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New York Times bestselling author Meghan March goes back to New Orleans and the world of Lachlan Mount with a dangerous and bold new anti-hero.
The thing about ghosts is they’re supposed to stay dead.
That’s exactly what I am, but I can’t stay away from Magnolia Marie Maison for one more day, let alone another year.
We’ve already got fifteen of those between us.
As it stands, she’ll want to kill me as soon as she lays eyes on me. And knowing her, she’s completely up to the task.
But I’m a man on a mission, and I’ve got everything riding on this.
So, here I come, Magnolia. This ghost is ready for whatever you got.
After all, there’s only one way I want this to end—’til death do us part.
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Statue of Limitations (A Goddess of Greene St. Mystery)
Cozy Mystery
1st in Series
Publisher: Kensington (January 28, 2020)
Mass Market Paperback: 336 pages
ISBN-10: 149672433X
ISBN-13: 978-1496724335
Digital ASIN: B07R8QWPTN
In this delightful new series by the New York Times bestselling author of the Flower Shop Mysteries, Athena Spencer comes back home to work with her crazy big Greek family at their garden center. But she never expected a return to her roots would mean protecting her family from murder . . .
After her divorce, Athena has returned to coastal Michigan to work in her family’s garden center and raise her son, while also caring for a mischievous wild raccoon and fending off her family’s annoying talent for nagging. Working alone at the garden center one night, Athena is startled by a handsome stranger who claims to be the rightful owner of a valuable statue her grandfather purchased at a recent estate sale.
But she has even bigger problems on her plate. The powerful Talbot family from whom her pappoús bought the statue is threatening to raze the shops on Greene Street’s “Little Greece” to make way for a condo. The recent death of the family’s patriarch already seemed suspicious, but now it’s clear that a murderer is in their midst. Athena will have to live up to her warrior goddess namesake to protect her family from a killer and save their community from ruin . . .
Review Coming Soon!
Kate Collins is the New York Times bestselling author of the Flower Shop Mystery series. After publishing numerous historical romances, Kate penned the long-running mystery series, three books of which were made into Hallmark movies starring Brooke Shields. An Indiana native, Kate graduated from Purdue University with a master’s degree in education. When not growing roots at her computer, Kate loves to garden. Other passions include yoga, reading, spending time with family and friends, sampling great wines and fine dark chocolate, and enjoying every moment of life. Kate lives in Northwest Indiana and Key West, Florida. Visit her online at KateCollinsBooks.com.
Author Links
Website http://www.katecollinsbooks.com/
Facebook https://www.facebook.com/pages/Kate-Collins/49648459004
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Nothing burns like an old flame…
Marrying man Alex Drake has topped his multi-billion-dollar empire by securing the love of his life. But when an old flame re-enters the picture with information on Jack Taylor’s death, can a tough and tenacious Madison discover the truth behind her brother’s death without getting singed in the seductive crossfire?
Meet the woman who turned A.J. into Alex and find out why the name Jordan Stone is on everyone’s lips.
Lexxi James is a best-selling author of mystery & suspense seductively wrapped in a love story. When not strapped to her laptop, she’s on a perpetual quest for the best cup of cappuccino. Her addictions include her HEA man, bourbon, and smoking hot romance novels.
She loves to connect – check out her website and stalk her on social media!
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Title: Sweet Temptation
Author: Cora Reilly
Release Day: March 10, 2020
Cover Designer: Letitia at Romantic Book Affairs Design
The first time Cassio met his fiancée, she called him ‘Sir’.
After losing his wife, Cassio is left to take care of two small children while trying to establish his rule over Philadelphia. Now he needs a mother for his children, and someone who can warm his bed at night.
But in a traditional world as his, choosing your wife is duty not pleasure.
Rules have to be followed. Traditions heeded.
That’s how he ends up with a woman—agirl barely of age. She might not be what he and his children need, but she’s wicked lovely and a sweet temptation he can’t resist.
Giulia always knew she’d marry a man her father chose for her. Only she never expected to be given to someone much older.
Suddenly she’s supposed to be a mother to two small children when she hasn’t even held a baby in her life.
Giulia quickly realizes that Cassio isn’t interested in a relationship on equal footing. Her mother always warned her that men of power like Cassio don’t tolerate insolence; yet, tired of being treated as a nanny and clueless child-bride, Giulia decides to fight for her vision of a happy family.
Cora Reilly is the author of the Born in Blood Mafia Series, The Camorra Chronicles and many other books, most of them featuring dangerously sexy bad boys. Before she found her passion in romance books, she was a traditionally published author of young adult literature.
Cora lives in Germany with a cute but crazy Bearded Collie, as well as the cute but crazy man at her side. When she doesn’t spend her days dreaming up sexy books, she plans her next travel adventure or cooks too spicy dishes from all over the world.
A new stand-alone romance about trading favors, battling wills, and winning love.
When I joined Seattle’s NHL expansion team, I thought it was the start of something great. But nothing ever goes the way you expect. Take my introduction to my new neighbor. She came rolling in on the hot mess express at midnight, making a racket while she tried to get into my team captain’s apartment. Did I mention that he’s married to a woman who definitely was not her?
Imagine my surprise when I end up with an injury that has me out of the game for weeks, and she’s the one to offer to help me. I should probably add that she’s not the captain’s mistress. She’s his sexy, pastel-haired younger sister.
So we come up with an arrangement: she rehabs me so that I can get back on the ice sooner, and she can add a professional athlete that isn’t her brother to her client list. Seems simple enough. As long as I can keep my hands to myself and my hormones in check.
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Excerpt
She makes me lift my arm and drapes it over her shoulder. She’s incredibly small compared to me. She tucks one arm under my knee and gently grips the back of my calf with the other. “On the count of three,” she orders. I tense up when she hits three. She gets my leg about six inches off the floor, which is when I scream bloody murder again and grab on to her with both hands.
“Okay. That’s not going to work. The angle is too awkward.” She taps her lip and holds her finger up. “I have an idea.”
She ducks out from under my arm and hooks her fingers in the waistband of her yoga pants.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Calm down. Some bathing suits have less coverage than my underwear. Besides, it’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”
She kicks off her yoga pants, leaving her in a T-shirt and panties. They’re plain cotton boy shorts, which should be a good thing, but apparently my body doesn’t care that it’s not a satin or lace thong. All it cares about is the proximity of almost-naked pussy.
Rook’s sister is standing in my bathroom in her underwear. If I had a sister who looked like Stevie and I knew that she was standing in one of my teammate’s bathrooms half-naked, I would probably kick the shit out of the guy. Thankfully, I have a brother.
I try to keep my eyes averted, sort of, but I catch her reflection in the vanity mirror.
She has fantastic legs. Athletic. Strong. And her ass. Goddamn. She definitely does a lot of squats, based on how round and firm it looks. The ache in my groin turns into that stabbing pain again because I’m getting hard. I think about my grandmother in a bathing suit to counteract the effect of Stevie being partly undressed.
She steps into the tub, and I force myself to keep my eyes down, bringing up the image of that hot chick in the tub who turns into a rotting old lady in The Shining. That helps a bit. At least until Stevie moves into my personal space and starts touching me again. I mutter a string of profanity, especially when I feel her boob pressed against my arm for a few seconds. I have no choice but to latch on to her shoulder as we lift my leg over the edge of the tub. I’m sweating, I’m angry, and I hate my dick.
“I need you to stop touching me!” It’s stupid because I’m still holding on to her, not the other way around.
“Why are you yelling at me?” she shouts back.
“Because you’re half-undressed in my tub, and I’m a guy, and apparently my dick is a fucking sadist. It honestly feels like my balls are on fire right now. A semi has never] been this painful.”
“Well, close your damn eyes and think about dead things.”
“It doesn’t matter if I close them. The image of you in panties is burned into the back of my lids, probably for the rest of my fucking life. It’s all I can see.”
“You’d think you’d never seen a set of bare legs before.” She helps me lower myself into the tub and steps out.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen a pair up close,” I grumble.
“Such a surprise, with your warm, fuzzy personality.”
Review Coming Soon!
About Helena Hunting
New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of PUCKED, Helena Hunting lives on the outskirts of Toronto with her incredibly tolerant family and two moderately intolerant cats. She writes contemporary romance ranging from new adult angst to romantic sports comedy.
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As the owner of Perfect Pairings matchmaking service, Maddie McRae earns her living helping others fall in love. Dubbed the Wedding Whisperer due to her success getting couples down the aisle, the sweet Southern belle knows that the foundation of wedded bliss is built on similarities: opposites might attract, but they don’t stay together.
Which is why she’s holding out for her own Prince Charming, a perfect gentleman who will arrive one day and sweep her off her feet with his devotion, kindness, and charm.
Enter Mason Spark.
Rude, arrogant, and notoriously allergic to monogamy, the hottest quarterback in the NFL is Maddie’s polar opposite. He’s also her new client. Her gorgeous, infuriating new client who’s paying her an outrageous sum of money to find him a wife. With his multi-million dollar contract on the line due to his behavior on and off the field, bad boy Mason is willing to pretend to settle down.
But when he starts to fall for the adorkable matchmaker who can’t stand him, the playboy finds himself in the game of his life to keep something he never thought he’d lose—his heart.
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He jerks his thumb at his mansion. “Don’t you want a tour?”
“Of Hearst Castle? No, thanks.”
His expression tells me how incomprehensible that is. “Everyone always wants a tour. Always.”
“I mean, it’s a very nice place, I’m sure.”
Now he looks insulted. He turns to stare at the house, then turns back to me. “Nice?”
“Please don’t take it personally. I’m not trying to start World War III here. A house like that just isn’t my thing.”
“Your thing?”
“Will you stop repeating everything I say?”
“It’s just that I’m having trouble with the fact that you don’t like my house. Everybody likes it. Everybody. Especially women.”
I sign in exasperation. “Oh, for goodness’ sake, Mason, I could give a flying fig what everyone else thinks. I’ll take my cozy little cottage over this place any day.”
“But why?”
I fold my arms across my chest and turn my torso toward him. “Why are you so upset that I don’t like it when you don’t like it, either?”
He shouts, “I never said I didn’t like it!”
“You didn’t have to. The closer we got to it, the more you constipated you looked.”
“That’s just my face!”
“Baloney. You hate your house. Admit it.”
Wild-eyed and wound up, he stares at me for a long, silent moment. Then he exhales in a huge gust and drops his head into his hands.
He says miserably, “I totally hate it. It’s awful, isn’t it?”
I pat his shoulder. “It’s beautiful, elegant, and absolutely ridiculous. Have you thought about asking the state legislature if they need new headquarters?”
He moans into his hands. “I don’t even have any furniture except a bed. You should hear how bad it echoes in there. And everything is marble, so it’s always freezing cold. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and think I’m sleeping in a mausoleum!”
I can’t help myself. I start laughing again.
He lifts his head and glares at me. “It’s not funny!”
“It’s so funny I can’t stand it.”
“Do you have any idea what I paid for this place?”
“Your gargantuan mausoleum?” I squint at it through the window. “I dunno. Bazillions?”
“Exactly! Bazillions!”
“I’m no financial whiz, Sparky, but I think they saw you coming.”
When he groans and drops his head against the headrest, closing his eyes, I try to reassure him. “I’m sure there’s some oil baron with twelve ex-wives and a hundred kids who’d love to move into it. With all the members of his country club. And their housekeeping staff.”
Mason opens his eyes and glares at me.
I try to stifle another laugh, but fail. “And the entire population of Portugal.”
“Ha ha.”
“Oh, lighten up. It’s not like you can’t sell it.”
Sounding panicked, he says, “But where would I live?”
“You say that like there are zero options between here and a cardboard box.”
“Name one.”
“There’s a house for sale at the end of my block.”
That astonishes him so much it leaves him speechless.
“You’re right,” I say solemnly. “It’s only a three-bedroom. There’s not enough space for both you and your ego.”
He looks away. “I’m just surprised you’d want me living on the same street as you.”
“Are you kidding? Imagine how much fun we could have screaming obscenities at each other over the backyard fences. The neighbors would love it.”
When he glances back at me and sees me smiling, he smiles, too. “Yeah, especially when they hear your PG version of cursing. ‘Dingwaddle’ this and ‘flying fig’ that. They won’t even know what language we’re speaking.”
We smile at each other so long it starts to get uncomfortable. I look away, patting my hair to make sure no stray strands have escaped from my bun.
After a rough throat clearing, Mason says, “I guess I’ll go in, then.”
“Okay. Goodnight. And thanks again for dinner. I love that place.”
When he doesn’t respond, I glance over at him. He’s staring back at me with the same warm look that flustered me at the restaurant. “You’re welcome, Pink. Anytime.”
“So I’ll send you all the information on Stephanie as soon as I vet her file. Okay?”
“Sure. Looking forward to it.”
An awkward silence follows. Finally, Mason breaks it by saying, “Sweet dreams.” He opens the door and starts to get out.
“Wait.”
He turns to me, his hand on the door and a question in his eyes.
“I, um, I need to say something.”
He groans. “You’re killing me, you know that?”
“No, this isn’t anything about you. You haven’t done anything wrong. This is about me.”
Eyes alight, he settles back into his seat. “This should be interesting.”
I search his face before I speak, because I want to be sure I don’t miss any change in his expression. “I’m sorry for teasing you about your ego. It’s not nice. And I don’t want you to think that I think there’s anything wrong with you, because I don’t.”
His face goes through several different emotions before it settles on something I can’t identify. It’s part pain and part pleasure, with a whole lot of ambivalence thrown in.
He says softly, “I know you don’t think there’s anything wrong with me. Which is what makes me assume your parents must’ve dropped you on your head a lot when you were a baby.”
“Oh, for crying out loud. I’m trying to apologize here!”
He grins. “You did. I heard you. And you don’t have to do it again, because I like it when you give me shit.”
When I quirk my lips, he amends quickly, “The business. I meant I like it when you give me the business. Nobody else mouths off to me the way you do.”
“Good to know,” I say, smiling. “Now that I know you like it, the gloves will come off, pal, so you better watch out.”
“I can hardly wait.”
We sit there grinning at each other, until Mason says, “Get outta here. I’ll talk to you next week.”
“Aye-aye, Captain.”
Then it all falls apart in slow motion.
I don’t know what makes me do it. I honestly don’t. One minute we’re smiling and saying goodbye, the next minute I’m impulsively leaning over to give him a kiss on the cheek.
Only he’s turning his head, so my target moves.
Where his cheek was supposed to be, suddenly his lips are there instead.
His warm, soft, beautiful lips, which part when they meet mine.
Review Coming Soon!
About J.T. Geissinger
J.T. Geissinger is a bestselling author of emotionally charged romance and women’s fiction. Ranging from funny, feisty rom coms to intense, edgy suspense, her books have sold more than one million copies and been translated into several languages.
She is the recipient of the Prism Award for Best First Book, the Golden Quill Award for Best Paranormal/Urban Fantasy, and is a two-time finalist for the RITA® Award from the Romance Writers of America®. She has also been a finalist in the Booksellers’ Best, National Readers’ Choice, and Daphne du Maurier Awards.
Her first novel was published in 2012. Since then she’s written eighteen more novels. When she’s not writing, she’s reading, drinking wine, surfing the internet, and daydreaming about all the things she’s going to be when she grows up. She lives near the beach in Los Angeles with her husband and deaf/demented rescue kitty, Ginger.
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“I don’t joke around about stuff like this. I think it’s best for both of us to go in with guidelines laid out about what we want out of this. This is for the occasional f*ck. If we decide to take it beyond that, I have a revised version of this.”
I looked down at the paper and read through the rules that he laid out.
1. Condoms will be used during all sexual encounters, regardless of the fact that the woman may be on birth control. No exceptions.
2. The woman does not have bed rights after sexual encounters and will leave within ten minutes of sexual encounter ending.
“You kick your women out of bed ten minutes after you finish f*cking them?”
“What’s wrong with that? We both got what we wanted. There’s no point in dragging it out. That just confuses the situation. Besides, I work early in the morning. I need my sleep.”
“Right, and a half hour would make all the difference in the world,” I said sarcastically.
“Are you telling me that you’ve never screwed someone and then wondered why the hell they were hanging around?”
“Well, no. I mean, of course there are times that you just want the other person to leave. It’s just that it’s hard to kick someone out.”
“That’s why they agree to this. If I want her to stick around, I’ll ask her to. But by doing this, I’ve eliminated the awkwardness of the goodbye.”
“No, you’ve eliminated having to ask her to leave. If anything, the goodbye is going to be even more f*cking awkward because you’re putting such tight time constraints on her leaving.”
He shrugged. “It gets the job done.”
This guy had some serious issues that I didn’t even want to get into. I looked back at the paper and continued reading.
3. The woman does not have washing rights after sexual encounters.
“What the hell are washing rights? Like, I’m not allowed to clean up afterward?”
“You are, just not with me. I will not be washing you in any way. I won’t bring you a washcloth or wipe you down like they do in those stupid romance novels.”
“And you read many of those?”
“No, but some of the women do. Believe me, I’ve been informed what men in those novels do, and they aren’t men. Bunch of pu$$ies.”
“Okay, so, no washing rights. Got it.”
4. If asked to stay longer, the woman does not automatically gain bed rights, washing rights, coffee rights, or house rights.
“Okay, this may seem like a stupid question, but what are coffee rights and house rights?”
“Well, that part needs some adjustment since we’re living together. Basically, it means that if I do ask you to stay the night, you don’t automatically get to help yourself to coffee in the morning. Nor do you get to wander around my house and look at all my stuff.”
“Wow,” I said, not wanting to touch that with a ten foot pole.
“Hey, I just like there to be boundaries.”