From the international bestselling author of The Simple Wild and Ten Tiny Breaths comes a new second-chance, hate-to-love romance.
The Player Next Door by, USA Today bestselling author, K.A. Tucker, is now live!
Truly can’t remember the last time I read a book in one sitting but I couldn’t put this baby down. This is a lighter book for KA Tucker … not super lighthearted but not as emotionally charged as normal, for better or worse. Scarlet returns to her hometown to accept a teaching postion, and is shocked to discover her high school ex, single father firefigher Shane lives next door. The spark is still alive, but can they overcome their past?
I loved the connection between Scarlet and Shane, the small town aspect, the supporting characters. I even liked the baby mama drama, as annoying as she was, I’ve certainly had friends go through similar drama so it felt real and familiar.
I just didn’t connect with the main characters. Scarlet was okay, I didn’t hate her but I didn’t love her either. She justifiably has a chip on her shoulder but its a chip nonetheless and hopefully at 30 she should be over her high school drama, as egregious as it was. Shane was harder to like. He was an absolute turd in high school and didn’t seem to learn his lesson.
I really liked the book overall though, as I said I read it all in one sitting and that’s rare for me.
Scarlet Reed has returned to Polson Falls, convinced that twelve years away is long enough to shed her humiliating childhood identity as the town harlot’s daughter. With a teaching job secured and an adorable fixer-upper to call home, things in her life are finally looking up.
That is, until she finds out that Shane Beckett lives next door.
Shane Beckett, the handsome and charismatic high school star quarterback who smashed her heart. The lying, cheating player who was supposed to be long gone, living the pro football dream and fooling women into thinking he’s Prince Charming. Shane Beckett, who is as attractive as ever and flashing his dimples at her as if he has done no wrong.
Scarlet makes it abundantly clear that old wounds have not been forgotten. Neighbors they may be, but friends they most certainly are not. She won’t allow herself to fall for the single father and firefighter again, no matter how many apologies he offers, how many times he rushes to her aid, or how hard he makes her heart pound.
But as she spends more time with him, she begins to fear that maybe she’s wrong. Maybe Shane has changed.
And maybe this time she’s the one playing herself—out of a chance at true happiness.
I sigh as I sip the last of my cold, burnt gas station coffee. This is a fresh start, even in an old world full of familiar faces. Besides, it’s been more than a decade since I last roamed the halls of any school here. Those painful years and cruel people are far behind me.
The peaceful midday calm is disrupted by the chug of a garage door crawling open, followed by the deep rumble of a car engine starting. A long, red vintage muscle car backs out of the garage next door and eases into the open space beside a blue Ford pickup. I can’t tell what kind of car it is, but it’s old and in pristine shape, the bright coat of paint glistening in the August sun.
I never asked Iris about the neighbors. The two times I’ve been here—once during the open house and once after I’d signed the paperwork for the offer—nobody was home on either side. Both properties look well maintained, though. The bungalow with the muscle car has new windows and a freshly built porch off the front. There isn’t much in the way of gardens—some shrubs and trees—but the lawn is manicured.
I watch curiously as the driver’s side door pops open and a tall man with wavy, chestnut-brown hair steps out, his back to me as he fusses with his windshield wiper. Coffee pools in my mouth as I stall on my swallow, too busy appreciating the way his black T-shirt clings to his body, showing off broad, sculpted shoulders, muscular arms, and a tapered waist. He’s wearing his dark-wash jeans perfectly—not so baggy that they hang unflatteringly off his ass, but not so tight that cowboy boots and a wide-brimmed hat come to mind.
I hold my breath in anticipation, hoping my neighbor will show me a beautiful face to match that fitness-model body. What a stroke of luck that would be, to live next to a gorgeous man. A single, gorgeous man, I pray.
Finally, my silent pleading is answered as he turns and his gaze drifts my way.
I struggle not to spew coffee from my mouth as my keen interest turns to horror.
Oh my God.
Someone, please tell me this is a mistake.
Please tell me I’m not living next door to Shane Fucking Beckett.
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.
Winning Hollywood’s Goodest Girl, an all-new not-to-be-missed, surprise baby romantic comedy standalone by New York Times bestselling author Max Monroe is available now!
(ARC Review) Hollywood’s virgin good girl superstar accidentally knocked up during her one and only one night stand? Sounds like the set up to a perfectly juicy romcom to me.
First of all, Harrison is perfection. Steady, reliable, eager to step up and support his baby and baby mama. Raquel drove me absolutely insane. She just lets everyone walk all over her and won’t stand up to obvious abuses of power. Grow the f up, girl. You are the boss here. Her naive little-girl role was just so weak.
The book was absolutely saved by Harrison, and of course his merry band of billionaire brothers. Anytime Cap and Thatch are involved you know you’re in for a good time. Despite Raquel’s personality, the book was still very sweet, very funny, very reliably Max Monroe and I enjoyed reading it. 4 stars
Raquel and Harrison sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G.
First comes love.
Then comes marriage.
Then comes a baby in the baby carriage.
That’s how her brother used to sing it when we were kids—a simple ploy to get under my skin and make me stick my fist in his face—but man oh man, did he get the order wrong.
One night of “kissing” in New York catapulted us straight to the pregnancy portion of the song—surprise!—and now I have to figure out how to carry out the whole melody in reverse.
A baby on the way first.
Then love and marriage?
It’s complicated on its best day.
But our situation is far more problematic than just a simple twist of nursery rhyme lyrics. Before our night together, Raquel Weaver was the best-known good girl in Hollywood—a twenty-nine-year-old sexpot virgin whom the world adored and watched like a hawk.
Obviously, the consequences of that kind of reputation don’t just go away. Add in pregnancy hormones, the media, a fake fiancé, and a selfish manager, and you have the short list of my problems.
As a thirty-four-year-old, successful CFO of a multibillion-dollar media conglomerate, I thought I would be able to handle anything show business could throw my way, but I’m starting to think I might be in over my head.
Good thing I’m all in.
Winning Hollywood’s goodest girl is going to take everything I’ve got.
That’s what my mom always said, but I have to admit, until today, I never paid it much attention. As a kid, I spilled shit all the time. Milk. Juice. Water. If it was liquid, I was splattering it all over fucking creation.
Our mop got a lot of action, sure, but every time, my mom would simply laugh. Not a little, demure giggle, but big, uproarious belly laughing. Ellie Hughes thought life was made for living, and she’d be damned if she let me dwell in the valleys. Hell, maybe that’s why I was always wreaking havoc on all of our flooring—my accidents were a precursor to something upbeat.
Anyway, I haven’t thought much about all those puddles of laughter in a long time.
But today is proof positive: my mom—well, she was a teacher way ahead of her time.
Cereal poured and the financial section of the New York Times in hand, I make my way to my circular, glass kitchen table and take a seat that faces the TV.
Hello, Today!, the syndicated fluff show during the eight o’clock hour on TBC, prattles on about the perfect Christmas breakfast for a family of four while an obnoxious elf bounces around in the background. I roll my eyes as some celebrity—fuck if I know who it is—pretends to know how to make frittatas and turn my eyes back to the paper.
Growing up, television was forbidden fruit in my childhood home. My hard-ass of a dad thought it was more important to read the Wall Street Journal and understand the stock market than watch what he called drivel. He was one of those top 1% people, and his power-wealthy position in life included uber-rich hedge funds, strategic million-dollar stock market swing trades, and a money-hungry mind-set.
The only time the one television—I’m serious, one fucking TV—in our home was actually used, it revolved around big news conglomerates and State of the Union addresses by current presidents.
But despite the old man’s eccentric views on television and movies and normal people’s forms of entertainment, I can’t deny that learning about the stock market at an early age and being forced to understand things like the global economy and trade deals has served beneficial in adulthood.
My morning routine normally synchronizes beautifully for an all-out news download before heading to the office. But today, because of a late dinner meeting last night and too many Christmas-themed cocktails that have nothing to do with the holly-sprig adorned ones on TV, I’m running behind schedule.
The great news is, as CFO of one of the largest media conglomerates in the world, I’m actually allowed to do that on occasion without getting docked on my time card. In fact, I haven’t seen an actual time card in ages. The only punching I do is at Tommy John’s Kickboxing on Wednesdays in a basement studio all the way over on 75th and Broadway.
In the interest of full punching disclosure: I suck at it. Mohammad Ali in training, I am not. But flab is real, friends, even for the studly men in your life, and punching a bag with little to no precision keeps the excess weight off me. In layman’s terms, it keeps the ladies from grabbing on to anything other than muscle in bed.
Scratch that last line. They grab my dick; I didn’t mean to make it sound like they don’t. There’s actually more penile touching than any other kind of touching in the cottony comfort of my sheets, and I’m very good at touching the ladies, in turn, with my mouth and penis. In fact, when my dick hears the words dick pic, it asks for photo credit because it was most certainly the one taking the picture.
Okay, maybe I’ve gotten a little carried away, but my point is the same.
What I meant to imply was that they don’t grab on to a beer gut—and trust me, if I didn’t work out, they would. I love beer and chicken wings, and I indulge in them both on way too many occasions to maintain some kind of quota weight “naturally.” If it weren’t for all the strenuous, practically nightly kickboxing workouts, if I were a woman in the public eye, I would be a constant ludicrous headline for my “fluctuating waistline.”
Thankfully, I am trim, toned, and able to binge on buffalo wings whenever the fuck I want.
My cell vibrates across the table, and I snag it off the glass surface to see Incoming Call Cap flashing on the screen.
I sigh at the idea of listening to Caplin Hawkins’s bullshit before I’ve finished my first cup of coffee, but I answer it despite my better judgment.
“Harrison, you sly motherfucker, those stock tips you gave me last quarter have my portfolio growing green like I’m a damn cannabis farmer.” He forgoes a greeting and dives straight into what is most likely his selfish needs. “Should I be concerned you’re getting insider info?”
“Wow, it’s so great to hear from you too, bud.” I smirk and lick my finger to get traction on the thin paper and flip through the pages until I get to yesterday’s closing data for the Dow Jones and S&P 500. Quickly, I scan through the numbers. It’s only one week away from Christmas and a few weeks away from New Years’, and this month’s upward trend appears fairly optimistic for avoiding a choppy close to the year.
“Yesterday, HawCom was up five-fucking-percent. Seriously, dude, are you dragging me and my father’s company into some illegal bullshit?” he asks, and I look away from my newspaper to roll my eyes.
HawCom is the company I’ve been with for the past decade, and it just so happens to be owned by Cap’s father, Jared Hawkins. Financial management for a company of its scale has been tricky these days with the ongoing uncertainty of the market, but all in all, HawCom’s performance numbers have been stable and steadily growing for the last nine quarters. As a major media company with “silent” ownership in some of the world’s most relevant technology companies, it’s not completely unexpected, but it’s certainly not guaranteed.
“Is it difficult being the most ridiculous bastard on the planet?” I retort. “Because, fuck, I can imagine it gets hard coming up with new ways to be this insane.”
Despite this idiot’s stupid question, everything I do is by the book. No insider trading. No fraud. It all comes from a mind that’s been trained since childhood to be strategic and understand economic patterns.
And even if I shouldn’t, for the state of my motivation to maintain a certain work ethic, I do allow myself to take a little credit for HawCom’s success. I’ve been charged with a large job due to my leadership role in the company, but I cherish the opportunity. It’d be hard not to with an uncharacteristically kind and charismatic boss like Jared at the helm.
And for the last four months, I’ve made it a point to cherish everything.
See, I choose to be happy every day.
I choose gratitude and intention in my every action.
I choose the way my life plays out—all of us do.
It took me more than three busy, painful decades and the loss of both parents to figure that out, but now that I have, the freedom in it is impressive.
The truth is, until we die, all of us get to choose our own destiny—
“I swear to God,” Cap grumbles. “I will end you if I wind up in some kind of high-security prison for stock fraud.”
I laugh at the absurdity. “I help you grow your portfolio—without commission, mind you—and you’re threatening murder?”
“Are you deflecting, son?” he questions, always the fucking lawyer. “Because I swear on every-damn-thing, I will—”
“Relax.” I snort. “The only thing illegal about the stock tips I gave you was the fact that I handed them to you on a silver-fucking-platter without asking for anything in return.”
“Speaking of handing shit to me on a silver platter, let’s do that again,” he says, a cunning smile apparent in his voice. “Who is looking profitable for the first quarter of next year?”
“And why should I give you anything, you prick?”
“Because you love me. Because you don’t want to see me become a vagabond, living on the streets.”
“You’re one of the most successful corporate lawyers in North America who already has some of the world’s best advisers handling his money. I’m pretty sure a lack of financial investment advice from me isn’t going to break your bank.”
“Minor details.” He chuckles. “C’mon, dude. Help your best friend and his sweet, lovely, beautiful wife out.”
“Now you’re bringing Ruby into this?” I tsk. “For shame.”
“You and I both know, shameless or not, I’ll do whatever it takes to get what I want,” he retorts, and I laugh outright.
“Are you wanting stock tips or to get me into bed? Because, truthfully, it feels like it could go either way at this point.”
Of course, he doesn’t miss a fucking beat. “I’ll even toss in a candlelit dinner and champagne if that’s what it’s going to take.”
Just for the sake of ending this insanity, I start to open my mouth with a few companies that are worthy of investments in the upcoming quarter, but a shrill voice on the screen of the TV steals my attention. I wouldn’t normally refer to any woman’s voice as shrill because I find it incredibly sexist and demeaning, but I’m telling you, for the sake of painting an accurate description, this particular voice, regardless of its bearer’s gender, is like the distress call of a wounded rabbit. I couldn’t miss it if I were in an underground bunker with six feet of sound-dampening dirt between us. And somehow, somehow, she still made it on TV.
“Thanks, Chris,” she continues, her voice still painful to my ears. “Today is anything but business as usual in sunny Southern California. It seems, folks, that the impossible has happened. Hollywood is abuzz this morning with the most infamous immaculate conception since the Virgin Mary herself.”
My eyebrows pinch together at the ridiculous drivel as I lift the spoon to my mouth. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph must be rolling over in their graves.
“Twenty-nine-year-old famed virgin sexpot, Raquel Weaver, was photographed leaving Beverly Hills Obstetrics today with a noticeable bump front and center on her normally trim figure.”
Brakes squeal to a stop inside my head.
What the fuck? Did she just say Raquel Weaver?
I gape at the television, trying to make sense of why that name of all names just came out of Screechy’s mouth, but the instant a photograph pops up on the screen and all-too-familiar violet eyes stare back at me, I have my fucking answer.
Holy shit. It’s her.
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.
R.S. Grey’s new standalone romance, Love the One You Hate is out now! Check it out and grab your copy today!
First of all, enemies-to-loves is my favorite trope and RS Grey is one of my favorite authors so I had high expectations going in, and I was not let down. Every RS Grey book feels different and new with still maintaining her humor and gentle heart.
This was part love story, part coming of age story as Maren learns to exist in a societal role like she’s never experienced before. It was as much of a love story between her and Nicholas as it was between her and Cordelia, Nicholas’ grandmother. That’s both a positive and my only complaint, it could have used more Nicholas and more bickering.
I enjoyed watching Maren’s journey as she discovered her own strength and place in the world. 4 Stars!
Nicholas Hunt is the man I hate.
For good reason.
His opinion of me is tainted by prejudice even before my arrival at his grandmother’s estate, and my first impression of him is just as abysmal.
His arrogance and icy demeanor make it clear that he’s the type of man who’s best handled at a distance.
Fortunately, space shouldn’t be an issue inside this Gilded Age mansion and its lush gardens. If I stick with the servants and he keeps to his sailboat and vintage Porsche, we should hardly cross paths at all. Unfortunately, at Rosethorn, I find that all roads eventually lead to Nicholas Hunt.
Sparks fly as we spar at the dinner table. Fighting words are flung in the shadows of the palatial halls.
We hang suspended in our hatred of one another, painfully oblivious to the heat and tension that build with every moment we’re left alone. We’re liable to kill one another, I think…right up until my eyes land on his lips and a new feeling grips hold of me: lust.
He knows it.
They say you should keep your enemies close, but when Nicholas tightens his grip on my waist and draws me near, I’m not sure if it’s out of loathing or love.
R.S. Grey is the USA Today bestselling author of over twenty novels. She lives in Texas with her husband and daughter, and can be found reading, binge-watching reality TV, or practicing yoga! Visit her at rsgrey.com
My Take: This was a fun, easy breezy book. I think I read it in about two hours flat. It read like a YA novel even though the characters were in their 20’s. If you love friends-to-lovers, lighthearted romance, definitely give this one a go.
Boyfriend wanted: Loyal and funny. Wait…I just described a dog. I should buy a dog.
For real, though, Loyal and funny, that’s easy enough, right?
Do you ever ask yourself why dating in today’s society is so hard? Or where all the good guys are? Or what happened to dating before sex and *gasp* chivalry?
I wish I had the answers to those questions for you, but I don’t. Unfortunately, I’m scratching my head and wondering the same things you are, which is how I ended up here in the first place.
I never thought I’d be a blogger—especially one who writes about men and dating—and really, I’m not; I’m just a twenty-something girl who got her heart broken for the first time and, while drowning myself in a pint of cookie dough ice cream, thought to myself: Self, how many other girls out there are doing this exact thing? How many of us are loading up on carbs and sugar while mentally berating humans of the penis-wielding variety?
I know I can’t be the only one.
After proposing that same question to my sister, she suggested that I blog about it.
So, whether you’re like me and are swallowing past the bitter first taste of a broken heart, or you’re on your tenth helping and somehow keep finding the courage to go back for more, this blog is for you.
Let me start out by saying you are not alone.
Louder for the sobbing girl in the back: YOU ARE NOT ALONE.
Sit down, buckle up, and let’s enjoy this crazy ride of bad dating apps and even worse dates together.
P.S. Men suck. And not in a good way.
About K.L. Grayson
K.L. Grayson resides in a small town outside of St. Louis, MO. She is entertained
daily by her extraordinary husband, who will forever inspire every good quality she
writes in a man. Her entire life rests in the palms of six dirty little hands, and when the
day is over and those pint-sized cherubs have been washed and tucked into bed, you can find her typing away furiously on her computer. She has a love for alpha-males,
brownies, reading, tattoos, sunglasses, and happy endings…and not particularly in that
My Take: This is a very sweet, very swoony story of two people who hate Christmas that come together to learn to love the season (and each other perhaps?). It’s filled with humor, cute kids, romance, and heat. I highly recommend this sweet holiday love story. 4/5 stars
I’ll just admit it right up front—I don’t love the holidays.
In fact, Christmas makes me downright cranky.
Call me the Grinch if you must, but if your dad chose that day to decide he was wrong about that whole wanting a family thing, you’d grow up miffed about mistletoe too. Every candy cane, ugly sweater, and falalalala reminds me of the worst day of my life.
So when my uncle—a bigwig network executive—gives me one last shot to salvage my disastrous TV production career on a show called Holiday Homes, I’ve got no choice but to suck it up, head to the small town of Singletree, and fake festive.
Callan Whitewood. The sexy, sullen former pro-soccer player might be the one person on earth who hates the holidays more than I do. After a devastating injury ended his career, he’s left with a limp, no idea what to do with his future, and a cheerless attitude worthy of Ebenezer Scrooge. But I’ve got a TIME LIMIT to convince the gorgeous grump to allow his home to be featured as the pinnacle of the Christmas episode of the show that’s going to save my career.
That is, if I can keep my hands off him… but I’m having a bit of trouble sticking to the task.
SHAKING THE SLEIGH is a standalone holiday romantic comedy with a satisfying happily ever after, plenty of festive chuckles, some sexy times and a few chinchillas. Maybe a cat. (And there might be a wombat because wombats really do fit into almost any story.)
My Take: I was fully prepared not to like this book- no offense to the author. I just thought a man trying to change a woman’s appearance and personality sounded kind of degrading for 2019, but I gave it a chance and really ended up liking it. The lesson’s aren’t so much about looks and speech, but in the end, about how your past doesn’t define you and don’t judge a book by it’s cover. Ford’s barely controlled heat was hot. Suzie was very surprising in her strength and grace. 4/5 stars
Suzie Samuels is the only thing standing between Clifford and his life’s work. All he has to do is change everything about her. Perception creates reality and Clifford Rutledge needs the irascible stripper to prove it.
Suzie Samuels is set to prove once and for all she’s more than Short Fuse Suze, stripper for the Black Demons and renowned motorcycle arsonist. If all it takes is hard work, then Suzie knows how to work it hard.
But Suzie’s scandalous spirit tests Clifford’s resolve. And Clifford’s buttoned-up bullying is driving Suzie bonkers.
Can Clifford move past their differences long enough to pull off the impossible task of changing the bare lady into a fair lady?
More importantly, as perceptions shift and priorities change, will he want to?
‘My Bare Lady’ is a full-length contemporary romantic comedy, can be read as a standalone, and is book #1 in the Scorned Women’s Society series, Green Valley World, Penny Reid Book Universe.
Download your copy today or read FREE in Kindle Unlimited!
I was transfixed. It wasn’t just the way she mastered the room. It wasn’t just how her choreography perfectly correlated with the entrancing music. It wasn’t just her sex appeal. It was that unwavering gaze and focus on her task. To the rest of the room, staring blatantly at her admirable—ahem—assets, she was an object, but I recognized the barely controlled passion roiling under her skin. What would it be like to be that strong? Not just physically, but strong in a way that allowed her to bare her soul to a group of greedy strangers. My passions were locked away safely inside me and yet she put it all out there. Such bravery and passion.
In certain moments, I swear she looked right at me—quick stolen glances that shot a bolt of adrenaline down my spine. Perhaps this was a skill she learned to earn more tips, as the money was out in droves now, peppered over the stage and her sweating skin. But I swore she saw me. Saw through me. To the things I didn’t want seen. I stepped back further into the darkness knowing my concerns were irrational but unable to tear my eyes off hers. I was stronger than this. I was thoughtful, pragmatic, and not a victim of animalistic natures and poetic fantasies.
Though she occasionally snapped the thin strips of material that made up her outfit in a playful tease she never took any clothes off. She didn’t need to. She’d managed to capture the attention of every person in that room with her movements alone.
My body reacted despite my rationale; heart pounding, skin aflame. I needed to leave. I wouldn’t be like the rest of these people.
The song crescendoed and in a show of strength, she launched herself back to the top of the pole once again. A small gasp escaped from me but the music drowned out all noise. She performed a trick that made her appear to fall down the entire length of the pole, tumbling over and sideways, limb over limb, only to catch herself at the bottom using only her thighs. She hung upside down, panting, dark hair sprawled out around her and her gaze set on me. Her eyes were a brilliant emerald, unlike any color I’d ever seen. They were luminescent in the stage lighting. Even across the hazy bar, they were transcendent. Glowing. Fixated on me.
I swallowed but it wasn’t easy. The song ended and the lights went out. The crowd went wild. Several moments passed before I gained control of my faculties again. With that control came the shame of watching her. The understanding that just seeing her perform was enough to make me forget who I was. That couldn’t happen.
I got out of there as fast as I could. The entire drive back to Knoxville my chest heaved at an alarming rate; my body remained a mass of tension. Her hypnotic gaze flashed repeatedly in my vision no matter how often I tried to shake it loose.
Thankfully, I’d never see her again.
About Piper Sheldon
Piper Sheldon writes Contemporary Romance and Magical Realism books that hope to be New York Times bestsellers when they grow up. For now, she works as a technical writer during the day and writes about love the rest of the time. Of course she also makes room for her husband, toddler, and two needy dogs at home in the Desert Southwest.
Crime and Periodicals, an all-new sweet and swoony romance from Nora Everly, is available now!
This is a very sweet story about a shy outsider falling in love with a single dad sheriff’s deputy. There’s more of the small town we’ve grown to love, and characters that we’ve met before. There is a bit of a insta-love element.
It was a bit unrealistic how quickly Sabrina grew and changed to accommodate Wyatt, from practically agoraphobic to attending Friday night football games with ease. Her nephew also seemed to change drastically very easily. But those things aside,I did enjoy this very sweet story.
In Green Valley, Tennessee everybody knows everybody, but nobody knows Sabrina Logan.
Sabrina has been hiding in plain sight for years. Living her life inside of books, dutifully helping her family, and hoping no one will notice her. So far? Mission accomplished!
Yet when sexy—and distrustful—sheriff, Wyatt Monroe returns to town with his daughters, he definitely notices the quiet librarian everyone else overlooks. The single dad can’t seem to shake thoughts of shy Sabrina. Without quite understanding the impulse, Wyatt makes his mission finding her again, so he can . . . well, he’ll just have to reckon with that later.
What Wyatt discovers is a woman who trusts too easily, but who’s afraid to live. Trust doesn’t come easily to Wyatt. But living? That’s never been a problem.
And he’d sure like to show her how.
‘Crime and Periodicals’ is a full-length contemporary romantic comedy, can be read as a standalone, and is book#2 in the Green Valley Library series, Green Valley World, Penny Reid Book Universe.
Download your copy today or available in Kindle Unlimited!
I gasped when Wyatt’s hand on my waist slid up my side then up the underside of my arm to take my hand from his shoulder and link our fingers together. It was just like in DirtyDancing, except I was facing him instead of away like in the movie. His grin grew a little bit wicked right before he used both of my hands to turn me. His front was now at my back with our arms crossed in front of us.
I felt his warm, hard body behind mine and I felt…way too much. Tingles covered every square inch of me. The air felt different against my skin; I was burning up.
His chin dipped low to rest on my shoulder. “Are you okay?” he whispered into my ear. His breath ruffled the hair against my neck, and I shivered.
“Yes,” I whispered. Then I nodded in case he didn’t hear me. I felt his stubbled jaw graze the side of my face and I began to experience heretofore unknown feelings. My perception of what was possible for my life shifted. My brain had disengaged, and I floated along on pure sensation.
We rocked side to side like that—closer than I’d ever been to anyone in my life. His chest rose and fell against my back as his arms tightened around me and he sighed against my hair. The last of my conscious thoughts dissolved and I succumbed to pure feeling. His body moving against mine became my world. His hands in mine kept me tethered, lest I float away on this cloud of sensation that was gradually becoming overwhelming.
I had never felt anything like this. I never even thought feelings like this were possible in real life. In romance novels, sure. But to feel such contentment laced with giddiness right now was something I had not expected. Before I could succumb to the spreading tingles and dwindling brain power and embarrass myself, he raised our arms up high and twirled me around and around underneath them. I giggled and squealed. Apparently, I was that girl—a squealy, laughing, girly girl. But maybe we were all that girl in the right circumstance.
He was right. I did not need to know how to slow dance when I was with him. We danced close; so close his knee was between my legs. I delighted at the feel of his soft, warm skin when he placed one of my hands on the back of his neck. He moved his free hand low on my waist, hooking his thumb in my belt loop to guide me in slow, small circles over our spot on the dance floor, then back and forth using his hands to push me out and pull me back into his body. He coaxed me where I needed to go. I felt weightless and graceful.
The whole bar and everyone in it disappeared until it was just us dancing together, bathed in the moonlight filtering in through the high windows, and the little lights—so much like stars—illuminating the dance floor with their tiny rays. As the song ended, he spun me out and then back up against his body to dip me low with his arm wrapped tight around my waist. He grinned down at me with those gorgeous lips and beautiful chocolate brown eyes and I—I would never forget this moment—not ever.
About Nora Everly
Nora Everly is a lifelong bookworm. She started reading the good stuff once she grew tall enough to sneak the romance novels off the top of her mother’s bookshelf and it has been non-stop ever since.
Once upon a time she was a substitute teacher and an educational assistant. Now she’s a writer and stay at home mom to two small humans and one fat cat.
Nora lives in the Pacific Northwest with her family and her overactive imagination.
This is a sweet, insta-love, wrong side of the tracks story between a “good girl” law student and a “bad boy” rockstar. There is plenty of heat, lots of love, and fun secondary characters (who hopefully will feature in future books). It was immensely devourable, easy to get lost in and read quickly to find out what the resolution to the antagonist’s plot will be. 4/5 stars
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Dare Marquis is a bad boy rock star with a body to match.
Devilish good looks.
A voice that commands attention.
A night with him and no strings attached is just what I need. But he makes it impossible to not want more when he runs his hand through his dark, wild hair and smiles. One he only shares with me.
Weatherly Beck is an angel with a body made for sin.
Drop dead gorgeous.
Too good for any guy from the east side.
Her life is planned out, so I don’t have a right to step in and mess up her future. But when I look into her sapphire blue eyes and taste the innocence on her lips, I know we’re meant to be more than a one-night stand.
I want her to take a chance on me, to take a chance on us. She may not be a damsel in distress, but I Dare her to let me be her Hero.
For a Chance to WIN a Rock Star Bundle including a $50 Amazon Gift Card, 3 Signed Rock Star Romances,The Resistance USB drive, Pen, Koozie, Booksmarks, Pin, and a Choose the Dare Bracelet, enter here:https://smarturl.it/Giveaway2019
I love Karina Halle books. I love that she can take you on a journey literally across the world, from New Zealand to LA to Ireland and on and on and you feel like you are there, falling in love with a football player in Madrid or a firefighter in Northern Canada.
Discretion definitely takes you for a ride through the elite world of a French fashion-house family. It was fun to read about the extravagant hotels, cars, and parties. The heat between Sadie and Olivier is intense, and I liked Olivier’s family (not extended family, obviously).
I did have a minor hang ups- I didn’t understand why Olivier fell so quickly for Sadie, it didn’t feel realistic. It was BAM instant love.
But hey, this is a romance novel in the vein of 80s and 90s soap operas, so who’s looking for realism? If you want a soapy, dramatic, glamorous ride through the French Riviera and Paris, this is a fun summery book for you. It doesn’t scratch any of the characters surfaces too deeply, but hopefully we’ll get to know them better as the series goes on. 4/5 stars
ARC Review: Skylar Anderson’s standards are high. No man is rich enough or good enough. One night she decides to break her own no-one-night-stand rule and have a tryst with a handsome stranger she meets at a bar. Cue to the next day aboard the yacht she works on as the lead steward, where she meets the new deckhand: Landon, her supposed one night stand. Will they be able to resist each other in such close quarters?
I always love Louise Bay’s writing style, and its so interesting to read about a lifestyle I can hardly imagine (Being on a yacht with full crew in the South of France?). The sparks between them were fiery, and their character development and backstories were well fleshed out. Each has their secrets but all is revealed as the story progresses.
My only negative is that there is something Landon does, in an effort to protect Skylar, that makes me want to punch him. While I appreciate his protective nature, it doesn’t make him any less of an idiot for approaching it the way he does. I still loved the book, but I was so annoyed with him by the end I couldn’t quite get over. 4/5 Stars
The last thing I’m looking for is a man. Scratch that. The very last thing I’m looking for is love.
Love isn’t something to long for, it’s something to run from. I learned my lesson young and I learned it fast.
When Landon Wolf swaggers into my world, I just can’t see straight—he’s brooding and British, protective and provocative. So I set aside my rules for just one night.
One night that turns into a summer.
Landon Wolf needs to take his British ass back to London. This American girl is immune.
Impervious to the delicious way he says my name.
Unmoved by the way he touches me and makes every bad memory disappear.
And completely blind to his hard body, husky-like eyes and lickable jaw.
I’m not looking for love—I just hope it hasn’t found me.