end up tangled together in the stock room. Or on top of the bar. Or against a wall.
That all changes when I find out what brought her to my city. How could she not tell me her uncle is the Irish mob boss? And how am I supposed to protect her from him and my family from our countless enemies, all at the same time?
Ash’s face broke out in the brightest smile I’d ever seen on her. Her hand shot into the air in greeting. Mine only came up about halfway, but my grin couldn’t be contained. She glanced at the clock on the wall, said something to one of the other bartenders, then started filling up a tray with shot glasses. Before I knew it, she was headed in my direction, tray in tow. The crowd parted around her, making way for their favorite bartender.
My grin faded.
Only to be replaced by…a warning.
She was on the other side of the bar now. And for some reason, that gave the men in this place the idea that she was suddenly approachable. More on-limits, as opposed to when she was taking orders from behind the bar. They were openly checking out her tits in that green halter top, her ass, whispering things to their buddies, snickering in mutual agreement.
If these motherfuckers knew how many people I’d killed, they’d be shitting their pants.
This redheaded firecracker had a man. And it wasn’t any of these assholes.
Fuck.
My obsession was spiraling out of control if I was ready to murder other men just for checking her out.
I knew that murderous glare was still in place when she reached me because she pushed my frown up into a smile with two of her fingers. “There. Doesn’t that feel better?”
Cutting a look at her admirers over her shoulder, I placed a proprietary hand on her lower back. When they all sulked in disappointment, I stood a little taller. “It does now.”
“Testosterone overload.”
The grin she tried to hide told me she wasn’t bothered in the least.
“How we doin’ here?” she asked my family as she slid the tray of shots onto the table.
“Hey, Ash!” Roxy gave my girl a squeeze.
I introduced her to the only people she hadn’t met—Cris and Nico. “Congratulations,” she said to Nico, nodding over at Lexi.
“Thank you.”
He rubbed his wife’s protruding belly with so much affection it was almost comical. He hadn’t been drinking much lately when we all went out. Said he needed to be completely alert in case Lexi went into early labor. But it appeared he’d let loose a bit tonight.
Ash started passing out the shots, but handed Lexi some kind of red drink with orange and lime garnishes. “That’s completely non-alcoholic, love. A little concoction I made up myself. It tastes just like fruit punch.”
To me, she whispered so that only I could hear, “Because it is fruit punch.”
I smothered my quiet laughter with my hand.
Lexi took a drink, moaned, and offered her thanks.
Ash held up her shot glass. “Today, my friends, we pay homage to the great patron saint of Ireland, St. Patrick. Legend has it, he was the son of an English nobleman who was captured and forced to tend sheep in my homeland. After escaping his captivity, he later returned to Ireland to convert all the pagan Irish folk to Christianity.” She tipped her glass up to the ceiling. “May God bless him.”
Everyone was grinning at her, listening intently, especially me.
“St. Patrick also used a three-leaved shamrock to explain the Holy Trinity to the pagans,” she explained. “And for all these contributions, we thank him dearly and offer our tribute. But most importantly, St. Patrick drove out all the snakes in Ireland, forever saving our people from their wretched, evil ways.” She motioned for us to all raise our glasses with her. “So, here’s to St. Patrick and a snake-free land!”
I tipped my head back in laughter, just before downing my shot. Ash smiled proudly back at me after taking hers.
The table suddenly got very quiet. Everyone was staring at the two of us, looking completely dumbfounded.
“What?”
Nico pointed at me, acting like he was looking at a magical leprechaun and not his brother. “You laughed.”
“Yeah, so?”
He shrugged and deadpanned, “Right. Yeah. ‘Cuz that’s normal and everything.”
All the girls were smiling sweetly at Ash’s proximity to me. Just beneath the surface of my skin, I started to itch. It wasn’t as bad as it used to be—Ash’s presence helped—but I was still uncomfortable with everyone’s attention on me.
Inhale. One, two, three, four…
Exhale. Four, three, two, one.
And repeat.
It didn’t completely disappear…until I looked at her.
Melanie grew up in the Midwest, but she loves living in the Southeast (where the beaches are!) now with her husband and daughter. Melanie’s other passion is traveling and seeing the world. With anthropology degrees under their belts, she and her husband have made it their goal in life to see as many archaeological sites around the world as possible. She has a horrible food addiction to pasta and candy (not together…ew). And she gets sad when her wine rack is empty. At the end of the day, she is a true romantic at heart. She loves writing the cheesy and corny of romantic comedies, and the sassy and sexy of suspense. She aims to make her readers swoon, laugh out loud, maybe sweat a little, and above all, fall in love. Go visit Melanie’s website and sign up for her newsletter to stay updated on release dates, teasers, and other details for all of her projects!
Wall Street Journal and USA Today bestselling author Winter Travers is a devoted wife, mother, and aunt turned author who was born and raised in Wisconsin. After a brief stint in South Carolina following her heart to chase the man who is now her hubby, they retreated back up North to the changing seasons, and to the place they now call home.
Winter spends her days writing happily ever afters, and her nights being a karate mom hauling her son to practices and tournaments.. She also has an addiction to anything MC related, puppies, and baking.
