Title: When in Rome
Author: C.J. Duggan
Publisher: Hachette Australia
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Date: November 26, 2017
Blurb
The fourth standalone novel in CJ Duggan's Heart of the City series from the internationally bestselling author of the Summer and Paradise series.
What's the saying again . . . when in Rome, do a Roman?
How did a self-orchestrated gap year turn into a less-than enthralling lifestyle as a couch potato at her parents' house? Determined to get motivated and join life again, Sammi Shorten books a budget Bellissimo Tour to Rome, the Eternal City. What she hadn't signed up for was being stuck with an eclectic group of binge-drinking foreigners in a bed-bug-infested hostel from hell. Things in Rome really couldn't get much worse . . . could they?
When plans go completely awry Sammi's left with only one place to turn, and it's the one place Sammi really doesn't want to turn â to the man who might very well get her into the worst trouble of all: the gorgeous local tour guide, Marcello Bambozzi.
When in Rome is the fourth standalone book in CJ Duggan's sassy, sexy new adult series, Heart of the City.
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Author Bio
CJ DUGGAN is the internationally bestselling author of over ten books. She lives with her husband in a rural border town of New South Wales. When she isn't writing books about swoony boys and 90s pop culture you will find her renovating her hundred-year-old Victorian homestead or annoying her local travel agent for a quote to escape the chaos.
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✸ ✸ ✸
Book #2 in the Seduced Series, Book #1 is ALSO FREE!
A temporary reunion...
Newly jobless and adrift, former investment banker Kerri Wilson travels to Virginia to see her best friend and regroup, only to run into billionaire playboy Ethan Lloyd. It's been years since she's snuck out of his bed after the most amazing sex of her life, and he's so not her type--she likes them tall, dark and manageable. But he's too hot to resist, and she succumbs to another sizzling, no-strings-attached (or so she thinks) night.
Unwilling to let her go this time, Ethan makes a simple proposition: a job, a place to stay, and an exclusive affair that will end when either of them finds someone else. But with her dark, painful past catching up to her, Kerri may have to bolt again--even though her heart is telling her to stay. And Ethan's not giving her up without fighting to make their "temporary" arrangement something far more permanent...
Previously published as Reunited in Love. ✸ ✸ ✸Taken by Her Unforgiving Billionaire BossSERIES NAME: Seduced by the Billionaire - Book 1Synopsis: Revenge is sweet... Self-made billionaire Alex Damon wants his pound of flesh from the people who ripped his family apart. When he discovers his enemies' daughter is working at his company--and most likely spying for them--he decides to start his revenge by seducing her. Natalie Hall is stunned at the personal interest from the CEO of her company. Vulnerable, with an already bruised heart, she wants to avoid any involvement--but she can't deny the desire he arouses in her. ...but love is sweeter... What should've been a straightforward eye-for-an-eye starts to unravel as Natalie's unflinching loyalty and kindness begin to thaw Alex's cold intent. But caring for her is unthinkable...since he plans to use everything in his power to ruin her family and everyone else she holds dear. Previously published as Carnal Secrets. ✸ ✸ ✸The Billionaire's Counterfeit GirlfriendSERIES NAME: The Pryce Family | Book 1Synopsis: Curvaceous beauty Hilary Rosenberg doesn't believe in love. She only goes out with nice guys who won't expect passionate romance--until a notorious womanizer demands she repay a favor with four weeks of counterfeit dates. Billionaire playboy Mark Pryce doesn't do relationships. In fact, he's never been with the same woman for more than three months. But when his matchmaking mother tries to sabotage his bachelorhood, he needs a stand-in girlfriend. Luckily, Hilary owes him big time. But as they start to spend more time together, he finds himself wanting to break his first rule: never get too close... Note: Previously published as Four Weeks Till Forever. ✸ ✸ ✸A Hollywood Deal (Ryder & Paige #1)SERIES NAME: Billionaires' Brides of Convenience | Book 1Synopsis: I'm used to cleaning up after my boss, Hollywood superstar and all-around bad boy Ryder Pryce-Reed. Nothing can shock me now--not the countless "humped and dumped" women or the wreckage left in the wake of his wild ways--until he asks me to marry him... ...for a year. He says it's strictly so he can claim his beloved grandfather's painting, but I know there's more. There's always more with Ryder. My instincts say no, but he's offering to take care of the baby in my womb. Since my self-centered ex isn't going to play the father, I say yes, while stealing my heart. I can't afford to fall for a man who only wants me for a year. But how can I resist the sexiest man alive when he turns on his formidable charm to give everyone a good show? And how does a simple girl like me deal with the spotlight as his fiancée...or the scandal that explodes in our faces? Note: This book contains a cliffhanger ending.
New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Nadia Lee writes sexy, emotional contemporary romance. Born with a love for excellent food, travel and adventure, she has lived in four different countries, kissed stingrays, been bitten by a shark, ridden an elephant and petted tigers. Currently, she shares a condo overlooking a small river and sakura trees in Japan with her husband and son. When she’s not writing, she can be found reading books by her favorite authors or planning another trip. Stay in touch with her via her website, http://www.nadialee.net, or her blog http://www.nadialee.net/blog/
✸ ✸ ✸Opposites attract...are you ready for the heat? Penalty Play by Jami Davenport releases on November 30th! Amazon → http://amzn.to/2jqVLRg Nook → http://bit.ly/2ueZ5Dh iBooks → http://apple.co/2u5uSq9 Kobo → http://bit.ly/2v9mYc5 Single dad and star defenseman Matt LaRue lives for his kids and hockey. He's had one failed marriage and doesn't have any interest in going through that hell again. As conservative as they come, he can't comprehend his unexplainable attraction to a free-spirited female who changes hair color more often than his boys create new excuses to avoid doing their homework. Violet Strider is fleeing the past. She has a new start, new identity, and is hiding a big secret. Matt and Vi are a classic case of opposites attract, but neither expects the attraction to extend beyond a few hot trysts, especially Vi. Only her heart isn't listening, and her head is following her heart down a path of no return. As Vi grows closer to Matt and his boys, she fears her secret could rip them apart. Relationships are built on trust, and Vi's house of cards is about to take a tumble. Can Vi confront her past and finally put it behind her, while earning Matt's forgiveness? ABOUT THE AUTHOR: USA Today Bestselling Author Jami Davenport writes sexy contemporary, sports, and new adult romances, including her two new indie endeavors: the Game On in Seattle series and the Men of Tyee series. Jami lives on a small farm near Puget Sound with her Green Beret-turned-plumber husband, a Newfoundland dog with a tennis-ball fetish, and a prince disguised as an orange tabby cat. She works in computer support in her day job and juggles too many balls, but she wouldn’t have it any other way. Connect with Jami! Subscribe to her newsletter to receive a free novel and be notified of new releases, special sales, and contests: http://eepurl.com/LpfaL Website Address: http://www.jamidavenport.com Twitter Address: @jamidavenport Facebook Address: http://www.facebook.com/jamidavenport Pinterest: http://pinterest.com/jamidavenport/ Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1637218.Jami_DavenportThe Chosen Knights
GIVEAWAY!
From New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Kendall Ryan comes a new story in her Room Mate series… I might be a typical guy, but these last few years, my love life’s been anything but. From crazy ex-girlfriends to one night stands who are stage-five clingers, my relationships go bad faster than the milk in your fridge. The only constant has been my best friend Maggie. Fresh off a bad breakup of her own, I invite Maggie to my guy’s skiing weekend knowing she needs an escape from reality. But then something funny starts to happen. I start noticing things about her that I never noticed before. She’s beautiful and doesn’t know it, she’s funny without even trying, and now she’s suddenly single for the first time in forever. Sharing a hotel room with her proves to be the tipping point in our very platonic friendship. Suddenly I want to put my hands, my mouth, and my ... other parts ... all over her gorgeous body. I want to claim her, make sure no man touches her ever again. But then her groveling ex shows up, and Maggie’s torn. Am I ready to screw up the best relationship I’ve ever had for a shot at something more?
**Every 1001 Dark Nights novella is a standalone story. For new readers, it’s an introduction to an author’s world. And for fans, it’s a bonus book in the author’s series. We hope you'll enjoy each one as much as we do.**
Amazon USEvery now and then, Sam would shoot me a sympathetic look, knowing that I had no idea what they were talking about, but in truth, their company was a welcome break. Between what the woman in the shop had said and the lady on the plane’s insinuation, my mind was going a mile a minute and I was beginning to look at Sam in a way I definitely shouldn’t be. Okay, so, yeah, he was sexy. That was a no-brainer. I shot him a furtive glance, taking in the corded muscles of his forearms and the lock of dark hair that constantly flopped onto his forehead. And sure, he was sweet and attentive. He looked after me and made sure I always had a fresh drink and that I wasn’t cold or hot. He held the door for me and pulled out my chair when we went to restaurants. Hell, he’d been looking forward to this trip for months and he’d sacrificed an entire day just to make sure I got here safe and didn’t spend my time sulking. Still, that didn’t mean he had feelings for me. He hadn’t argued when I’d mentioned us being like brother and sister or anything. No, this whole line of thinking was ludicrous. Sam was a good friend. That was all…wasn’t it? After all, Trevor had loved me once and he never did any of that. Admittedly, that wasn’t the best example, but it proved my point all the same. In Sam’s shoes, Trevor never would have missed the chance to hit the slopes with his friends. He hadn’t even skipped the business trip that fell on my twenty-fifth birthday years back. But Sam was there, my brain supplied helpfully. Again, not an indication that he had feelings for me. People were just different. Sam was one of the good ones. And if he liked me surely I’d have known by now. He’d have told me or…something. “Is that your phone?” Sam turned to me and I blinked, only realizing that I’d been so encompassed in my own thoughts that I’d totally zoned out. “What?” I asked, confused. “Don’t you hear that vibrating noise? I think it’s your phone.” I listened hard and then heard the low, gentle hum he was talking about. “Yep, probably you-know-who again.” I sighed, but fished the phone from my tiny handbag all the same on the off chance it was a family member with an emergency. It wasn’t Trevor, though. He had called—I had seven new missed messages from him since I’d left for the airport, but I also had three missed calls from my friend Deanna. I hadn’t spoken to her in more than two weeks because she’d been away on a long-awaited safari, but now more than ever I really needed to hear her voice.
A New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today bestselling author of more than two dozen titles, Kendall Ryan has sold over 1.5 million books and her books have been translated into several languages in countries around the world. She's a traditionally published author with Simon & Schuster and Harper Collins UK, as well as an independently published author. Since she first began self-publishing in 2012, she's appeared at #1 on Barnes & Noble and iBooks charts around the world. Her books have also appeared on the New York Times and USA Today bestseller lists more than three dozen times. Ryan has been featured in such publications as USA Today, Newsweek, and InTouch Magazine.
Visit her at: www.kendallryanbooks.com for the latest book news, and fun extras.
Exposure
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P.O.
Leo keeps pace with me as I round the house at a fast clip, headed for the woodshed and the parked Volvo fleet. He spreads his arms wide, breathing in the decisive nip in the late-morning air. I can see his breath fan out in front of me. “It’s Sunday.” “That’s a total non sequitur, man.” I give him a look that says poor sod, the gates are down and the lights are flashing but the train isn’t coming. “What’s that got to do with coffee and hurrying the hell up?” I roll my eyes behind his back before turning to Yann slouched against Leo’s car. “Zac and Magali left already?” I ask him accusingly, hands on my hips. Zac’s Jeep is nowhere to be seen. Great. Should have sent Yann to corral down Leo. I’d probably be sitting at the café by now. “They went ahead to get us a table for five,” Yann says distractedly, typing an entry into his phone’s agenda in all likelihood. He tosses it back into his messenger bag and tucks the strap over his chest before bending his tall frame, buckling up in the front passenger seat. “Awesome,” I grit through my teeth. Not only is Yann riding shotgun, but now I won’t even have a say in choosing tables, and odds are I won’t have a good enough, unobtrusive angle to spy on Aurèle. The corner of Leo’s mouth twitches as if a smile is trying to form, but he’s doing his best to suppress it. “Like I said, it’s Sunday.” He fucking starts singing, Don’t worry, be happy. If looks could kill, Leo would be dead by now. “Let’s get this show on the road,” I mutter sullenly. Opening the rear passenger door, I shove aside three bags of soil and an impressive number of brand-new seed trays—thank God for small favors or I would have been left holding Leo’s sprouts— buckle in, and slam it shut. “Chill, man,” Leo says, giving me an amused look in the rearview mirror as he cranks the engine. “I’ll make it quick and painless. Caffeine injection coming in ten.” “Make it five. You’re not the one who’ll be sitting next to him on the longest forty-nine minutes flight from Tremblant to Boston in recent history,” Yann says with a smirk in his voice. “I’d like to keep all of my fingers if you don’t mind.” “Hilarious,” I grumble. I may or may not have snapped shut the lid of his laptop over his hands to reach a cup offered to him by a stewardess on a long-ago flight from Zurich. In my defense, I’d been deprived of my elixir of choice for thirteen hours straight at the time, due to unforeseen delays and missed connections and nary a coffee shop opened in the dead of night. Very uncivilized. Them. Not me. I check my phone, but still no Harry. Bloody hell. I’m out the door before Leo even cuts the engine and take C’est la Vie’s stairs two at a time. My glance flits around the terrace, but I can’t readily spot any strawberry-blonde heads. Then again, everyone’s bundled up in heavy coats, wearing woolen hats and gloves. And everyone’s sitting outside, enjoying cups, nevertheless. I shake my head. Only in Les Laurentides would anyone take a sunny day as balmy weather. I spin in a slow circle searching. It’s the weekend, and with the weekly invasion of day-trippers and chalet owners, the place is more crowded than usual. Over the sea of heads, Magali waves me over before I can do a more thorough search. Unlike yesterday, Aurèle could be sitting inside like she did on Friday. Zac motions with his head for me to join them, brandishing a metal carafe like a prized possession. Giving him a disgusted look, I put my index finger in my open mouth, fake gagging. The whole point of being here is supposedly to savor one last cup of this particular café’s specialty espresso. I made such a fuss, I’m not about to ruin my perfectly good excuse with a regular-blend coffee industrially brewed. I thumb in the general direction of the front counter. He rolls his eyes and waves me off as Yann and Leo make their way over to them. A quick sweep through confirms that fuck, she’s not inside, either. I check my phone again while waiting for my order. Yes! Harry’s now connected to this WiFi, and she’s surfing the net. Where the hell are you, Aurèle? I’d like to ask but quickly type in one big-ass pop-up bloom, instead: Hi! Are you and Harry having a good time? I check out the terrace through the bay windows, looking for someone on a hot date with a computer. There is a god after all. I locate her four tables down in a straight line from ours, her back to us, facing the park. She wears an oversized black woolen hat pulled low over her ears and a glacier-blue fleece scarf wrapped a few times around her neck, but the long strands of hair escaping from underneath are definitely strawberry-blonde. And already, I breathe easier. I open our regular private chat window. I’m not out of nowhere. I’m from somewhere. Big difference. Clément hands over my alibi and I step out, cup in one hand, phone in the other, hard pressed not to detour and stare at her, face to face. Better the back of her head than nothing at all, I suppose. “Would one of you mind switching places?” I ask Magali and Zac, sitting side by side. That is, if we can call arms and other body parts all over each other sitting. I almost feel sorry. Almost. But not quite. Desperation will do that to me. Zac raises a brow in disbelief. “Why?” Bloody hell. Why, indeed. I’d scratch my jaw but my hands are full. “I’d like to face forward and drink in the view. You know, before I’m cooped up in a flying can of sardines hurtling through the sky at three hundred fifty kilometers per hour.” Brilliant, convincing, and somewhat truthful, if I do say so myself. “This should be interesting,” Leo mutters into his mug, and Yann’s green eyes widen behind his lenses. “Never bothered you before,” Zac argues, unmoving. “Sure,” Magali says, talking over him while trying to wiggle out from under his arm, but Zac keeps her firmly by his side, effectively putting a stop to her efforts. “You’re not going anywhere,” he says to her. “Don’t mind him. It’s just his caffeine withdrawal symptoms talking. Besides, his eyes are always glued to a screen anyway, so he can’t possibly miss any view.” Well, shit. He has a point. My eyes beseech Magali in a last-ditch effort. “But look at those sad puppy eyes,” Magali says, her head darting between the two of us. I knew she’d bite. She’s my new favorite person. Zac shoots me a glare all Theo-like over Magali’s head. Ask me if I care, I’m ready to beg if I have to. I stare, unflinching. Leo puffs out his cheeks in exasperation. “He’s been a pain in the arse all morning.” He rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. “Want mine?” he asks me pointedly from his perch at one end of the two little round bistro tables tucked together. Sandwiched as Leo is, in between three tables full, I won’t see a thing. “Nope. Same difference.” I slide my tiny cup of dark ambrosia onto the table and tip my chin towards Zac. “So?” “Here,” Yann offers them, getting up with alacrity before Zac can open his mouth and tell me to shove it where the sun never shines. “Take both our seats. Problem solved.” Magali beams a smile, pulling Zac up by the hand. “See? Everyone’s happy,” she says to him and he follows without a single complaint, shaking his head at her before dropping a kiss on her temple. I fist bump Yann before plopping down on the bistro chair vacated by Zac. “Thanks, man.” Yann snorts, pushing his tortoise-shell glasses up his nose. “No need. I should be the one thanking Zac.” “Really? If I didn’t mention today that you guys are weird, consider it done,” Magali deadpans. “And I owe you two a solid.” Yann salutes them with his cup. “Otherwise, I’d have been stuck on a regional flight from Hell with his grouchy arse.” “Nothing caffeine can’t cure.” Leo practically shoves my cup up under my nose. “Come on, man. Do us a solid and be done with it.” “Appreciate your concern.” I salute them before swallowing my first sip, smacking my lips to a chorus of relieved sighs. Go figure. But then again, my addiction has been such a catchall excuse, you won’t see me complaining. I stretch my legs out diagonal to the table, sighing contentedly, the view so much better from where I sit. Now if only Zac could move his newly appointed seat six inches or so to the left, it’d be a perfect one. As he’s whispering something in Magali’s ear with a wolfish grin tacked on his face, I wisely decide not to push the issue. I crane my neck to the side instead and take a discreet peek at Aurèle. Hunched over Harry, she’s totally focused on her screen, as usual, unaware of her surroundings. And to be perfectly honest, I love that, for now, I’m the only one seemingly having an in with her… I pick up my phone, a slow grin crawling up my face as I read her latest comment. I’ve been here for ages. Lost somewhere at the lab? “With a little help from my friends,” I mumble under my breath, totally ignoring Zac pointing out to Magali that, as predicted, I don’t give a shit about the view. Will wonders never cease? =) If not holed up in your lab, what are you up to on this lazy Sunday? Writing a letter, perhaps, like someone you know? Writing a letter… It explains her lateness in booting up Harry, my only direct link to her, but not the electrifying flood of warmth those three little words of hers light up in me. I swallow back the smile that threatens. Nope. Just chilling on a café’s terrace with some of my mates. I have abso-fucking-lutely no idea. Christ. That really makes me wish to be over there already, if only to stop fudging around the truth at the drop of a dime, giving me less rope to hang myself with. Not taking any chances, I open a browser to go check on the weather channel but it takes forever, the café’s internet slower than slow right fucking now. My phone, unfortunately, doesn’t pack Lucie’s giga power and Lucie, unfortunately, doesn’t do compact like my phone and had to stay put in the car. I curse under my breath as I stare at my frozen screen, my palms growing sweaty. I should be typing a fluid reply to this innocuous question, like I’d normally do if I were in Boston. “Hey, Yann? What’s the temp in Boston right now?” I ask him with some urgency, talking over their convo about Porter Airline and the fifteen-passenger regional jets used for our direct flight. “Overcast and a balmy twenty-two degrees Celsius, or seventy-one point six degrees Fahrenheit, with a sixteen percent probability of precipitation upon time of landing.” “Thanks, man. I owe you,” I say with heartfelt relief, my thumbs already flying over the keys. “Since when does he need reassuring?” Zac says, completely misreading the reason for my question, but I don’t look up, too busy typing my reply. “Since you’re not flying us back,” Yann deadpans. With that one, Yann singlehandedly launches a discussion they all get engrossed into without requiring any input from me. I owe him another one. At this rate, I’ll owe him a kidney by the time we land. Zac pilots his own twin-engine Piper Comanche, which is a pretty damn cool six-seater plane, and he used to fly us all over. But now, he’s more often than not talking house plans and home decor with Magali, both feet firmly on the ground. Twenty-two Celsius, Olivier?!! They’ve let you out of the lab on such a gorgeous day to boot!!!!!! Program not responding… Get out from behind your screen this instant and get back to your other friends. And whatever is your sujet de l’heure under discussion. Enjoy the tropics for me! Ctrl-Alt-Del. @ bientôt. Ctrl-Alt-Del? Shit. With her program not responding comment, using that chain of command means she’s forcing the program to close up, or in other words, she’s signing off. I type as fast as I can in case she disconnects completely. Don’t go yet. Truth? I’d rather chat with you. Thanks to three of my mates, you can now ask me anything about wood screws versus nails. Even things you never knew you wanted to know. Building a home… My mind goes a mile a minute in a quantum leap to next summer. And wood screws and nails no longer sound as boring as I wrote, all of a sudden. I sigh longingly, looking at the tip of Aurèle’s cute hat covered head over Zac’s shoulder. Sign me up on the Domesticated List, please. I sigh once more, deflating a bit. For now, I’ll have to be content to stay put on the Waiting List. See anything of interest?” Zac asks me drily. I jerk back, wrenching my attention from Aurèle. “Nope,” I’m quick to deny, straightening from my slump. “I just thought someone looked familiar, that’s all.” A rush of heat spreads like wildfire on my cheeks that the wind chaffing at my skin has nothing to do with. Great. Just great. Leo and Zac share a knowing look. Oh, joy. Here it comes. I fiddle with my cup and brace myself for a merciless ribbing that might even alert Aurèle. The guys can be kind of loud when it suits them. I should know. I’m one of them. Not to say, they’re not above walking up to her table to invite her over on my behalf, charmingly insistent. They’ve done it before. Bloody hell. “Wow. You normally would have flown them back to Boston if you weren’t on call today?” Magali asks Zac, distracting his enquiring gaze away from me, wanting to confirm whatever Yann said to her just now, saving me in the nick of time. There goes my other kidney. “We would have flown them back,” he says to her. One arm draped casually over the top of her mustard-yellow bistro chair, Zac crosses his ankles. “And that’s a big maybe. I want to be there for groundbreaking at the home site early tomorrow. Nice try, man.” He smirks at Yann over his mug, taking a sip of his no-frills, regular black coffee while the fingers of his other hand brush Magali’s arm in a slow back and forth, keeping her nestled to his side. Upon witnessing their quiet intimacy, another shit load of envy hits me in the chest. In that moment, it’s not so much that I want Aurèle to be mine but that I want to be hers. Leo arches a questioning brow at me that I ignore by fiddling some more with my cup, watching my coffee swirl. Don’t look at her. I will my eyes to stay focused on the rich, dark color of what’s left of my espresso. “You’re pulling the plug now that we’re used to being chauffeured around?” Yann grumbles to Zac. “Porter Airline has a direct flight from Tremblant to Boston, I’m sure you’ll recover well enough.” Zac rolls his eyes at Yann. My gaze keeps straying in Aurèle’s general direction as I listen absently to the guys. “Hell, I’ll drink to Porter,” Leo, our designated driver, says. “Saves me a trip to Montréal on the end of the weekend rush hour.” Leo and Magali clink their white and blue earthenware coffee mugs in complete accord. I’ve never been to Montréal yet, but according to them, pretty atrocious road conditions prevail in and around the city, so much so as to be the stuff of legends among the locals. I take another slow sip of coffee. My phone wiggles on the table, buzzing with an incoming reply. My chest pings right along, and a goofy grin spreads on my lips as I pick it up. Yann gives me a sidelong glance, quirking a surprised brow that says, who’s this guy? Can’t blame him. I usually scowl darkly and curse at my phone, in no hurry to pick it up. But then again, the only texts I get usually spell trouble with a capital T, or in my case, in binary codes gone haywire. When test running a program, the code that is hardest to debug is the code that you know cannot possibly be wrong and finding it fucking kills me every time. I put my phone back down, unwilling to give myself away by my eagerness. My fingers itch to unlock the screen, but I scratch my scruff instead, willing Yann’s attention away from me. Resist. Resist. Resist. I repeat like a mantra. “It’s really a neat city but you need to go there without a specific timetable, otherwise you’ll curse up and down,” Magali concurs with Leo. Fuck resistance. Resistance is futile. I nod in silent agreement like I know the fuck what they’re talking about, while discreetly sweeping my thumb over my screen, inching my phone away from the table and onto my thigh. I look down. “But, Yann, you really should come earlier next summer. The Montreal Jazz Fest starts at the end of June. You’d love it—” Are you guys optioning for a remake of the Three Little Pigs? I blame it on too much caffeine and not enough sleep, but I’m imagining them wearing pig suits and the resulting look on their faces. I slap my hand on the table, howling out an uncontainable bark of laughter loud enough that the conversation around me abruptly dies. I look up from my phone. All eyes are glued to mine. Busted. “Uh… Email. Inside joke,” I mumble. No one answers. I slam back the remains of my espresso for countenance. I sit still, committing to not touching my phone for the next five minutes. Or, at the very least, until enough time has passed for me to go get a legitimate refill without raising suspicion. But instead, I fumble with the damn thing, sending it into orbit. Thankfully, Magali catches my phone just before it hits the floor deck and crashes to its untimely death. I wipe my palms on my jeans before pocketing it with a sheepish look. “Good catch, thanks.” “You like her like her, don’t you?” Magali asks me knowingly. Is it that evident? “Who?” I ask warily. If my ears had warmed earlier, now they’re on fucking fire. She cups her hands over her mouth and stage whispers, “The girl behind me you keep peeking at.” Shit, guess it is. “No! Yes. Never mind.” I rub the back of my neck. Is the sun getting warmer? Zac checks behind his shoulder for the most likely suspect, making no bones about his intentions, and zeroes in on Aurèle right away. Great. I’m ready to jump him if he so much as moves a toe in her direction. “Go and say hi,” Magali encourages me. “No way.” I send her a quick, panicked look. Been there, done that. Anyway, if Aurèle gives me any real crumb of attention this time around, I think I’ll be jealous of myself; the one who’s here, not the one who’s in Boston. How fucked up is that? Worse yet, knowing me, it’s more than likely I’ll give myself away in five seconds flat by tripping all over my tongue, saying something I shouldn’t, letting on that I know more than I should. Might as well come out and be done with it. Hi, I’m Olivier. But hey, don’t mind me. I’m not really here. I’m in Boston right now having a private chat with you under—almost, but not quite—false pretenses. Yeah, like that would go over well. “Hey, maybe I know her. Do you want me to pass a note?” Magali says, her silver eyes flashing with a playful glint. The cold wind buffeting the terrace does nothing to cool down my flaming cheeks. Hoping to disappear from sight, I promptly pull my charcoal-grey beanie down so low it now hides half my face. “Shit,” I mutter, slouching low in my chair. “Magali, do you really know her?” I whisper anxiously.
GIVEAWAY! What happens when ten-foot-tall and bulletproof asks you to spend thirty days alone with him?
Tinsley Abernathy never thought she’d have to ask herself that question. And Ash Ford isn’t just any run-of-the-mill, drop-dead-gorgeous stranger, he’s the soldier she’s been exchanging letters with every week for the last three years. And now he’s back in town. And he’s ready to meet her.
After all, Ash has a proposition Tinsley would be crazy to refuse….
Warning: Ash is one sticky, sweet, military muscle-man in camo cargos. He’s set his sights on one woman only, and he won’t stop until her heart is Under Siege.
Aria Cole is a thirty-something housewife who once felt bad for reading dirty books late at night, until she decided to write her own. Possessive alpha men and the sassy heroines who love them are common, along with a healthy dose of irresistible insta-love and happily ever afters so sweet your teeth may ache. For a safe, off-the-charts HOT, and always HEA story that doesn't take a lifetime to read, get lost in an Aria Cole book! Follow Aria on Amazon for new release updates, or stalk her on Facebook and Twitter to see which daring book boyfriend she's writing next! Sign up to get a NEW RELEASE ALERT from me! http://eepurl.com/ccGnRX Right Gift. Wrong Day
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Title: Beg
Series: God of Rock #2
Author: Eden Butler
Genre: Erotic Romance
I am a liar. My words were poison and everything I touched got filthy. Except Iris.
She was the best part of who I was. The only bright spark in my dull, gray world.
But denial made me stupid and a cruel insult destroyed everything I hoped to have with the girl of my dreams.
Now I will crawl on my knees and grovel because sometimes, even rock Gods have to beg.
She was starlight, bright and brilliant and out of my fucking reach. There was a hardness to those beautiful features now, a glint of something distant I’d never be able to take from her face. Didn’t mean I wouldn’t try. “You good, mami?” The endearment bothered her, had Iris jerking a glare my way and I couldn’t decide if I loved or hated it. “Don’t.” It was all she said, all that seemed able to move beyond the anger and bitterness that had tightened the muscles around her mouth. I did that. I’d caused all that rage, all that venom. I should take it for the medicine it was; gulp it down because I deserved it. But Iris was my past, the sweetest and best part of who I hoped like hell I could be again. More than that, she was my end game, my forever more. I’d do anything to have her back, anything at all to deserve her again. I took two steps—slow, careful, like she was a landmine easily triggered by the wrong words, the wrong look from me. The closer I came, the straighter her back went and I knew not to push. She hated me and I understood why. I got that I’d done something unforgiveable. “If saying sorry was enough, it’d be the first thing I’d utter every time I opened my mouth.” She kept silent, staring straight ahead, watching the nurses shuffle around their reception area, thumbing through files, answering phones. I could only watch her, profile sharp, face tense, but none of that lessened that beautiful lines of her face or the sweet swell of precise features that gave her the look of a statue—something formed with love and care, something far too beautiful for this ugly world. Blinking brought images straight to my mind of Iris and me, her laughter, her smile and how many times I’d put it there; how often it was my words, my music, my jokes that kept her face lit up and sweet. But that had been a long damn time ago and I hadn’t been the cause of anything remotely similar to those expressions. “Sorry means nothing,” she started, focus still on the movement of activity around us. “Especially when it comes alone.” “Alone?” She nodded once and her voice was tight, the inflection shaking with what felt like anger to me. “Words are just words, sounds and syllables that fade to nothing. Actions. Deeds. Those are the things that matter.” “Tell me what to do,” I said, moving closer than I should have, making Iris step away from me. “Please.” Iris inhaled, wetting her lips with her tongue before she shot one sharp, furious glare at me. “Forget you know me and for God’s sake, Jamie, leave me the hell alone.” The click of her boots sounded like slaps against my face as she moved down the hallway, further and further away, and I fought the urge to chase after her. Her hair was longer now, sliding against her back, grazing her waist as she moved. I wanted to tangle all that hair between my fingers. I wanted to know if that honeysuckle scent still hung in her hair. “Sorry,” I told her, knowing she was too far away to hear me. “You can’t forget the only good you’ve ever known, mami.” I walked forward, scrubbing my face as I watched her. “Forgetting you is that last thing I’ll do.”
Eden Butler is an editor and writer of Mystery, Suspense and Contemporary Romance novels and the nine-times great-granddaughter of an honest-to-God English pirate. This could explain her affinity for rule breaking and rum.
When she’s not writing or wondering about her possibly Jack Sparrowesque ancestor, Eden patiently waits for her Hogwarts letter, edits, reads and spends way too much time watching rugby, Doctor Who and New Orleans Saints football.
She is currently living under teenage rule alongside her husband in southeast Louisiana.
Please send help.
Bodyguard, the highly anticipated new standalone from New York Times bestselling author CD Reiss is available NOW!Bodyguard by CD ReissRelease Date: November 14th, 2017Genre: Contemporary Romance
Protecting a celebrity in Hollywood isn’t easy, but protecting Emily could break his heart. As a world-class dancer at the height of her career, Emily enjoys all the perks of fame—the parties, the glamour, the tours—but they’ve also attracted the attention of a dangerous ex-boyfriend hell-bent on getting her back. Enter Carter Kincaid, a bodyguard so crushingly sexy he takes her breath away. Carter’s the best in the business, and Emily is—professionally speaking—off-limits. But when it comes to stirring his desires, she’s making all the right moves. What’s happening between them is so hot it could get both of them burned. As Emily’s past gets closer, Carter is willing to break every rule of the job to save her. But letting Emily into his life also means letting her in on the secrets of his own past. For these two, falling in love could be the greatest risk of all. Excerpt:"Are we going to have another 'about last night' conversation?" I asked. "If you want to." What did I want to say? Everything. but mostly, I wanted to tell him how much I liked kissing him and how conflicted I was. I wanted to demand answers immediately and give him space at the same time. All the words tried to jump forward, but when he stopped at a light, our eyes met in the rearview. The words landed in a tangle, unsaid. He tapped the steering wheel when he turned it, using both hands for the first time since I'd gotten in. "Hey," I said. "Yeah?" He briefly looked at me in the mirror. "What happened to your hand?" "Burn." he brushed his left hand over the bandage at the top of his palm, right where you'd burn it if you were picking up a hot pot handle. He caught my eye in the rearview again. I didn't know if I believed him. "What were you cooking?" "Breakfast." "And you still went to get a Danish?" He rubbed his upper lip with his left hand and tapped the wheel with the bandaged one. "I burned my eggs." Right. Hot pot. Burned hand. Smoke-filled kitchen. "You know what's funny?" I said. "The Three Stooges." "I don't know anything about you. You could live in your mother's basement." "That's just where I bury the bodies." Blatant avoidance. It had been cute before; now it was getting on my nerves. "Are you married?" "No!" He could have been lying, buy lying liars always lied. There wasn't a thing I could do about that except make sure I asked. Something was wrong. We'd kissed twice, and twice he'd shut down. I should have been the one shutting down. I was the one with all the ex-boyfriend baggage. Why was I the one who was always so willing? But there he was in the front seat, driving with both hands on the wheel, glancing at me once in a while to make sure I wasn't choking on my tongue in the back seat. Discomfort radiated out of him. Here I was with my hands in my lap thinking about ways to kiss him again. He pulled into the little lot and wedged into a space. He turned off the car, popped his seat belt, and stared at the wheel for a split second too long. I was about to open the car door myself when he turned all the way around, arm over the back of his seat, bandaged hand on the back of the passenger side. "Kissing you..." He stopped and looked at my lips so intensely I folded them back and bit them. "You're dangerous. I can't even see your lips, but I can taste them. I couldn't brush the taste of you out of my mouth this morning. Right now. The honey. I can taste it but not enough. I want to kiss you again, and I can't. I lose my shit around you. I can't do it. My job is control. Do you understand what I'm saying?" My jaw loosened, and I let my lips go. "No, I don't. I've met bodyguards before. You're a stoic bunch, but you're not all celibate. And if you think this is easy for me, you're wrong. I'm afraid too. I'm afraid you're going to get hurt because of me. last night..." I put my fingertips to my lips as if that would keep the choking sob from coming. I kept it back. "Last night he showed me he's back, and if he'll hurt me, he'll hurt you." If I thought seats would be a barrier between us, I was wrong. He launched himself between them and placed his lips on mine. Our third kiss was unexpected, uncomfortable with him stretched between front and back. I wove my fingers in his hair, giving him my mouth, and taking his. I wanted that kiss to tell him it was all right. He could lose control. He could bemore than a protector. He was as safe with me as I was with him. But I couldn't without lying to both of us. He yanked his lips away. "Trust me." He leaned his forehead against mine.
Read today!Amazon US: http://amzn.to/2v4xNyS Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/2hOkbnl Amazon CA: http://amzn.to/2xiyS3Z Amazon AU: http://amzn.to/2ko5rwh Add to GoodReads: http://bit.ly/2viKciZ Start the Series of Standalones Today!Bombshell (Free in Kindle Unlimited) Amazon US: http://amzn.to/2yZp4Oc Amazon Print: http://amzn.to/2xhwnUq Audible: http://amzn.to/2xgCNDb Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/2fLLBWI Amazon CA: http://amzn.to/2fL7t4c Amazon AU: http://amzn.to/2y21FxD Add to GoodReads: http://bit.ly/2j4VfUW About the AuthorCD Reiss is a New York Times bestseller. She still has to chop wood and carry water, which was buried in the fine print. Her lawyer is working it out with God but in the meantime, if you call and she doesn't pick up she's at the well hauling buckets.Born in New York City, she moved to Hollywood, California to get her master's degree in screenwriting from USC. In case you want to know, that went nowhere but it did give her a big enough ego to write novels. She's frequently referred to as the Shakespeare of Smut which is flattering but hasn't ever gotten her out of chopping that cord of wood. If you meet her in person, you should call her Christine.
Connect with CD Reiss:Amazon: http://amzn.to/2iwpkPQ Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/CDReiss.writer/ Twitter: https://twitter.com/cdreisswriterInstagram: https://instagram.com/cdreiss/Website: www.cdreiss.comNewsletter: https://cdreiss.com/cd-reiss-mailing-list-signup/ |