Read an exclusive excerpt In the Heir by Ruth Cardello

Brett Westerly is his father’s golden child, but it’s come at a cost. As head of the family corporation, he throws himself into his work—hiding in his office is easier than confronting the reality of his broken family.

After a bitter divorce that split the family and divided loyalties, the wealthy Westerly matriarch offers an early inheritance to any grandchild who marries and invites the entire family to the wedding. Brett’s brother Spencer rashly gets engaged, and Brett knows it’s his duty to intervene. But he never imagined the unwelcome desire Spencer’s fiery fiancée would spark in him. Now the man who’s used to getting everything he could want has met the one woman he can’t have.

Ever since she was a girl, Alisha Coventry considered Spencer and his sister Rachelle the family she didn’t have. When Spencer asks for her help, Alisha has no problem becoming his fake fiancée—until she meets Spencer’s sexy older brother Brett. The chemistry between them is undeniable—forbidden—but as their relationship deepens, Brett is determined to have her.

Alisha only wanted to help the family make amends. Now she’s falling for the wrong Westerly.

 Exclusive Excerpt

She raced out the door and came to a skidding stop when she saw Brett leaning against a silver sports car parked behind her Honda Civic. 

With his charcoal suit and dark glasses, he looked out of place in the driveway. Alisha’s breath caught in her throat as he pushed off the car and straightened. She didn’t appreciate the way her body warmed as he approached her. “If you’re looking for Spencer, he’s not here.”

“I know.” 

Alisha almost took a step back, but she forced herself to stand her ground. He came to a stop a foot from her. Close enough to set Alisha’s heart beating wildly in her chest with an odd mix of nerves and excitement. He was really better-looking than any man had the right to be. “I’m not sure what you think we have to say to each other.” 

He removed his glasses. There they were, those blue eyes she found impossible to look away from. She told herself she was imagining it, but she could have sworn there was sadness in them. Did his gruff exterior protect a man who’d experienced pain? In terms of worldly possessions and all things sought after, he had everything. But something had torn through him. 

As one long moment dragged into two, she became sure he’d come to apologize and was having difficulty choosing his words. He probably felt horrible about the first impression he’d given her. She nodded at him in encouragement. 

“How much would it take for you to not marry my brother? Fifty thousand? A hundred thousand? Name your price.” 

Alisha gasped as his words sank in. I did not see that coming. “You should go.” 

He leaned into her space. “Two hundred.” 

You’re getting less attractive the more you speak. “Sorry to disappoint you, but not everyone can be bought. There isn’t an amount you could offer that would be enough.” 

“I don’t believe you,” he said matter-of-factly. 

“It doesn’t matter if you believe me. It’s the truth.”

“Everyone has a price.” 

“Then you know the wrong people.” 

He seemed to weigh her claim for a moment before saying, “You don’t love Spencer.” 

“Wrong again.” She did, even if it wasn’t in a romantic way. He was the little brother she’d never been fortunate to actually have. 

Brett straightened and frowned. “You were dating someone else until two weeks ago.” 

As far as Alisha knew, Brett didn’t talk to Rachelle often, and she couldn’t imagine that her dating life was a topic of discussion when they did speak. “How do you know that?” Alisha decided it didn’t matter. Instead of waiting for an answer, she waved a hand at him and demanded, “Why are you so determined to sabotage your brother?” 

His head snapped back. “I’m not.” 

“He needs the money for his company.” 

“My father would give him a loan. I’ve offered to invest in his company. He doesn’t have to marry you—” Brett was smart enough to stop there. 

Had Alisha actually been dreaming of living happily ever after with Spencer, she would have been hurt by Brett’s stance. She took a deep, calming breath. Regardless of what a jackass he was, this was Rachelle’s brother. She remembered what Spencer had said about always hoping things would go better. She owed so much of the happiness she’d found to the Westerlys’ welcome. They taught me what a healthy family life could be like. Is this my chance to pay it forward? She called upon her kindergarten-teacher patience and said, “Coming here was wrong. Offering me money to leave Spencer is insulting and hurtful. If you love your brother at all, don’t do this. Leave now. I’ll pretend none of this happened, and you should try to support your brother in a way that leaves him with his pride intact.” 

Brett’s face tightened with emotion. Alisha braced herself for what was likely going to be an even more offensive comeback, and considering he’d already implied her loyalty could be bought, that was saying something. He brought a hand up and instinctively Alisha flinched before she realized he was merely replacing his sunglasses. He paused and his eyes snapped to hers. No longer angry with her, he appeared to be angry for her. 

How can that be possible? He doesn’t know about my past. No one knows all of it. She pushed back a twinge of shame and tensed defensively. When he finally spoke, it was in a deep, 

gravelly voice. “I would never hurt you.” 

Alisha didn’t have a ready answer for that. She didn’t want to think the past had any hold over her anymore. She looked away and adjusted her bag on her shoulder. “Please just go. I’m already late to meet Rachelle at the gym.” 

He nodded, replaced his sunglasses, and without saying another word climbed back into his sports car and drove off. When he was out of sight, Alisha finally got into her own car and started it. She then seemed to lose momentum and simply sat there. 

What was that? 

Did he honestly think I’d take the money? 

She remembered how he’d looked as he stood over her, still very much the arrogant man she’d met the day before, but with an underlying sadness that made her wish she knew how to help him connect with Spencer. 

I don’t understand you, Mr. Angry Westerly. 

She backed out of the driveway and pulled into traffic, unable to dislodge him from her thoughts. She had driven several blocks before she realized she was headed in the opposite direction from the gym. She used a side road to turn around and sighed. But if it’s any consolation, I understand myself even less.

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About the Author

Ruth Cardello was born the youngest of eleven children in a small city in northern Rhode Island. She lived in Boston, Paris, Orlando, and New York before coming full circle and moving back to Rhode Island, where she lives with her husband and three children. Before turning her attention to writing, Ruth was an educator for twenty years, eleven of which she spent as a kindergarten teacher. She is the author of seven previous novels including Bedding the Billionaire, which was a New York Times and USA Today bestseller.

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Read an excerpt from Without Words by Delancey Stewart

Sometimes love speaks for itself…

After an accident in the line of duty, firefighter Roberto DeRosa’s life is turned upside down. His career fighting fires is over, and he’s left with an uncertain future and an injury that makes communicating difficult for him. The only time words flow easily is when they’re lyrics and he has a guitar in his hands. Talking to women is definitely out, especially if they have bright blue eyes that seem to see right into his soul.

Dani Hodge is on the brink of realizing her dream of opening a small combination wine and book store in San Diego’s funky Ocean Beach neighborhood. But before she can open the doors, there’s work to be done, more work than she can do herself.

When the tattooed guy who completely ignored her at a bar walks by and offers her a hand wrangling a tile saw, Dani can’t afford to say no—and why would she say no to Mr. Strong and Silent when his stare conveys more than words could?

Excerpt 

I caught Trent’s attention at the bar, putting my back to the girl and focusing on getting my heart to slow down, letting my blood cool.

And just when I’d gotten control of myself again, she was right fucking next to me, and my mind went blank.

Or most parts of my mind, at least. The parts in charge of caveman stuff—the parts that screamed at me to pick her up, throw her over my shoulder, and find a wall to fuck her against—those parts were working fine. Unfortunately.

“Hi,” she said.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

I stared at her. I was blank. I reached for a word to give her and my mind was empty. Even the one word she’d said would have been fine. I could have parroted it back to her. But it had fluttered up into the noise and light inside the bar and evaporated. Even that one simple word was out of my reach.

I watched her expression change. She’d said “hi” like she was extending a bridge, a thin filament I might just be able to risk stepping onto. But as she waited for me to return her greeting, to say fucking anything at all, the bridge dissolved.

And her face closed up. The sparkle in her bright eyes faded, and her energy pulled back inside her, leaving me cold again. A mixture of fear and surprise replaced the glow on her face, and I felt both guilty and monstrous as I watched what it did to her. She let other words fall between us. Nonsense, really. I’d made her uncomfortable, unhappy. And I already knew she was a girl I never wanted to see unhappy.

Finally, she turned around and went back to her table, pulled the other girl toward the door, and disappeared into the night beyond. And the strange light that had filled the club was extinguished.

 

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About the Author

Delancey Stewart writes contemporary romance from her home outside Washington D.C. In a house populated by two tiny pirates and one full-sized Marine aviator, inspiration for her heroes is never hard to find—though quiet time to write often is!

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Spotlight: Hold Me by J.Kenner

My life with Damien has never been fuller. Every day is a miracle, and every night I lose myself in the oasis of his arms. 

But there are new challenges, too. Our families. Our careers. And new responsibilities that test us with unrelenting, unexpected trials. 

I know we will survive—we have to. Because I cannot live without Damien by my side. But sometimes the darkness seems overwhelming, and I am terrified that the day will come when Damien cannot bring the light. And I will have to find the strength inside myself to find my way back into his arms.

Excerpt

Better?

I smile at the text from Damien, then immediately tap out a reply.

Much. Thank you.

It’s past noon, and I’ve spent a productive morning in my office getting all my proverbial ducks in order. Marge is making calls to all our clients to let them know about Eric’s departure and to tell them I’ll be calling to update them later in the week. Abby is taking point on hiring one new person who can walk the line between tech and client relations, and I’m doing everything else.

So far, there’ve been no crises today, and I’m feeling about eight thousand percent better than I was yesterday. It was still hard leaving the girls this morning, but I went in a bit later, and so we had breakfast and some playtime together.

Glad to hear it. Sending a car for you at five.

I frown, then tap out a reply.

I have Coop here. I drove my Mini Cooper into the office this morning and he’s tucked away in the small parking garage that serves my building.

He can stay in the garage overnight. I want you relaxed. We have plans tonight.

I laugh, delighted.

Are you handling me, Mr. Stark?

His reply is swift: Absolutely.

Love you. (Whispers: but I want to see my babies)

I can almost picture him smiling when he sends the next reply.

No need to whisper. I want to see them, too. Then I want to see you. Alone.

I sigh and realize that I’m smiling, the stress of the last twenty-four hours fading to zero. Maybe Jamie and Abby are right. Maybe I have got this.

Sounds good to me, I reply.

His final text comes almost immediately, tugging at my heart—and at other more intimate places.

Excellent. I’ll see you tonight, Ms. Fairchild. Until then, imagine me, touching you.

For the rest of the day, I spend a lot of time doing exactly that, and by the time Edward—Damien’s personal driver—comes into the office to tell me that he’s ready to take me home, I’m very much in the mood to see my husband.

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About the Author

J.Kenner (aka Julie Kenner) is the New York Times, USA Today, Publishers Weekly, Wall Street Journal and #1 International bestselling author of over seventy novels, novellas and short stories in a variety of genres.

Though known primarily for her award-winning and international bestselling erotic romances (including the Stark and Most Wanted series) that have reached as high as #2 on the New York Times bestseller list, JK has been writing full time for over a decade in a variety of genres including paranormal and contemporary romance, “chicklit” suspense, urban fantasy,  and paranormal mommy lit.

JK has been praised by Publishers Weekly as an author with a “flair for dialogue and eccentric characterizations” and by RT Bookclub for having “cornered the market on sinfully attractive, dominant antiheroes and the women who swoon for them.” A five time finalist for Romance Writers of America’s prestigious RITA award, JK took home the first RITA trophy awarded in the category of erotic romance in 2014 for her novel, Claim Me (book 2 of her Stark Trilogy). Her Demon Hunting Soccer Mom series (as Julie Kenner) is currently in development with AwesomenessTV/Awestruck.

Her books have sold over three millioncopies and are published in over twenty languages.

In her previous career as an attorney, JK worked as a clerk on the Fifth Circuit Court of Appeals, and practiced primarily civil, entertainment and First Amendment litigation in Los Angeles and Irvine, California, as well as in Austin, Texas.  She currently lives in Central Texas, with her husband, two daughters, and two rather spastic cats.

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Spotlight: The Favor by Blaire Edens

Single mom Anna Bishop doesn’t want help from anyone, but she does need a superhero for the birthday party she’s has planned for her seven-year-old. Luckily, her best friend’s brother agrees to suit up and play the role.

When architect Clark Wainwright agrees to do his sister a favor, he never expects to end up in a pair of tights…not to mention the tight spot he ends up in when he creates trouble for his sister’s best friend. Clark is a fixer, and he’ll do whatever it takes to fix the problem he causes for Anna and help her keep her son…whatever it takes…even of it means proposing.

Anna could do with a little rescuing…but it just might be Clark who gets saved in the end.

Excerpt

Anna tasted sweet, like champagne and strawberries. Even though he’d kissed her before, this felt totally different. Her lips were soft and firm, hot and cool, and the taste of her went straight to his head. He didn’t want to scare her. This kiss might be just a formality, but he didn’t want it to end. Anna seemed hesitant at first, but then she relaxed and kissed back. There was hunger just below the surface, and it was something he definitely wanted to explore. Anna was a passionate woman. And for the first time since he’d proposed this crazy scheme, Clark was a little scared.

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About the Author

Blaire Edens lives in the mountains of North Carolina on a farm that’s been in her family since 1790. When she’s not plotting, she’s busy knitting, running, or listening to the Blues. Blaire loves iced tea with mint, hand-stitched quilts, and yarn stores. She refuses to eat anything that mixes chocolate and peanut butter or apple and cinnamon. She’s generally nice to her mother, tries to remember not to smack her bubble gum, and only speeds when no one’s looking.


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Read an excerpt from Silent Meridian by Elizabeth Crowens

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle is obsessed with a legendary red book. Its peculiar stories have come to life, and rumors claim that it has rewritten its own endings. Convinced that possessing this book will help him write his ever-popular Sherlock Holmes stories, he takes on an unlikely partner, John Patrick Scott, known to most as a concert musician and paranormal investigator. Although in his humble opinion, Scott considers himself more of an ethereal archeologist and a time traveler professor.
 
Together they explore lost worlds and excavate realms beyond the knowledge of historians when they go back in time to find it. But everything backfires, and their friendship is tested to the limits. Both discover that karmic ties and unconscionable crimes have followed them like ghosts from the past, wreaking havoc on the present and possibly the future.
 
SILENT MERIDIAN reveals the alternate histories of Conan Doyle, H.G. Wells, Houdini, Jung and other luminaries in the secret diaries of a new kind of Doctor Watson, John Patrick Scott, in an X Files for the 19th century. Stay tuned for A Pocketful of Lodestones; book two in the Time Traveler Professor series by Elizabeth Crowens.

Excerpt

First edition published in 2016

© Copyright 2016

Elizabeth Crowens

The right of Elizabeth Crowens to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1998.

All rights reserved. No reproduction, copy or transmission of this publication may be made without express prior written permission. No paragraph of this publication may be reproduced, copied or transmitted except with express prior written permission or in accordance with the provisions of the Copyright Act 1956 (as amended). Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damage.

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious or used fictitiously. Except for certain historical personages, any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The opinions expressed herein are those of the authors and not of MX Publishing.
 

Paperback ISBN  978-1-78092-977-4

ePub ISBN  978-1-78092-978-1

PDF ISBN  978-1-78092-979-8

Published in the UK by MX Publishing

335 Princess Park Manor, Royal Drive,

London, N11 3GX

www.mxpublishing.co.uk

Cover Design by Brian Belanger Conscious Sleepwalking

Since Arthur firmly believed that death was not the ultimate finality, who was to say that the two of us hadn’t experienced a significant encounter in a previous existence, and this wasn’t the first conscious time we had set foot on earth? Time travel became a never-ending fascination. I was unstoppable. My curiosity was limitless, and I desperately sought ways to find proof. Considering the fact that one of my favorite stories was H.G. Wells’ The Time Machine, I took it upon my own initiative and built my own construction, which was no easy undertaking. There were many thwarted attempts before I could confidently say that I had achieved any success, whatsoever.

How this time machine worked was another mystery. What I never expected was that in my pursuit of perfecting this invention, I got more than I bargained for. Metaphorically speaking, it was like saying that I was attending the university to get a degree, but I unwittingly learned how to sprout wings and fly to the moon in the process. Once enough magic doors were opened, whether I liked it or not things changed. I began to transform into something unexpected, which I was assured was for the better, although often I begged to differ. Personal ambitions unraveled. Friendships and associations fell apart or felt shallow and worthless. Nightmares appeared more real than they had before and manifested in physical form on my doorsteps. Many times I’d venture either into the past or the future, and I’d bring back a souvenir. Sometimes it was a tangible object. Other times it was merely unlocking a long obscured memory, and often it wasn’t welcome.

The recently discovered Neptune was considered the planet of dreams. Whether or not you believed in astrology, it induced many prominent Victorian scholars to explore new frontiers. Darwin’s theory of evolution toppled religious dogma, but in reaction to the Industrial Age, that mysterious planet also influenced an interest in exploring the depths of the human mind and the realm of the unknown, challenging the limits of scientific knowledge. Tables were tipped. It was like having a clever stage magician swiftly yanking off the tablecloth of perceptual reality, but leaving the candelabra intact with all observers wondering how it was done.

Discovering facts about the past was amusing, but even more exciting was being able to capture glimpses of events to come. The future was never absolute. It could be changed with the blink of an eye. It was mutable and quite dependent on volition and free will. Nonetheless, it was an obsession, and I’d conduct test runs in any which way possible using a variety of techniques, some benign and others not, but regardless I was always treading into dangerous waters to see what the future might bring.

I hurried back to my flat after class and dumped my book bag atop my cluttered worktable causing a haphazardly stacked pile of books to tumble to the floor. These books were atypical of a student aspiring to become a composer and concert pianist—ones on elementary physics, astronomy, earth science, and, of course, a brand new copy of H. G. Wells’ The Time Machine.

With my motley assortment of research material, sundry gears and machine parts, lamp fixtures and the guts from broken clocks, I meticulously set up my own version of a time machine fashioned from an old hand-cranked electroshock device. I had jerry-rigged together a mechanism consisting of an old leather belt with magnets running alongside both lobes of my brain facing their polar opposites. However I wanted the magnets to move and not simply bolted or glued, so I inlaid small grooves with a set of gears that would move them side by side almost like a tiny train going down its own track. To power that motion I would drop in special mineral pellets. I really had no clue what they were, but the man in the shop who sold them to me said that once I tossed enough of them into water that they would instantly cause the water to boil and create steam, and that’s what would cause those tiny gears to move the magnets along their course.

I must’ve forgotten to refill its canister from the last time, but all was well as my timepiece indicated that I had spent way too long dallying in extracurricular activities, and it was time to head off to my next class. It wasn’t really vital that I utilized such an elaborate construct, but if it was theorized that it could give a boost to my currently developing psychic abilities, I was all for the chance to test it.

In fact, my flat was beginning to look more like an alchemist’s den. Of course, I still had my upright piano in the corner with its metronome perched on top, as well as, scores of sheet music and books on music theory. How could I not? But now I was gradually collecting a strange assortment of rare books, mostly procured from back alley establishments as well as trinkets found in curio shops. There was also unconventional laboratory equipment, as well as herbs and minerals that I’d acquire from the medical and science colleges, often bribing the lab assistants for their discards. Alas, I continued to curse the day when I elected not to take a chemistry class. It would be reassuring if I fully understood the nature of the elements I’d be working with and not feel like I was groping blindly in the dark.

Lydia, my landlady, was beginning to wonder if I was becoming an eccentric. I finally requested that she knock first before bringing tea, rather than barging in without warning. This put me in the habit of locking my door more often, something I hadn’t thought about previously.

The very first time it happened, it was like watching a novice weightlifter struggling with barbells way beyond his capacity. I looked to see how long, if at all, it would take for my time travel experiment to work, and the first thing I noticed was that the second hand of my timepiece started wobbling like the needle of a compass near a lodestone. Almost like Atlas shouldering the burdens of the world (and very similar to the experience I had when I encountered a strong headwind the other day, catching me dead in my tracks unable to advance forward), my watch’s second hand, against all odds, started trudging backwards. Its minute hand followed suit using leaden baby steps, eventually pulling the hour hand in tandem.

My lungs were barely able to function. At first I drew a few quick breaths through my nostrils and choked down a few gulps of air, fighting against suffocation. Instinctively I dispelled my panic, slowed down my heart rate and took very long, slow, controlled breaths deep from my abdomen. Although everything around me seemed to be spinning out of control, I needed to be operating in slow motion. Houdini knew this technique. I was certain of it. This was one of those magician’s secrets whereby slowing your vitals and heart rate you could survive the odds of extreme heat, severe cold or being buried alive. I think the Hindu mystics even performed this when averting pain while lying on a bed of nails.

Perhaps, one day I wouldn’t need an elaborate or expensive scientific contraption to catapult myself beyond conceivable physics. Wouldn’t it be great to prove H.G. Wells wrong and that traveling through time was more of a mental journey? Maybe he just romanticized it as a physical machine in order to make it more believable. It was reassuring, yet scary nonetheless, to know it was a lot easier than depending upon an elaborate assemblage.

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About the Author

Elizabeth Crowens is the pen name author of SILENT MERIDIAN, an alternate history/ 19th century “X Files” alternate history novel published by MX Publishing in London. Recently she won First Prize in Chanticleer Review's Goethe Award for Turn-of-the-Century Historical Fiction, is on the short list of finalists for Chanticleer’s 2016 Cygnus Awards for Speculative Fiction, Paranormal and the Ozma Award for Fantasy Fiction and received an Honorable Mention in Glimmer Train’s fiction short story contest for Emerging Writers. She has also published a variety of non-fiction articles and is currently writing a column called The Poison Apple in the World Fantasy and Alfie Award-winning publication, BlackGate.com.
 
Recently, she participated on panels at The World Fantasy Convention, MidAmericon II/Worldcon, Lunacon, Heliosphere, the Writer's Digest Conference, Queens Book Festival, Philcon and was also interviewed for the radio show, Hour of the Wolf. A Pocketful of Lodestones, the sequel to Silent Meridian is awaiting a publication date. Current work-in-progress is Killer Between My Sheets, a psychological/domestic suspense novel/series.
 
A 15-year veteran of the film industry in Hollywood, she’s also an alumnus of Algonkian workshops and the Gotham Writer’s Workshop and a member of the Horror Writers Association, Historical Writers of America and Mystery Writers of America. An active Sherlockian, she’s lectured on Arthur Conan Doyle, belongs to several Sherlockian scions, and is an independent scholar on Eastern and Western mysticism and Jungian psychology. A blackbelt in martial arts, she’s lived in Japan. Currently, she lives in New York City.

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Read an excerpt from The Nanny Arrangement by Rachel Harris

Soft-spoken and shy Hannah Fisher is determined to make the man she’s loved her entire life finally see her as a woman. With the help of a makeover, a new mission—Operation Find My Happy—and the convenient forced proximity of a tour bus, she vows to win her best friend Deacon’s heart.

Former bad boy and current fiddle player Deacon Latrell has the world at his fingertips: a new gig with a famous band, plus his best friend on tour as his son’s nanny. Life couldn’t get much sweeter. Now if only he could stop imagining kissing the daylights out of his childhood BFF…

With one friend set on pushing the boundaries and the other afraid to rock the boat, one thing’s for certain—their story would make one heck of a country song.

Excerpt

The lingerie had been an impulse purchase—an impulse that had then led to an epiphany. Blush and jade. Satin and lace. Toile and mousseline…the colors, styles, and textures had been overwhelming. Trying them on, well, that had been extraordinary. The silk had felt decadent against Hannah’s skin, almost forbidden, and so unlike anything she’d ever worn before. Living an ocean away from everyone and everything she’d ever known, nursing a broken heart, it had been exactly what Hannah had needed.

Initially, she’d fled to Paris to get over Deacon, but more than that, she’d been fleeing the woman she’d sadly become. A woman who sat on the sidelines of her own life. For far too long, she’d allowed other people to dictate her happiness, and that realization, coupled with naughty lingerie and a few glasses of spectacular wine in an adorable bistro, had birthed her new mission. Hannah liked to call it, Operation Joie de Vivre…or Operation Find My Happy.

Her mission was threefold.

First up, no more hiding. Hannah’s bad habit of shying away from experiences simply because they made her nervous was over. Now, she would be bold. Adventurous. Outgoing. Anything from forming friendships to speaking her mind was fair game, with the number one rule being no more skulking in the shadows. Paris had awoken a desire to start truly living—and to stop putting her dreams on hold.

Secondly, Hannah wanted to find her place in the world. The tour with Blue was a perfect opportunity to explore a new option. So far, her contract lasted only through the national leg, with the idea that they’d extend her stay once she’d gotten past a short trial period—a test she intended to pass with flying colors. At twenty-four, she was excited to settle into a career where she could make a real difference, and while she hoped to find that in this position, she was open to just about anything. Band nanny, au pair, or a preschool teacher, they all sounded wonderful. As long as she could make a real contribution, it would fit the bill.

Lastly, but perhaps most importantly—

She was putting her heart on the line, once and for all.

Lingerie may’ve kicked off her mission, but it was the hope of Deacon that gave it life. Denying her feelings all these years hadn’t changed them. Neither had leaving the country. The only thing that would, or so she’d decided, was pushing the boundaries of their friendship. Flirting (an activity with which Hannah had zero experience) and letting Deacon know she was ready for love were all part and parcel of her new plan to get her best friend to finally see her as a woman.

 

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About the Author

New York Times bestselling author Rachel Harris writes humorous love stories about sassy girls-next-door and the hot guys that make them swoon. Vibrant settings, witty banter, and strong relationships are a staple in each of her books…and kissing. Lots of kissing. 

An admitted bookaholic and homeschool mom, she gets through each day by laughing at herself, hugging her kids, and watching way too much Food Network with her husband. She writes young adult, new adult, and adult romances, and LOVES talking with readers!

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