Excerpt: When a Marquess Loves a Woman by Vivienne Lorret

As a young, penniless gentleman, Maxwell Harwick knew he had little to offer Juliet White—the most beautiful debutante of the season—except his love, and one thoroughly scandalous kiss. But when they were discovered in a compromising position, a nearly ruined Juliet fled into the arms of a rich, older lord... taking Max’s heart with her.

Now a widow, Lady Juliet Granworth intends to use the fortune she inherited from her odious husband to build a new life in London. Five years have passed, but she’s never forgotten Max… or his soul-searing kiss. Yet it’s clear the newly-minted Marquess of Thayne has not forgiven her—after all, the infuriating man can barely stand the sight of her. But Juliet has endured far too much to give up without a fight and if it’s a battle of wills he wants, it’s a battle he’ll get.

He hates her for breaking his heart. She detests him for destroying her future. But beneath all the loathing, simmers an intoxicating passion that neither can ignore… and the harder they resist, the harder they will inevitably fall.

Excerpt

He spread his arms out in a shrug, cakes in one hand, walking stick in the other. “Now, as you can see, I am utterly helpless”—he paused at the sound of her scoff—“and unable to taste the cake that you offered to feed me.”

“I made no such offer.”

“Then I cannot think of what I heard moments ago unless . . .”—he lowered his voice—“you were flirting with me. But you, the ever-composed Lady Granworth, would never do such a thing.”

He wanted to see her color rise, her ire flash, anything. Damn it all, he needed to ruffle her feathers and crawl under her skin. It was the least she owed him.

“I would not even know how to flirt,” she boldly lied and without batting an eye.

Wasn’t every nuance of flirtation woven into her being? Every downward sweep of her lashes. Every subtle curl of her lips. Every slash of her tongue. Every single breath!

“Oh, I’m certain that is a false statement,” he said, keeping his tone smooth and even. “All you have to do is admit to flirting with me, and I’ll be on my way.”

“I. Admit. Nothing.”

He held out his hand. “Then feed me a cake.”

She stepped forward so suddenly she nearly startled him in the process. “Fine.”

The crisply enunciated word tolled a warning bell within him, advising caution. He had anticipated their continued banter and even her eventual retreat, but not her acquiescence. Instinct told him to be wary. And yet curiosity fixed him to the spot.

Lifting her hand, she slipped the serviette into her delicate palm, the edges draping over fingers. He stared, paying close attention to every movement, noting how her lace mitts left the entire length of her slender fingers exposed. No doubt, like her dress, they were designed for a purpose, bringing to mind thoughts of bared limbs.

Then, with a delicate pinch of her thumb and forefinger, she picked up the first cake.

Anticipation thundered in his chest, neck, and ears simultaneously. She could still balk. Still storm off in a flurry. He was prepared for such a response but no longer assured of it. Perhaps challenging her wasn’t the best idea after all.

His gaze shifted from the cake to her eyes, over and again. Her gaze, on the other hand, remained fixed to his as she slowly lifted the cake—

And popped it into her mouth. Then she closed her eyes, a smile curving her lips, while emitting a low murmur of sensual delight.

Max couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t move if someone were to set him on fire. The pulse that had pounded so hard an instant ago abruptly dropped to his trousers, banging like a drum as blood engorged his flesh.

The tip of her pert tongue slipped out to tease him further. The taunt transformed into torture when she licked the pink icing from her fingertip and then her thumb. When she finished, her eyes opened, the blue a brighter, deeper hue than the sky overhead. He found himself unable to look away.

“Delicious,” she purred. “So good in fact that I think I’ll have another.”

She pinched the second cake, her lips parted. But before she could lift it to her mouth—before he knew what he was doing—he seized her wrist.

He was half-tempted, half-wild with the need to kiss her, to lose himself in the silken texture of her lips once more. To haul her into his arms and feel the curves of her body with his hands.

It took every shred of control he possessed not to give in. At least, not completely.

Watching her all the while, he lowered his head and took the cake into his mouth.

He swallowed it without fanfare or appreciation. The dessert he really wanted was still waiting.

He slipped her finger into his mouth next, the dainty pad at the tip more silken and sweet than marzipan. In slow, searching swipes, he laved her flesh, mapping the route of every fine impression, wicking away every last bit of icing. He would have stopped if he was frightening her. Hell, he was startled by his own actions. But when he saw her pupils dilate, her gaze drifting down to his mouth, and then heard the quickening of her breath, he knew she was not afraid of him.

She was one of two things—either wholly, explosively angry or . . . wholly, explosively aroused. And since he’d been the recipient of her temper before, he wagered it was the latter.

A surge of triumph merged with the unleashed desire coursing through him. She could pretend she was cool-headed and aloof all she wanted, but he knew better. Five years ago, that same passion had slipped through the cracks in her composure.

He wanted more. Greedy, he curled his tongue around her, drawing her flesh deeper, and gently grazing the delicate furrows of her knuckle with his teeth.

“Max.”

His name shuddered out of her lungs and past her lips, sending a tremor through him. Yet the tinge of vulnerability in her passion-laden plea swiftly brought him to his senses.

With a quick tug, he pulled her closer. Still holding his walking stick, he touched the handle beneath her chin and tilted it up. “Perhaps you should reconsider flirting with your enemy in the future.”

About the Author

USA Today bestselling author, VIVIENNE LORRET loves romance novels, her pink laptop, her husband, and her two sons (not necessarily in that order … but there are days). Transforming copious amounts of tea into words, she is an Avon Impulse author of works including: Tempting Mr. Weatherstone, The Wallflower Wedding Series, The Rakes of Fallow Hall Series, The Duke’s Christmas Wish, and the Season’s Original Series.

Connect:  Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads

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Excerpt: Our Options Have Changed by Julia Kent and Elisa Reed

Having it all is a fantasy, right?

Chloe Browne knows all about fantasy. Fantasy is her job.

And she’s very, very good at what she does.

As director of design for the O Spa chain, a sophisticated women’s club that is trending its way into being the Next Big Thing, Chloe’s ready to take on the world.

One baby at a time.

Her home study’s done, and she’s about to adopt, a thirty-something single mother by choice. Who needs to put her life on hold for the right guy when the right baby is waiting for her?

Besides, talk about fantasy.

The right guy?

Pfft. Right.

And then in walks Nick Grafton, with those commanding sapphire eyes and wavy blonde hair and a sophisticated mouth that only smiles for her.

He’s perfect.

But the last thing Nick wants is to start fresh with a new baby as his college-age kids fly the coop. A single father for more than fifteen years after his wife walked out on her family, Nick finally tastes freedom.

But he likes the taste of Chloe more.
* * *
Our Options Have Changed is a full-length standalone contemporary romance, the first in the On Hold series by New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Julia Kent and journalist-turned-fiction-writer Elisa Reed. It is a loose spinoff from Julia Kent’s Shopping for a Billionaire series, with cameo appearances from favorite characters.

**BONUS ALL-NEW NOVELLA** from Julia Kent’s New York Times bestselling Shopping series! Read Shopping for a Billionaire’s Honeymoon.

This 100-page bonus comes at the end of Our Options Have Changed. When Shannon can’t get workaholic Declan to give her the sexy honeymoon time she wants, she takes matters into her own hands — with hilariously disastrous (or disastrously hilarious?) results.

Excerpt

“She’s good, isn’t she?” Andrew says. 

And giving and game, apparently. 

I give Amanda a look. She shrugs. 

“Chloe?” I ask. 

“Right. Smart, intuitive, an eye for design, and a great presenter. Gets three layers deeper than anyone in the room ever considered. She’s strategic and composed. Perfect face of O.” 

Her O face sure does come to mind. Damn it. 

“You want to fund her?” 

“The RV spa thing seems farfetched, but figures don’t lie.” 

Chloe’s figure, bent over the edge of a bed, that sweet ass— 

“Nick?” Andrew snaps his fingers. I shake myself like a wet dog. 

“Right. How much should I put in her?” 

Andrew’s jaw grinds, but before he can answer my garbled question, we’re interrupted. 

Thank God. 

“Twelve inches!” Gina exclaims from the doorway. 

Timing really is everything. 

“What?” Andrew sputters. 

She’s holding a tray with three enormous white coffee cups in it. 

“Twelve inches! The size of these coffees from downstairs. They’re so big!”

About Julia Kent

New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Julia Kent writes romantic comedy with an edge, and new adult books that push contemporary boundaries. From billionaires to BBWs to rock stars, Julia finds a sensual, goofy joy in every book she writes, but unlike Trevor from Random Acts of Crazy, she has never kissed a chicken.

Connect with Julia Kent: Website | Twitter | Facebook | Facebook Reader Group

About Elisa Reed

New England native Elisa Reed now lives, writes, and plays in New Orleans and along the sugar sands of the Gulf Coast. 

Connect with Elisa Reed: Facebook

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Spotlight: Time Phantom by Randy Anderson

On his 50th birthday, recently divorced male model Dane Vanderbrouk, is struck by a peculiar affliction. If he remains still for too long, he falls back in time. If he moves too fast, he'll travel forward. And, when you’re a time traveler the world is an immutable place. Every action vanishes with each jump in time.

Chased by an assassin from the future through the narrow streets of Amsterdam, Dane is thrust into a war where shaping the future means changing the past.

Fast paced action, unexpected twists, and an eclectic cast of characters will pull you into a world where impressions matter, but only an action of consequence can change the future.

Time travel has a new speed, and adventure in a new series.

Excerpt

NEW YORK, 2070

Tonja dropped the sheer white fabric over her face. She’d always thought the veil was meant to hide the fear from the attendees who’d come to witness this special moment. But now that she was the one looking out from behind the porous fabric, she realized the ceremonial costume was designed to calm the fears of the honoree. The world appeared benevolent and calm. Soothing.

As she walked down the hallway toward the altar, she began to hear music. Soft strings and bass notes accented by a subtle melody. The music underscored the rhythmic percussion of seven swords stabbing a large stone altar. The music transformed the violent actions into something beautiful. The air smelled of lilacs and vanilla, scents that brought with them happy childhood memories.

When she arrived in the room—the room that was to be her casket—she scanned the faces of her friends. Institutional companions, really. People she’d come to know simply because they’d all been quarantined together for decades, ever since she was snatched up and taken to this place when she was twenty-five, the height of her youth. And now, on her fiftieth birthday, she was walking toward an altar, where she’d be strapped down and stabbed into oblivion, like thousands before her.

This was how it was done. It was best for society, they said, and more humane for the individual to be stabbed by seven men on the surface of a stone tablet.

Walking toward them, she observed their labors, metal sparking against stone, rhythmic stabs where she would soon lie. In a few short moments the men would stop their actions and allow Tonja to lie down and be strapped to the stone slab. It was that simple. If when the altar shifted she didn’t fall back in time, as they said she would, she would be unstrapped and set free. But in the event that she did travel back, her body would appear under the pointed blades she’d just witnessed in action. The kill would be quick.

Tonja had resigned herself to this fate after witnessing her first ceremony. The image haunted her. Seeing the body vanish from the altar the moment it moved, then having the memory of seeing the man gored by the rhythmic lunges of the swords minutes before. It was confusing, frightening, and magical.

She closed her eyes and imagined what the hard stone slab would feel like. How the leather straps would press against her skin. She was only moments from the experience itself, and yet she couldn’t help indulging the fantasy. Why did they use such heavy materials? Why stone and leather? And why stabbing? Why not fire? Or a bullet through the head? The questions were piling up inside her head. The most pressing of which was, why hadn’t she thought to ask these questions earlier?

Panic arrived like a clap of thunder: sudden, loud, and resonant. Her knees thrust forward, but her calves kept her balanced. She knew it was coming. She was seconds away. She had to get onto the altar immediately or… or, or, or… there was another option. The question wasn’t why the method of death, it was why the straps? They didn’t want her to run! But her desire to do so was overwhelming. So that was what she decided to do.

A pressure fell over her body just as she turned on her heels and sprinted away from the altar. The pressure vanished the moment she started moving. Emotion manifested in laughter. It was that easy! She ran down the corridor toward the exit. She just needed to keep moving. That was it. Keep moving. She could hear them screaming in the ceremonial room. Shouts of disapproval mixed with terrified cries.

Her body hit the door. The moment she stopped, the pressure consumed her again and was immediately replaced by dizzying spins. Everything was moving. Her world transformed. The door was locked. Her laughter dissolved into fear as she continued to try the immovable knob. She wasn’t going to escape through this door. She had to go back. She had no choice.

= + =

She turned and ran back toward the altar room. The room she’d just fled. The spinning stopped. The world returned to normal. As she approached the altar room, she noticed that it was filled with a different collection of witnesses. People she recognized but who weren’t at her ceremony. It wasn’t her ceremony.

“A runner!” someone shouted when they noticed Tonja in the hall.

A fundamental instinct exploded in Tonja’s chest. An instinct that would drive her farther than anyone could imagine. Quickly, she turned and ran back down the hall and forced herself into the preparation room. The room where she’d so deliberately covered herself in delicate fabrics. It was empty, the last occupant a fresh kill on the altar slab. She stared at the floor-to-ceiling window she’d been daydreaming out of only minutes before. A long, rolling lawn started just on the other side of the glass. She needed to get out, to feel its softness under her feet. Without pausing she jumped at the glass. Her body cracked. The window cracked. And she bounced back, landing hard on the floor. Pressure. Spinning. Disorientation. She held her head and screamed.

= + =

She rolled to her side and sprang to her feet. It was earlier. A man was dressing in his ceremonial attire, staring, as she had, out the window. He was startled by her appearance, as she was by his. But Tonja kept her focus, channeling her instinct to run. She sprinted in circles around the room. The cracks she’d made on her first attempt on the window were gone. That was tomorrow. The window was once again perfect. She had to start over. This time, though, she tossed herself at an angle so she would bounce off, land on her feet, and keep moving. The man watched in amazement as Tonja tossed herself against the window seven times. It was the eighth that would bring her freedom.

Circling the room, she picked up as much speed as possible and charged the cracked glass. She curled into a ball to focus maximum energy on the smallest surface area. Her body popped though the first-story window and she landed on the grass. With dozens of broken bones and her skin heavily lacerated, she rolled on the soft green as long as she could manage before coming to a stop. Bloodied and battered, she closed her eyes and succumbed to the spinning. Staring at the sky. Believing it was the end.

= + =

She had to cough out blood and managed to roll over. The spins stopped. It was night. The grass was wet. Her injuries healed. The spins started anew.

= + =

She rolled again, this time onto her feet. The sun was coming up. She laughed as she began running, celebrating her newly healed body and her newfound freedom. She had two goals now: keep moving, and get as far away from this place as possible.

The lawn ended abruptly at the twelve-foot chain-link fence, topped with a massive tangle of razor wire. Tonja turned and ran along the fence, hoping to find a gate. Then she thought better of it. Any place that was surrounded by razor wire was bound to have armed guards at the gate. She studied the fence. Going over was her only option.

The electricity was a surprise. The moment she grabbed the fence it singed her fingers and made red patterns across her palms. She stepped back, and the world was once again spinning.

= + =

She ran. It was sunset. An entire day had passed in a matter of minutes. But what day? Her hands were renewed. Fresh and strong. There were no signs of damage or burns anywhere. She didn’t have time to ponder how far back in time she was falling. Or how she was healing. She needed to get on the other side of that fence. And she needed to keep moving.

She studied the fence as she ran, scanning the razor wire, looking for an opening or a break in the density. When she spotted a lower pile, with three, maybe four layers of razor wire, she jumped onto the fence. Smoke rose from her hands and feet. She could smell her flesh burning as she reached over her head and pulled herself up. The pain was unbearable, but her drive was stronger. She paused to catch her breath, clinging hard to the hot fence so she wouldn’t fall from the spinning.

= + =

She pulled herself up another rung. It was night. Her hands and feet were restored, only to begin burning once more. She reached the top and threw her body through the razor wire as hard as she could. The razors slashed her flesh. Arms, shoulders, face, legs, no part was spared. She squirmed and lashed her entire body, hoping to overcome the spiraling wire with her movements. She fell over the other side and dangled in the mess of metal. She’d stopped. The spinning started. She couldn’t move. All she could do was hang, a bloodied mass of flesh, over the side of the fence. She heard sirens. Lights were bouncing across the lawn, approaching her from the building. Guards were running toward her along the perimeter.

She hung there, her world spinning. She’d made it out, she told herself. She made it to the other side of the fence at least. She didn’t just lie down and accept a fate dealt to her by the institution. She did something in her final moments. But those thoughts were quickly destroyed by her unassailable desire to live. So she freed an arm, ripping it off the hooked razors. Flesh dangled, blood poured to the ground, and she grabbed a bundle of wire and pulled herself up slightly, creating a bounce.

= + =

It was still night, but there was no sound, no lights approaching, no guards could be heard. Her wounds had healed, only to be replaced by fresh ones as the razors cut once again into her skin. The spinning resumed. She was going to fall back once more. The alarms sounded. Lights came on. And again she was discovered. Carefully, she untangled her arms and legs, searching for the simplest way out of this puzzle of wires. Pulling razors from flesh. People were running across the lawn. Shouting guards. She managed to free both arms and pull herself up, yanking her lower body out of the wire. Large gashes opened across her thighs. She let go of the wire and allowed gravity to force the rest of her body through. The wires snapped. She fell ten feet to the ground.

= + =

She landed on the concrete road like a sack of flour. Both her legs were broken. Her hip was displaced. She let the spinning overcome her. She was about to pass out from the pain. She was on the very edge of death when she saw the bright lights of a large truck driving toward her at a high speed. When it was a few meters from crushing her, she sucked in her gut and forced herself to roll out of the way.

= + =

She hadn’t moved far enough to avoid the truck, but it had vanished. It was midday and her injuries were gone. She rolled off the road and onto her fresh bare feet and began running along the city sidewalk. She didn’t know where she was going. But it didn’t matter. She only knew she was free and headed into the future.

About the Author

Randy Anderson is a novelist and playwright. In 2011, he published his memoir, On Making Off. His second book, Careful, was released on May 1st 2014. He is currently working on a new time travel series as well as a literary trilogy. Plays he’s written include; New Year’s Resolutions, Homlessness Homosexuals and Heretics, Testing Average, Kill The President, Armor of Wills, and The Dwelling. If you want to know more, reach out! Randy currently lives in New York City where he writes, reasons, and reacts.

Connect: Website | Twitter | Facebook | Goodreads | Amazon

Spotlight: Chasing Truth by Julie Cross

Publication Date:  September 27, 2016
Publisher:  Entangled TEEN

At Holden Prep, the rich and powerful rule the school—and they’ll do just about anything to keep their dirty little secrets hidden.

When former con artist Eleanor Ames’s homecoming date commits suicide, she’s positive there’s something more going on. The more questions she asks, though, the more she crosses paths with Miles Beckett. He’s sexy, mysterious, arrogant…and he’s asking all the same questions.

Eleanor might not trust him—she doesn’t even like him—but they can’t keep their hands off of each other. Fighting the infuriating attraction is almost as hard as ignoring the fact that Miles isn’t telling her the truth…and that there’s a good chance he thinks she’s the killer.

Excerpt

“You’re the opposite of shy.” 
He seems to deliberate for a minute, then says, “Now I am.”
“And before?” 
“I guess it’s easier to shed that part of me, starting in a new place where no one knows me, especially with the job I’m doing,” he says. “We’re all a little more bold in costume.” 
I look up at him, trying not to seem disappointed. If he’s really shy, then that’s the Miles I want to know. “So it’s all part of being undercover?” 
He shuffles closer until only six inches separate us. “That’s the thing…I’m not sure it’s an act anymore. Maybe I was covered up before and this is the real me, or close to it. Maybe the labels we give ourselves early on hold us back from seeing what’s really there.” 
I’m still standing there, mulling that over, when Miles brushes past me, whispering, “Good night, Ellie.” 
Just the sound of my name rolling off his tongue gets my heart racing. And he knows it. And he knows that I know he knows. I laugh all the way to the guest room. Shy my ass.

Julie Cross is a NYT and USA Today bestselling author of New Adult and Young Adult fiction, including the Tempest series, a young adult science fiction trilogy which includes Tempest, Vortex, Timestorm (St. Martin’s Press).

She’s also the author of the Letters to Nowhere series, Whatever Life Throws at You, Third Degree, Halfway Perfect, and many more to come!

Julie lives in Central Illinois with her husband and three children. She’s a former gymnast, longtime gymnastics fan, coach, and former Gymnastics Program Director with the YMCA.

She’s a lover of books, devouring several novels a week, especially in the young adult and new adult genres.

Outside of her reading and writing cred, Julie Cross is a committed–but not talented–long distance runner, creator of imaginary beach vacations, Midwest bipolar weather survivor, expired CPR certification card holder, as well as a ponytail and gym shoe addict.

Follow: Website | Twitter | Facebook | Goodreads

Spotlight: Embracing the Knight by Jenn Langston

Miss Claire Ashford knows exactly what she wants out of life — to marry for love. When she finds herself alone in the woods with none other than notorious rake Ian Michael Caldwell, Viscount Knightly, her chances of a proper match are ruined. He is willing to sacrifice himself for the sake of her reputation, but she is determined not to marry anyone out of obligation.

For years, Ian has wanted nothing more than to, one day, marry Miss Claire Ashford. When fate forces them into a compromising situation, he vows to do just that. In spite of every effort, she refuses his suit. Not one to easily give up, Ian drafts assistance from an unlikely source.

As her first season continues, Claire finds it increasingly difficult to keep her distance from Ian. His charm, and ability to stir feelings inside of her she didn’t know existed, makes it hard to remember why she refused him in the first place. With his relentless pursuit and her weakening resolve, she desperately wants to give in to him. However, after seeing he hasn’t changed his rakish ways, how can she trust him not to break her heart, again?

Excerpt

Claire stared at Ian’s backside and tried hard to keep her thoughts pure. For almost a full day now, she’d been awarded with the view, and combined with the man himself, her resolve wavered. Each hour it became increasingly difficult to remember why she disliked him.

Although their situation was miserable, Ian had kept the tone light. He made her remember all those good times they had shared as children. Back then, and most of the time, her brother had balked at having his younger sister tag along, but Ian had always been sweet. Then, he grew up.

“Ian, it’s hot. If we don’t stop soon, I will fall over.”

“As you wish. Here is as good a spot as any.”

Gratefully, she slid down, using a tree to balance her until making contact with the ground. She wanted to laugh at the change in herself. Not long ago, the idea of dirtying her skirts would have bothered her. Today, however, the cool dirt felt wonderful against her legs.

Ian followed suit across from her, bringing the bag he’d fashioned from her petticoat and laying it between them. After being deprived of food for so long, the idea of having another pear had her mouth watering.

“I don’t recall pears ever tasting so good.” She closed her eyes and sighed as she took a bite, savoring the juice on her tongue.

“I see.”

When she opened her eyes, she noticed Ian looking at her mouth strangely. He made no move to collect a pear for himself. Heat flooded her cheeks. Clearly, she had done something wrong.

“Don’t you agree?”

He grabbed a pear and turned to stare in the opposite direction. “Yes. They are delicious.”

Silence filled the space between them as they finished their fruit. She moved her aching legs, although making sure to keep them covered by her skirt. This trek was exhausting, and she wasn’t sure how much more she could take.

“How much longer do you suspect before we reach London?” She rubbed her aching neck thinking about how nice it would be to sleep in a bed.

“It’s hard to say. Anxious to get back to Lord Higgins?”

She snorted, uncaring how unladylike she sounded. “The only thing I could possibly miss about him is his dancing. That man sure knows the intricacies of the waltz.”

“The waltz? Surely he can’t be better than me.”

The cocky grin he shot her made her smile as she shook her head. Ian’s charm seemed to come as natural to him as breathing. Her lips tightened as the merriment wore away. She’d never seen a woman who wasn’t susceptible to him.

“Considering we’ve never danced, I’m not a good judge.”

He climbed to his feet and held out his hand, a sparkle in his eyes. “Dance with me.”

“Here? Don’t be ridiculous.”

The idea of dancing with Ian, here, in the middle of the forest did strange things to her stomach. It seemed too intimate. Considering their current circumstances, and their sleeping arrangements, they didn’t need any more intimacy between them.

Ian crossed his arms. “Afraid you can’t keep up without the music? Don’t worry. I can lead the most inept of partners.”

Refusing to be baited, she narrowed her eyes as she gently wrapped the pears back up.

“I have no desire to waste my energy on ridiculous pursuits.” She got to her feet, slinging the pears over her shoulder. “I suppose we should continue on.”

“Very well, but one day, you will dance with me.”

She huffed.

His long sigh betrayed his disappointment. He took the bag from her and began their trek. Narrowing her eyes on his back, she tried to figure him out. Considering what they were facing at the moment, she couldn’t understand his mood. Why did he work so hard to keep her entertained?

“You can stop,” she said. “After all, it isn’t necessary.”

Ian spun around to face her, confusion marring his brow. “What are you talking about?”

“Charming me,” she explained, unable to keep the exasperation out of her voice.

“Charming you?”

“Yes. It will get you nowhere, and there is no time for it.”

As if to emphasize her words, she took off, walking past him in the direction he’d been taking. The constant walking, the heat, and his positive attitude were weighing her down.

He hurried until he was beside her. “Does that mean it is working?”

“Yes. I mean no . . . it’s just irritating.”

His warm fingers on her arm stopped her, and allowed him to turn her to face him. Gone was the playfulness he usually sported. His eyes were dark, his expression serious. She sucked in her breath, unable to take his intensity.

“When did this happen? When did you start hating me?”

She swallowed repeatedly, trying to dislodge the lump in her throat. Telling him the truth was impossible, for she never wanted him to know. The very thought of that day brought a flush to her cheeks. However, she couldn’t stand the pain in his eyes.

“I don’t hate you,” she replied, knowing it to be the truth. No matter how hard she had tried, she couldn’t bring her heart to truly dislike him.

His gaze dropped to her mouth, and her lips parted. Would he kiss her now? She always imagined her first kiss would be with Ian. Desperate to experience the feel of his lips on hers, she leaned forward.

The sound of a bird crowing in a nearby tree startled her enough to clear the fog from her thoughts. She snapped back from him. Taking a deep breath, she turned away, knowing he didn’t want to kiss her, specifically. She was simply the only available woman present.

“Claire.” His voice was barely above a whisper.

She felt his hands on her shoulders, but she shrugged him off. Right now, she couldn’t face him. If she did, she’d be too tempted to allow him to use her as he’d done to so many other women.

“I think we should keep moving.”

“Of course,” he agreed, regret echoing in his voice.

As he moved in front of her to lead the way, guilt swamped her. The feeling she’d made a huge mistake overwhelmed her. But, that couldn’t be true. No good would come from kissing Ian. So why couldn’t she shake the feeling? Why did depression have to settle on her shoulders?

About the Author

Jenn Langston is a writer and a lover of historical romances. She developed her love of reading romance novels at a very young age. What began as the simple joy of reading developed into a passion to write.

She lives in the beloved state of Texas where she was born and raised. With her husband, three beautiful children, a dog, three cats, and a ball python. she has a full house. There is never a dull moment, but always time to read and write.

Connect: Twitter | Facebook

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Excerpt: It's a Fugly Life by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

From New York Times Bestseller Mimi Jean Pamfiloff, Comes a New Standalone Contemporary Romance.

HE’S PERFECT FOR HER IN EVERY WAY, EXCEPT FOR ONE SMALL ISSUE. HE’S TOO LATE.

My name is Lily Snow. And I was once the kind of ugly that turned heads and made people stare. The worst part was how I let it ruin my life and destroy my relationship with the love of my life—Maxwell Cole, one of the sexiest, wealthiest, enigmatic men on the planet.  All because I felt ugly and certainly not good enough for a man’s love.

But not anymore.

One car wreck, three reconstructive surgeries, and some unexpected money have changed my life.

I’ve started my own company, I’ve finally learned to like myself—not love, but like (hey, it’s a journey)—and I’ve met a wonderful new man who’s helped me put Max in the past where he belongs. 

There’s only one problem: After six long months, Maxwell Cole is back, asking for the one thing I can’t give him. And he’s not taking no for an answer.

NOTE: This is a continuation of the story FUGLY, but is a standalone.

Excerpt

Six Weeks Earlier

Today was huge. Huger than huge. Okay, it wasn’t really, but I needed to remind myself that the little milestones in life were as important as the champagne-worthy events. For example, just three months ago, I’d opened my very own boutique in downtown Santa Barbara. Think eclectic, handmade clothing and accessories, sort of like that one aisle at Whole Foods with the mishmash of tie-dyed scarves and hemp bracelets. Not my lifelong dream, but my products were made by women, for women, and I loved the idea of making money while helping people. After three months, I’d gotten the helping part down, but not the making-money part. Sales were the pits, and I’d already received notice of a rent increase at the end of the year.

You’ll figure it out, Lily. You always do. I drew a happy face on the puppies and kittens calendar stuck to the wall behind the register. It was important to stay positive and focused.

My smile faded as it dawned on me that today also marked another event. Six months. Six months since I’d seen Maxwell Cole—cocky, SOB billionaire and quite possibly the most hypnotically sexy and complex man in the world—and asked him to forgive me for some pretty awful things I had done.

He hadn’t.

And it had been the roughest time of my life. Rougher than working for the man. Rougher than falling in love with him—my boss—a man so far out of my league that I hadn’t been able to believe he wanted me back. And certainly rougher than the day I effectively tanked his multibillion-dollar company. An edgy, cosmetics juggernaut he’d built with his own two hands.

And I fucked it up.

Yep.

With my own two lips, aka my big fat mouth. All because I believed—erroneously—that he didn’t have feelings for me.

Crap, Lily. I blew out a breath and ran a hand over the top of my hair, smoothing back the loose strands of my ponytail. “Stop it. Just stop it.” I’d already decided months ago to be done with the self-flagellation. I couldn’t go back. I couldn’t undo the past. And either way, I’d moved on.

“Every journey starts with one step,” I muttered to myself and put another smiley face on my calendar. And as of today, I’d made it six months. I’d put my life back together and was even dati—

The cluster of silver bells above the front door to my tiny shop jingled to welcome the first customer of the day.

“Welcome to Lily’s Pad. Let me know if I can help y…” I glanced up from behind the register and lost my grip on the pen in my hand. “Max?”

“Hello, Lily.” His deep, exquisitely masculine voice washed over me like a tsunami of emotional shock.

“Max, what are you doing here?” My eyes stuck on his face, drinking in every virile detail. Maxwell Cole wasn’t what people would call a handsome man. Handsome implied someone who might be nice looking or pleasing to look at. This infamous, thirty-four-year-old billionaire was so much more. Women saw him and couldn’t look away from his six-three frame, underwear model physique, hazel eyes and chiseled jawline that gave him a godlike appearance. It was the same stunning good looks he’d used to build his multibillion-dollar cosmetics company. He used to model in his ads. Semi-nude. Yes, total eye candy for women of every age.

“I heard you’re hiring a part-time assistant.” He pointed to the sign in the window with one of those muscular arms I used to enjoy wrapped around my midriff when he took me from behind with his substantial co—

Don’t torture yourself. He dumped you hard. Obviously, the man was here for a reason, although I couldn’t fathom what that reason might be.

He continued, “I also heard you might be looking for a husband. But I don’t have any experience. Think you might consider me anyway?” He shoved a hand in his jeans pocket and looked at me with a wickedly sexy grin.

Huh? My mind couldn’t quite absorb his words or their meaning. I was far too busy realizing how much I’d missed him and how fucking delicious he looked. He wore these expensive sexy jeans that hung just right on his hips and a dark gray button-down shirt that said, “Yeah, I’ve got money. Yeah, my body is a temple of male perfection. No, you can’t have me—I’m for looking only, ladies.” In other words, everything about the man screamed unattainable. His dark messy hair, his overgrown stubble—not quite a beard—his full kissable lips and jaw and chin and everything about him was…perfect.

I swear, that man could wear a neon yellow jockstrap and orange traffic cone on his head and still look like he’d strolled off a runway.

Wait. He just asked me to marry him?

Nope. Nope. I’m dreaming. I have fallen and hit my head, and any moment I’m going to wake up with a splitting headache.

I suddenly realized that Max’s mouth kept moving, but I hadn’t heard a word.

“Sorry? Could you repeat that?” I blinked some more.

He stepped forward, putting himself on the other side of the counter, opposite me. “I know I should’ve called. I wanted to a million times. But I needed time to sort out a few things.” His smile faded, and the look in his hazel eyes hardened.
Did he mean he needed time to forgive me? I didn’t know, but clearly he had, and I felt a huge weight lift from my soul. I hadn’t even realized I’d been carrying it around.

I nodded my head. “I understand. I did ruin your company.”

“Fuck the company. I was going to let it all go anyway. You and I both know my mother needed to be gone from my life.” His mother, the cruelest piece of sadistic human-shit on the planet, had owned fifty-one percent of his company, making it difficult for him to keep a distance. Still, I had to believe that if not for me, things would’ve gone down differently. Maybe he could’ve found an investor to buy her out or something. But because of me, he’d been forced to sell Cole Cosmetics to a Canadian competitor for half its original value. I hated thinking about all that. It made my stomach knot with guilt.

“You’re only saying that to make me feel less crappy,” I said softly. “That company was everything to you.”

“No. You were everything to me and you still are. I realized it when I watched them pry your bloody body from your car with a crowbar. Do you have any idea what that did to me?”

Oh. That. It wasn’t that I’d forgotten, but I rarely thought of that day anymore. Mostly because losing Max overshadowed all of the surrounding drama. But seven months ago, right as everything blew up with his company, a news van chased me on the highway near Chicago, hoping to get a story about my relationship with my infamous boss. I plowed my convertible Mini into the center divider and made mincemeat out of my face.

Now, before you start thinking that it must’ve left me with a horrible disfigurement, I’ll have you know two things. One, I was born with an extremely ugly face. I mean nose from hell, an unusually large chin, and—well, let’s just say that small children often cried when they looked at me. “Mommy! It’s a monster.” Think Chaka from Land of the Lost but with a very petite body, nice teeth, and long wavy blonde hair. That was me.

Now are you seeing why I couldn’t quite believe my international sex symbol of a boss loved me?

Moving on to point number two: The accident did leave me scarred—forehead, chin, and one side of my nose—the place where the side mirror of my car broke off and impacted. But by then I had already made up my mind to fix my ugly face against Max’s wishes. Long story short, when the accident happened, Max—despite being furious with me for what I did to his company—still made sure I was put back together by the best. Now people stared but they didn’t retch, and with a little makeup, I could cover most of the scars.

“I’m so sorry, Max. I can’t say it enough times.” Yes, I had apologized to him already—after my accident, after he’d made sure I was put back together, after he had to sell his company, and after I’d made a mess of our relationship. But my plea for forgiveness fell on cold ears. He could hardly look me in the eyes that day.

“I’m the one who is sorry.” Max planted his arms on the counter and leaned in, his eyes filled with a sternness that meant he wasn’t messing around. “None of those events would’ve happened if I’d simply told you how much I love you and asked you to marry me. I should’ve been stronger, but I wasn’t.”

He was taking the blame? Him? “But…but…I…you…you were so angry and…” I shook my head. I was the one who messed it all up.

He grabbed my hand from across the counter and squeezed it. “I was hurt because you didn’t trust me, Lily. You didn’t believe in us—fuck.” He drew a breath. “I didn’t come here to rehash this crap.”

“Remind me again; why are you here?”

“Marry me, Lily. Because I love you. And I never want to let you go.”

About the Author

MIMI JEAN PAMFILOFF is a USA Today and New York Times bestselling romance author. Although she obtained her MBA and worked for more than fifteen years in the corporate world, she believes that it’s never too late to come out of the romance closet and follow your dream.
Mimi lives with her Latin Lover hubby, two pirates-in-training (their boys), and the rat terrier duo, Snowflake and Mini Me, in Arizona. She hopes to make you laugh when you need it most and continues to pray daily that leather pants will make a big comeback for men

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