Reborn Yesterday, an all-new sexy and laugh-out-loud paranormal romance from New York Times bestselling author Tessa Bailey, is out now.
It was a night like any other for funeral home director Ginny Lynn, until the exceptionally handsome—and unfortunately deceased—young man on her embalming table sat up, opened his emerald eyes and changed the course of her life forever, making her feel quite fluttery while he was at it.
Humans aren’t supposed to know Jonas Cantrell, or any vampire, exists. It’s kind of a major rule. Despite his instantaneous bond with perfectly peculiar Ginny, he has no choice but to erase her memories of their one and only meeting.
That was the plan. Before a reluctant Jonas can wipe Ginny’s mind clean, she reveals a secret that brings their worlds crashing together. Human and vampire. Past and present. Darkness and light. And while their love is strictly forbidden, it might be the only thing that can save them…
Do people say they hate someone’s guts so that they can still fall stupidly, head-over-heels in love with the other parts?
Asking for a friend.
Taming Hollywood’s Baddest Boy, an all-new laugh-out-loud standalone romantic comedy from New York Times bestselling author Max Monroe, is available now!
Okay, fine. I’m not asking for a friend.
I’m asking for me—and I’m begging you to tell me that the practice of falling in love with your should-be-enemy is common.
Please tell me that I’m not the only person to track down a guy—who used to be Hollywood’s baddest bad boy before he left LA for good—at his off-the-grid cabin in Alaska, show up unannounced, and find him gloriously naked.
This probably happens all the time…right?
Tell me I’m not alone in my stupidity—that I’m not the only woman who would fall for gorgeous blue eyes and a sexy devilish smirk, even if they belong to a broody, mysterious jerk.
Please. Please. Please. Tell me I’m not alone in this.
For the love of everything, I need all the supportive girl power I can get if I’m going to convince Luca Weaver to come back to Hollywood—otherwise known as the place he hates so much that he ghosted Oscar-level success and escaped to no-man’s-land for the last eight years just to avoid it.
Yeah, don’t worry—that smoke you’re smelling isn’t your house catching fire as you read this…it’s just my career and what was previously known as my heart going up in flames.
Gah. Is it just me, or am I totally, completely, and utterly screwed?
Download your copy today or read FREE in Kindle Unlimited!
Naked lumberjacks are all the rage. Or is it that they’re full of rage?
I’m not entirely sure, but I think maybe, just maybe, it’s a little bit of both.
Standing beside a hot tub outside of a rustic Alaskan cabin is a bare-chested, handsome-as-hell lumberjack of a man, and he is as naked as the day he was born.
“Who the fuck are you, and what the fuck are you doing here?” the big, burly man with a scruffy beard and piercing blue eyes asks me brusquely.
And holy hell, what a question that is.
I started this journey in a meeting in LA, promising my boss the world, continued it with a plane, a car, a hike and kayaking adventure in a cold, rainy Alaskan setting, and in a highly unanticipated twist, I’m ending it in what must be an issue of Playgirl magazine come to life.
And boy oh boy is the centerfold pissed…
“Hello?” he questions harshly. “I said, who the hell are you?”
As hard as it is, given his clothes-less state, I force myself to take a good, scrutinizing look at the rest of his face. I’m here for a reason, and with nothing more than a ramshackle convenience store owner named Earl’s vague instructions to go on, I can only hope that the here I’m at is the here I’ve spent days in a plane, car, and kayak looking for. In addition to a remarkably carved line on the inside of each hipbone, the angry man standing boldly above me has a strong jaw covered by a beard, a little scar above his right eye, miles of muscular, tanned skin, and messy, light-brown hair. I have to look a little closer to confirm my conclusion through the rolling waves of distrust and hatred coming off him, but when I focus hard enough, the star-quality glimmer in his eyes is undeniable.
For the love of pancakes at a Sunday morning breakfast, it’s really him.
Luca Weaver, Hollywood’s former baddest boy—the man I’ve nearly killed myself to find—is right in front of me, and he is naked.
At my non-answer, his jaw turns to stone. “I asked you a question. Either answer it or get fucking moving.” I jolt at the rumble of his voice, but my feet do nothing to take me in any direction. I am rooted to the spot, utterly awed over the fact that I’ve actually managed something as impossible as finding Luca Weaver and all of my normal functions are rendered useless. He scowls, unimpressed with all the hard work I’ve put in—work that he obviously doesn’t know about. “You have five seconds before I come back out here with my shotgun.”
“Uh…” I fumble, trying like hell to grasp the English language once again. I may be distracted, but on some level, I understand the importance of getting my shit together enough to at least prevent a shotgun from joining our little meet-and-greet.
But my brain is bus-y. And slow.
Because Luca Weaver looks damn good without any clothes.
Eight years older since the last time he graced the covers of Hollywood gossip magazines, Luca is a man to whom time has been seriously kind. Either his genetics are just that good, or there’s some kind of sexy voodoo in the Alaskan water.
I mean…his penis is right in front of me, and I can’t find a single thing wrong with it. It’s straight and veiny and perfectly pink.
“What’s the matter with you? You have a death wish or something?” he spits at the statue formerly known as my body. “This is private property.”
His words are serious and firm, and it seems that maybe I do have a dream that’s reminiscent of the movie Fargo—fingers crossed there are no wood chippers nearby. Because for as much as I try, I can’t stop looking at my new phallic friend, even to form a few simple words.
But, come on. Luca Weaver’s freaking dick is right there!
It’s not hard, but still, it’s…big—so big it’s not even a dick.
It’s a Richard. Sir Richard.
King Richard, really.
Shit, I’m in the presence of penis royalty, and I suddenly have the urge to curtsy.
He is a lumberjack fantasy come to life. Instantly, my brain starts thinking about pine-scented flannel and chopping wood and giving a blow job… Wait…what?
Stop being a moron and speak words!
“Uh…so…you’re…naked.” Oh god, those aren’t the right words!
He glances down, mutters something to himself, snags a towel from a few feet away, and wraps it around his waist. “I didn’t invite you here,” he says, his voice gritty with irritation—and maybe, a little with disuse. Which would make sense. It’s taken me an entire season of Running Wild with Bear Grylls to get here. I can’t imagine he’s having book clubs and dinner parties and gabbing with his pals on the regular.
Towel adjusted and glorious goods hidden from view, he studies me with frigid blue eyes and a glare worthy of a scorned woman. I shiver.
“I’m only going to ask you one more time. What in the hell are you doing here?”
I fiddle with the edges of my shirt as I finally find my vocal cords. “I’m Billie…Billie Harris.”
And I am in way over my head.
About Max Monroe
A duo of romance authors team up under the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling pseudonym Max Monroe to bring you sexy, laugh-out-loud reads.
Max Monroe is the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author of more than ten contemporary romance titles. Favorite writing partners and long time friends, Max and Monroe strive to live and write all the fun, sexy swoon so often missing from their Facebook newsfeed. Sarcastic by nature, their two writing souls feel like they’ve found their other half. This is their most favorite adventure thus far.
The Trade is now available! Meghan Quinn returns us to the world of sports in this brand new, standalone book.
Blurb:
Can you pinpoint a time in your life where you realized you are completely and utterly screwed?
I can. I got the dreaded phone call, the one every baseball player hopes and prays never comes.
I was traded. Yeah, that phone call.
Traded from my long time team of over ten years. And not just to any team, but my childhood rivals; the Chicago Rebels.
Completely and utterly screwed, right? Wrong. The trade was the least of my concerns.
I met a girl. Natalie. Man, she’s perfect.
I swore I would never get involved with anyone during the season. Too complicated. But can you believe I have zero restraint when it comes to this girl? I couldn’t get her out of my head and the more I talked to her, the more I realized I needed her in my life.
So what’s the problem? Why am I screwed? Because, Natalie, the girl I can’t stop crushing on, yeah . . . she’s married.
At least, that’s what I was told . . .
CORY
I’m fucked.
I’m sure you hear that all the time, so the term has lost its impact.
I ran out of sugar for my cookie batter . . . I’m fucked.
Forgot my phone in my car . . . I’m fucked.
Saw my neighbor’s old-man balls . . . I’m fucked for life.
I can guarantee you right now, this is nothing compared to old-man balls and cookies.
This is way worse.
This defines the term, I’m fucked.
What is it you ask?
It happened after one of the worst baseball seasons of my life. Traded halfway through the season to the team I’d hated my entire life, I was drowning in the constant media attention, persecuting me for the pass off for my multi-million-dollar contract.
“We want to win,” the Rebels said. “We can do that with Cory Potter wearing black and red.” And just like that, the team I’ve been playing for my entire professional career up and traded me to unload my hefty salary to develop new up-and-comers from the farm system.
The Rebels.
I’m a fucking Chicago Rebel. Words I never thought I’d say, especially growing up as a Chicago Bobcats fan, the rival team to the Rebels. Not just rival, but enemies. The teams themselves don’t get along, the fans hate each other, and Chicago is divided for a good portion of the year when the stadium lights are on.
But here I am, my name attached to the biggest trade in sports history.
A ballsy move.
An upset to Baltimore.
A baseball anomaly: All-American turned Rebel.
I’ve heard it all, I’ve seen it all, and no matter what’s splashed across the headlines, it doesn’t deviate from the fact that my long-time team decided to part ways with me midseason.
Mid-fucking-season.
After fourteen years, I packed up everything and moved back to Chicago.
But even that’s not why I’m fucked; it’s just the start of it.
The beginning of the end.
Dramatic? Maybe.
But if you were in my shoes, you’d be thinking the same thing.
After not even coming close to getting into the playoffs, the season ended, I was booed off the field because that’s how Rebels fans are—you don’t perform, they hate you—and I sequestered myself to my practically empty and cold apartment.
After a week of binge-eating deep-dish pizza and watching every prison documentary on Netflix, my sister finally dragged me out of my apartment, forcing me to attend a Bobbies playoff game with her so we could cheer on my brother-in-law. Her husband.
Seeing a Rebels player cheering on a Bobbies player plastered all over the news went over just as well as a grandma telling her grandson her favorite pastime is cock-tickling.
Not well.
But still . . . not the reason I’m fucked.
This is beyond worse than that.
During that game, I got the talk. Not the birds and bees, but the talk from a concerned sister about my lack of social life.
You really should get out more.
I know some single moms who are really nice.
Maybe a dating app might be fun. Girls would be ecstatic to match with the one and only Cory Potter.
I don’t want you dying alone.
That last one was a real kicker.
Dying alone. I’m fucking thirty-five and she has me with one toe in my grave.
The way I see it is, if you don’t meet your girl in college or high school, you’re sure as shit not going to meet her while playing professional baseball. Not when the schedule is obscenely busy and long, and not when you’re known for one thing in your city: making a shitload of money for playing a sport.
It’s almost impossible to find genuine relationships when you have this level of fame.
So I’ve resolved to waiting until after I retire to fall in love.
That doesn’t mean I’ve been celibate, I’m a man after all—a man with a shitload of adrenaline pumping through him on a daily basis. I’ve had my fair share of one-night stands with women, and a few on a solid repeat with zero expectations. Every woman I’ve bedded I’ve treated with respect, and I’ve been honest with them, because if anything, I’m a genuinely nice guy who doesn’t ever want to make someone feel bad.
Ask anyone who knows me, I’m the nice guy, the dependable guy, the leader with a heart.
I don’t screw women over, ever.
Are you thinking one of those one-night stands turned into an “accident”? Is that the reason I’m fucked? Got a girl I don’t know pregnant?
Nope, not that either.
But the conversation I had with Milly pushed me to a new way of thinking.
I don’t want you dying alone.
She made me fucking paranoid.
Was I really going to die alone?
Were my good years behind me and now I’m old meat on the market?
Should I be trying to find love in the midst of the craziness of my life?
Milly made me think, which then made me open up to the idea of finding someone, of looking at women differently, of allowing the relationship part of my brain to turn on.
So instead of ignoring every woman that has relationship potential I’d possibly look for, I turned off my blinders and started looking for them.
But I didn’t come close to meeting anyone that remotely fit the box of someone I’d consider going out on a date with. That was until I attended a certain charity event.
I saw her from across the room. Her smile was what caught my eye, then it was the way she laughed and held on to her brother’s hand, her brother who had cerebral palsy.
It was the way she’d lean into him, hold him, as if he was the most wonderful human she’d ever met.
The fact that she was absolutely breathtaking with piercing blue eyes had nothing to do with it.
It was her infectious laughter.
Her kind heart.
Her dedication to her family.
In a matter of seconds, I wanted to know her, wanted to find out her name, wanted to be in her orbit. Wanted to be a recipient of her warmth and affection.
I watched her from across the room, how she interacted with every person who came up to her, and when I was finally granted the opportunity to introduce myself, my breath caught in my throat when our hands connected. I felt my heart slam against the cage in my chest. And I knew, in that moment, with our hands mid shake, my life would never be the same.
Her name is Natalie.
Sister to my new teammate Jason Orson and his twin brother Joseph.
Director of Jason’s foundation, The Lineup.
And the reason why I’m utterly fucked.
Because while I started to grow attached to this magnetic and beautiful woman, when I told my sister about her, she informed me there was a ring on Natalie’s finger.
A ring that didn’t belong to me.
Hope plummeted in the matter of seconds as I felt the color from my besotted face drain into a puddle of remorse.
She was married.
She is fucking married.
See? Totally fucked.
I’ve been crushing so hard, because even a month later, I still think about her. I can still hear her laugh, see her smile, feel her hand in mine.
I want her.
Fucking bad.
They say time will heal all wounds, well for me, the more time passes, the more my wound is exposed and tormented.
Cory Potter is crushing on a married woman . . .
That is why I am completely and utterly . . . fucked.
About the Author:
USA Today Bestselling Author, wife, adoptive mother, and peanut butter lover. Author of romantic comedies and contemporary romance, Meghan Quinn brings readers the perfect combination of heart, humor, and heat in every book.
Do people say they hate someone’s guts so that they can still fall stupidly, head-over-heels in love with the other parts?
Asking for a friend.
Taming Hollywood’s Baddest Boy, an all-new hilarious enemies to lovers standalone from New York Times bestselling author Max Monroe, is available now!
Okay, fine. I’m not asking for a friend.
I’m asking for me—and I’m begging you to tell me that the practice of falling in love with your should-be-enemy is common.
Please tell me that I’m not the only person to track down a guy—who used to be Hollywood’s baddest bad boy before he left LA for good—at his off-the-grid cabin in Alaska, show up unannounced, and find him gloriously naked.
This probably happens all the time…right?
Tell me I’m not alone in my stupidity—that I’m not the only woman who would fall for gorgeous blue eyes and a sexy devilish smirk, even if they belong to a broody, mysterious jerk.
Please. Please. Please. Tell me I’m not alone in this.
For the love of everything, I need all the supportive girl power I can get if I’m going to convince Luca Weaver to come back to Hollywood—otherwise known as the place he hates so much that he ghosted Oscar-level success and escaped to no-man’s-land for the last eight years just to avoid it.
Yeah, don’t worry—that smoke you’re smelling isn’t your house catching fire as you read this…it’s just my career and what was previously known as my heart going up in flames.
Gah. Is it just me, or am I totally, completely, and utterly screwed?
Download your copy today for only 99¢ or read FREE in Kindle Unlimited!
A duo of romance authors team up under the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling pseudonym Max Monroe to bring you sexy, laugh-out-loud reads.
Max Monroe is the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author of more than ten contemporary romance titles. Favorite writing partners and long time friends, Max and Monroe strive to live and write all the fun, sexy swoon so often missing from their Facebook newsfeed. Sarcastic by nature, their two writing souls feel like they’ve found their other half. This is their most favorite adventure thus far.
The One That Got Away, a second chance standalone contemporary romance by New York Times bestselling author Karina Halle is coming April 2, 2020!
Blurb:
Ruby Turner was never meant to be mine.
When I first met her, she was a fresh, young, American sports journalist trying to find her footing in a new life abroad. She was the one interviewing me for an article, yet I wanted to know more about her. She captivated me.
But she went home with Marco that night.
My agent.
My brother.
And I did what I could to pretend I was fine with it.
After all, I’m Luciano Ribeiro. As the captain of Real Madrid, and Portugal’s National Team, it’s my job to be cool, calm, and collected, not easily rattled.
Only what I felt for Ruby over time, shook me to my very core.
It made me do things I never imagined I would do.
It started with a stolen kiss in the middle of the night.
It led to a passionate tryst.
It created a burden of guilt that I had to carry, as Ruby came in and out of my life until she left for good, leaving her mark on me.
Now, seven years later, she’s back.
She was the one that got away.
I don’t think I’ll let her go this time.
But I might not have a choice.
Because my heart still belongs to her.
And her heart might belong to my brother.
Coming Soon to order your copy or read FREE in Kindle Unlimited!
Karina Halle is a former travel writer, music journalist & screenwriter, and The New York Times, Wall Street Journal & USA Today Bestselling author of over 55 bestselling novels, ranging from horror and suspense to contemporary romance. She lives on an island off the coast of British Columbia with her husband, and her adopted pitbull Bruce, where she drinks a lot of wine, hikes a lot of trails and devours a lot of books.
Halle is represented by the Root Literary Agency and is both self-published and published by Simon & Schuster, Hachette & Montlake. Her work has been translated and published in 20 languages.
Hit her up on Instagram at @authorHalle, on Twitter at @MetalBlonde and on Facebook. You can also visit www.authorkarinahalle.com and sign up for the newsletter for news, excerpts, previews, private book signing sales and more.
Can you pinpoint a time in your life where you realized you are completely and utterly screwed?
I can. I got the dreaded phone call, the one every baseball player hopes and prays never comes.
I was traded. Yeah, that phone call. Traded from my long time team of over ten years. And not just to any team, but my childhood rivals; the Chicago Rebels.
Completely and utterly screwed, right? Wrong. The trade was the least of my concerns.
I met a girl. Natalie. Man, she’s perfect.
I swore I would never get involved with anyone during the season. Too complicated. But can you believe I have zero restraint when it comes to this girl? I couldn’t get her out of my head and the more I talked to her, the more I realized I needed her in my life.
So what’s the problem? Why am I screwed? Because, Natalie, the girl I can’t stop crushing on,
yeah . . . she’s married. At least, that’s what I was told . . .
THE TRADE RELEASES MARCH 12TH!
Add to your Goodreads TBR: https://bit.ly/2Pn6QjR Pre order your copy here: mybook.to/THETRADE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
USA Today Bestselling Author, wife, adoptive mother, and peanut butter lover. Author of romantic comedies and contemporary romance, Meghan Quinn brings readers the perfect combination of heart, humor, and heat
Rock Bottom, a standalone romance in the Dawson Family Series featuring Dean Dawson by New York Times & USA Today bestselling author Emily Goodwin, is LIVE!
My Take:
I was so happy to see we were getting more of the Dawson family, especially a chance at redemption for Dean. He was kind of a butt in the previous books, unhappy marriage aside.
Reeling from his divorce, Dean has no interest in love. Been there, done that, got a divorce. He’s only interested in hooking up- feelings need not apply. Rory was all that I hoped for: strong, weird, nice. After losing her job, her boyfriend, and her apartment in one day, she had officially hit rock bottom. A chance at a better job in a new town was exactly the fresh start she needed. Dean and Rory meet in what is supposed to be a one night stand, but their paths seem determined to cross. The sparks between them are immense, and they really enjoy spending time together. Can Dean overcome his past and learn to love again?
I really enjoyed the book, especially seeing the Dawson gang again. Quinn is a favorite of mine, and I love all those Dawson boys. I was glad to see Dean get his HEA and sad the series has come to an end (again). I do think this story is definitely for fans of the series, I wouldn’t start with this one.
Blurb: Rory’s life is a mess. After getting dumped by her boyfriend, let go from her job, and losing her apartment, she takes a chance on a new job in a new town. Things can’t get any worse, right?
Wrong.
When the foundation of Dean Dawson’s life crumbles to pieces at his feet, he swears off relationships of any kind and goes back to a life of bachelorhood, loving and leaving different women every night.
After dodging what could possibly be the world’s worst blind date, Rory finds herself face to face with Dean—a temptation she knows she should avoid. It’s just one night, and there’s no harm in having a little fun.
Wrong again.
They say when you hit rock bottom the only way to go is up, but nothing is ever that simple.
“Must be nice to have family members who own a bar and a bakery.” I inch a little closer. “My brother owns his own vet clinic. I get a family discount on wormer.”
Dean laughs, and it rumbles right through me. I don’t think I’ve ever heard a laugh I can describe as sexy before, but everything about this man is turning me on.
“It is nice getting free food and drinks.”
“I bet. Though I’d probably weigh five hundred pounds after a month of all that free food.”
Dean grabs a menu and hands it to me. “The house pretzel with cheese is better than the fries.”
“That does sound good. It’s not too late to order food?”
He shakes his head. “The kitchen is open until ten.”
“Good. I feel bad when it’s way too close to closing time.”
“That’s very considerate of you.”
“I worked in retail in college.” I give the menu one more glance and decide on the soft pretzel and cheese. “It was irritating when people came in right before closing.”
“I try not to go anywhere if it’s within fifteen minutes of closing, unless it’s my sister-in-law’s bakery. Then I’ll go in a minute before and order whatever takes the longest to make.”
I laugh and meet his eyes, feeling another rush of heat go through me.
“I’m kidding,” he says. “And she’d probably tell me to get the fuck out anyway.”
“Oh, I would too.”
“So…where did you go to college?”
Shit. I have no idea of the names of any Canadian colleges. “The, uh, Central University of…of…” Canada is divided into territories, right? “…of the Northern Territory.”
“Never heard of it,” he says right as I realize my so-called college would be abbreviated to CUNT.
Oh my fucking gosh. If I were to drop dead right now, the universe would probably be doing me a favor.
“It’s a small school. Private too. And girls only.” Just pick up the shovel, Rory, you’re doing a good job digging yourself a hole to crawl in. “Do you come here often?” I blurt, needing to change the subject.
“If I say yes it makes me sound pathetic, but since my brothers own the place, we all come here to hang out.”
I smile. “It’s nice you like being with your brothers.”
“They can be assholes, but for the most part, they’re good guys,” he laughs. “And the free food and drinks don’t hurt.”
I feel my phone vibrating with a text. “Excuse me,” I say as I dig it out of my little purse. It’s Lennon, reminding me not to leave my drink on the bar when I turn away.
“That wouldn’t be your boyfriend, would it?” Dean asks, doing a good job of looking not too interested as he makes sure I’m single.
“No, it’s my cousin.” I quickly reply that I’m always careful and put my phone back done. “And I’m guessing you don’t have one either?”
“A boyfriend?” Dean gives me a smartass smirk. “Not at the moment.” He finishes his drink and moves his stool a little closer when a new song comes on, base loudly thumping around us.
About Emily:
Emily Goodwin is the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author of over a dozen of romantic titles. Emily writes the kind of books she likes to read, and is a sucker for a swoon-worthy bad boy and happily ever afters.
She lives in the midwest with her husband and two daughters. When she’s not writing, you can find her riding her horses, hiking, reading, or drinking wine with friends.
Emily is represented by Julie Gwinn of the Seymour Agency.
From the internationally best-selling author of The Simple Wild comes the continuation of a woman’s journey to Alaska and a life she never imagined for herself.
Wild at Heart, book two in the Simple Wild series by USA Today bestselling author, K.A. Tucker, is live!
Calla Fletcher returns to Toronto a different person, struggling to find direction and still very much in love with the rugged bush pilot she left behind. When Jonah arrives on her doorstep with a proposition she can’t dismiss, she takes the leap and rushes back to Alaska to begin their exciting future together.
But Calla soon learns that even the best intentions can lead to broken promises, and that compromise comes with a hefty price—a log cabin in interior rural Alaska that feels as isolating as the western tundra.
With Jonah gone more than he’s home, one neighbor who insists on transforming her into a true Alaskan, and another who seems more likely to shoot her than come to her aid, Calla grapples with forging her own path. In a world with roaming wildlife that has her constantly watching over her shoulder and harsh conditions that stretch far beyond the cold, dark, winter months, just stepping outside her front door can be daunting.
This is not the future Calla had in mind, leaving her to fear that perhaps she is doomed to follow in her mother’s fleeing footsteps after all.
I can’t manage words around the flaring lump in my throat, and so I simply nod. The past four days with Jonah in Toronto have been a blur. A bliss-filled blur that I’m not ready to let go of yet. The Uber driver shuttling me home after this parting will have the privilege of a sobbing mess in their backseat.
An unreadable look flashes across Jonah’s icy blue eyes. I still haven’t grown accustomed to seeing him without a beard, though I’ll admit I’ve enjoyed admiring that chiseled jawline and those dimples. He takes a deep breath and turns away, his carry-on slung over one broad shoulder, his boarding pass and passport dangling from between two pinched fingers.
I watch him hand his documents to the agent at the US-bound entry gate, who spends all of one second reviewing them before waving him toward the glass security doors. On the other side is his fourteen-hour flight home. In seconds, Jonah is going to be out of sight, gone.
Who knows when I’ll see him again? He flew here to tell me in person that he’s been miserable these past two months since I left Alaska, that he doesn’t want to be a carbon copy of my father—spending his life pining over my mother—that he wants to find an “us” that will work. That he wants me beside him.
I haven’t given him an answer yet, too afraid to leap.
Until now.
I feel the word rising inside me—an emotion about to erupt. “Yes!” My pulse pounds in my ears.
Jonah turns to regard me with a raised eyebrow.
Am I crazy? Maybe.
But I’m fully committing to it.
I take a step forward and swallow my nerves. “I’ll come back to Alaska.” Because being with Jonah again—laughing and reminiscing, having him in my space, waking in his arms—has only confirmed what I’ve suspected for months: I’m deeply in love with him, and living in Toronto when he’s not here doesn’t make sense to me anymore.
I’m done saying goodbye to this man.
Jonah leaves the line and retraces his steps to close the distance, dropping his bag by his feet. It’s five a.m. and we’re creating an obstacle, forcing travelers to weave around us on either side to get to their flights. Their grumbles touch my ears, but in this moment, I don’t care.
The severe frown cutting across Jonah’s handsome forehead as he stares down at me says he doesn’t, either. “Are you serious?”
I nod. “Yeah. I mean, if you’re serious about moving to Anchorage—”
“When?” he demands to know, his voice suddenly gruff.
“I don’t know. As soon as I can?” How long does it take to pack up your life and move to a different country? Granted, a country I was born in and still have citizenship with but haven’t lived in for more than two decades.
His eyes spark with determination. “Come for Christmas.”
I laugh. “That’s like a month away!”
“So? What else you got goin’ on?” It’s a challenge, delivered in Jonah’s typical blunt style. “I’m not going to see my mom in Oslo anymore. And Aggie and Mabel would love having you there. Especially since it’s the first one without Wren. You should come.” His Adam’s apple bobs with his hard swallow. “Come.”
Somewhere in between his words and his tone and the way he’s looking at me, I hear the silent plea. In truth, the idea of being near the people closest to my late father for the holidays sounds more appealing—and more feasible—by the second.
“Okay?” I say on an exhale, my voice shaky.
About K.A. Tucker:
K.A. Tucker writes captivating stories with an edge.
She is the USA Today bestselling author of 17 books, including the Causal Enchantment, Ten Tiny Breaths and Burying Water series, He Will Be My Ruin, Until It Fades, Keep Her Safe, and The Simple Wild. Her books have been featured in national publications including USA Today, Globe & Mail, Suspense Magazine, First for Women, and Publisher’s Weekly. She has been nominated for the Goodreads Choice Award for Best Romance 2013 for TEN TINY BREATHS and Best Romance 2018 for THE SIMPLE WILD. Her novels have been translated into 16 languages.
K.A. Tucker currently resides in a quaint town outside of Toronto with her family.
Taming Hollywood’s Baddest Boy, an all-new steamy laugh-out-loud romantic comedy standalone from New York Times bestselling author Max Monroe, is coming March 12th and we have the dreamy cover!
Blurb:
Do people say they hate someone’s guts so that they can still fall stupidly, head-over-heels in love with the other parts?
Asking for a friend.
Okay, fine. I’m not asking for a friend.
I’m asking for me—and I’m begging you to tell me that the practice of falling in love with your should-be-enemy is common.
Please tell me that I’m not the only person to track down a guy—who used to be Hollywood’s baddest bad boy before he left LA for good—at his off-the-grid cabin in Alaska, show up unannounced, and find him gloriously naked.
This probably happens all the time…right?
Tell me I’m not alone in my stupidity—that I’m not the only woman who would fall for gorgeous blue eyes and a sexy devilish smirk, even if they belong to a broody, mysterious jerk.
Please. Please. Please. Tell me I’m not alone in this.
For the love of everything, I need all the supportive girl power I can get if I’m going to convince Luca Weaver to come back to Hollywood—otherwise known as the place he hates so much that he ghosted Oscar-level success and escaped to no-man’s-land for the last eight years just to avoid it.
Yeah, don’t worry—that smoke you’re smelling isn’t your house catching fire as you read this…it’s just my career and what was previously known as my heart going up in flames.
Gah. Is it just me, or am I totally, completely, and utterly screwed?
Be notified FIRST When Taming Hollywood’s Baddest Boys is live: http://bit.ly/2HzGmau
About Max Monroe
A duo of romance authors team up under the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling pseudonym Max Monroe to bring you sexy, laugh-out-loud reads.
Max Monroe is the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author of more than ten contemporary romance titles. Favorite writing partners and long time friends, Max and Monroe strive to live and write all the fun, sexy swoon so often missing from their Facebook newsfeed. Sarcastic by nature, their two writing souls feel like they’ve found their other half. This is their most favorite adventure thus far.
From the internationally best-selling author of The Simple Wild comes the continuation of a woman’s journey to Alaska and a life she never imagined for herself.
Wild at Heart, book two in the Simple Wild series by USA Today bestselling author, K.A. Tucker, is live!
Calla Fletcher returns to Toronto a different person, struggling to find direction and still very much in love with the rugged bush pilot she left behind. When Jonah arrives on her doorstep with a proposition she can’t dismiss, she takes the leap and rushes back to Alaska to begin their exciting future together.
But Calla soon learns that even the best intentions can lead to broken promises, and that compromise comes with a hefty price—a log cabin in interior rural Alaska that feels as isolating as the western tundra.
With Jonah gone more than he’s home, one neighbor who insists on transforming her into a true Alaskan, and another who seems more likely to shoot her than come to her aid, Calla grapples with forging her own path. In a world with roaming wildlife that has her constantly watching over her shoulder and harsh conditions that stretch far beyond the cold, dark, winter months, just stepping outside her front door can be daunting.
This is not the future Calla had in mind, leaving her to fear that perhaps she is doomed to follow in her mother’s fleeing footsteps after all.
K.A. Tucker writes captivating stories with an edge.
She is the USA Today bestselling author of 17 books, including the Causal Enchantment, Ten Tiny Breaths and Burying Water series, He Will Be My Ruin, Until It Fades, Keep Her Safe, and The Simple Wild. Her books have been featured in national publications including USA Today, Globe & Mail, Suspense Magazine, First for Women, and Publisher’s Weekly. She has been nominated for the Goodreads Choice Award for Best Romance 2013 for TEN TINY BREATHS and Best Romance 2018 for THE SIMPLE WILD. Her novels have been translated into 16 languages.
K.A. Tucker currently resides in a quaint town outside of Toronto with her family.
Romance Reviewed 