Spotlight: Second Start by S.E. Rose

Career failures bring both Brittany and Tyson back to Holiday Springs but second starts aren’t easy and broken dreams threaten futures. Will a former Olympic athlete and budding musician get a second chance at their happily ever after? Readers will fall in love with this second chance romance from S.E. Rose. The Holiday Springs Resort series is here and SECOND START is now live!

Will a former Olympic athlete and budding musician get a second chance at their happily ever after?

Brittany Evans and Tyson Mitchell were the “it” couple in the Poconos. Until their own dreams and goals got in the way. With broken hearts, they both left their town while doing their best to never look back.

But, when a skiing injury and a failed singing career bring them both back home, they find that their feelings may not have iced over after all. 

Fate has brought them together again, but if Tyson wants to win back Brittany’s heart, he’ll have to prove that she’s the only dream that matters.

Escape to the romantic paradise of Holiday Springs and warm-up with your next happily ever after.

Excerpt 

Copyright S.E. Rose 2020

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, and her eyes meet mine.

“W-What? Why?” Her eyes flash with more confusion.

I reach out and caress her face with my gloved hand, wishing I could feel her skin beneath mine. “I’m sorry for hurting you, Superstar.”

Her eyes glance back down at her lap. “It was a long time ago, Ty.”

I push under her chin, and she gazes at me again. “I’m sorry. I was young and stupid. I thought I was protecting you.”

She pulls back. “Protecting me from what?”

I sigh. “From me, from having to have a boyfriend that was never here, that was always busy.”

“But all I wanted was you,” she states bitterly.

“And I wasn’t here for you. No one could’ve had me. I was too... too busy and wrapped up in my Olympic dreams.”

She turns and zips up her bag. “I would have waited,” she murmurs as she stands up to leave.

I jump up and block her path. “I know you would have. But I couldn’t ask you to do that. You have dreams, too.”

“But you never gave me the choice to decide for myself,” she says and jams a finger at my chest. “You decided for both of us.”

“I did. And I can’t take it back, but if I could, I would,” I reply as I grab her head in my hands and kiss her.

She doesn’t move as I press my lips to hers. They warm under mine, and after a second she sighs, allowing my tongue free reign of her mouth. I taste her for the first time in way too long. And she tastes just as sweet as I remembered.

She drops her guitar case in the snow, letting her arms wrap around my middle as my hands hold her face. I don’t feel anything except her, not the snow, the cold, the wind, nothing but Brittany. Our warm breaths mingle in the cool air, surrounding us in our own personal cloud. I groan as I deepen our kiss.

She pulls back suddenly. Her hand flying to her lips.

“I’m sorry. I... shit, I’m sorry.” She has a look of anguish on her face.

“Brit, I kissed you. There’s nothing to be sorry about. When are we going to stop dancing around this thing,” I motion between us, “that’s clearly still between us?”

She shakes her head. “No. There’s nothing between us. That’s over. It ended when you walked out of my life.” I watch as a single tear falls on her cheek, and it might as well be a knife plunging into my heart.

I reach out to pull her back to me, but she jumps away.

“No. We can’t do this. I can’t do this. Not again.”

And it hits me. She’s protecting herself. I hurt her so badly that she reacts to me like a hand touching a hot pan. I can’t blame her.

“Brit, I won’t hurt you. I never met to hurt you.”

“I know,” she answers as another tear falls on her cheek. “But you did.”

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About S.E. Rose 

USA Today & International Bestselling romance author, S.E. Rose lives near Washington D.C. with her family. When she's not wrangling her cats or keeping up with her kids, she's plotting her next story.

She loves all things wine, coffee, and cats. In her non-existent free time, she enjoys traveling, going to concerts, binging on her favorite shows, and reading, especially if it's a good mystery or comedy.

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Spotlight: Head Over Heels for the Holidays by Jennifer Bernard

Genre:  Holiday Romance

Is he the cure for her holiday heartbreak?

Ever since her ex-boyfriend dumped her on Christmas Eve, the holiday season has been tough for Maya Badger—especially since Lost Harbor, Alaska, pulls out all the stops for the holidays. Sure, she could focus on her police work and her father’s recovery from heart surgery. But when her dad’s home healthcare nurse turns out to be her childhood buddy—all grown up and the stuff of her naughtiest fantasies—she may have a solution to her holiday blues. After all, Jay-Jay always was the perfect playmate!

Rune Larsen hasn’t been skinny little Jay-Jay in a long time…not since he and his teen sister were forced to change their names to avoid Cara’s stalker. Taking a job in tiny, remote Lost Harbor seems like the perfect way to stay one step ahead of danger. The fact that his childhood friend is the town police chief is a bonus. Not to mention the fact that Maya has grown into a beautiful bronze goddess. Hell, even her serious cop side is a turn-on…though he’s up for the challenge of bringing some fun back into her life.

In fact, if they can navigate a stalker, a runaway yak, eleventy-billion holiday parties and a criminal investigation into the dark side of Lost Souls Wilderness, Rune just may convince Maya to fall head over heels for the holidays…and beyond.

Exclusive Excerpt 

 Without thinking too hard about it, Maya rose to her feet and grabbed Rune by the collar of his jacket, pulling him close. “How about a fake kiss?” she asked quickly. “Just make it look good from a distance.” 

He flashed her a pirate grin and cupped her face with his free hand. “My pleasure. I’m an excellent fake kisser.” 

“Come on, hurry.” 

He bent his head over hers, but he still didn’t go for the kiss. “You can’t hurry a fake kiss, or it will look fake. We’re flirting, we’re completely caught up in each other, we don’t even care that we’re drifting on the open ocean. Keep looking at me, just like that except without the ‘what the hell are you talking about’ expression.” 

She smothered a laugh and relaxed her face into a dazzled smile. As if Rune was the most wonderful thing in the world, better than chocolate and bubble baths combined. 

He blinked, as if she’d momentarily thrown him off his game with her smile. A personal triumph, she figured. 

“That’s…good,” he said, a little more strained than before. 

For a fake kiss, he sure was overthinking it. They needed to get this thing done. 

She took command and wrapped her hand around the back of his neck. Tugging him down, she offered him her mouth. “Let’s do this,” she hissed. “Tick-tock.” 

Honestly, why did she always have to be the one with any common sense? If those men onshore had binoculars, they were already watching. To throw them off, she only had a few moments. If the men thought they’d been busted, they might rework their entire comms system. The lead would be worthless. The source would be burned. The case back to square one. 

And then all thoughts of logic flew from her mind as Rune claimed her lips with a kiss that sent shock waves through her system. Warmth…sizzle…sunshine…all of it swirled together in a rush of brilliant pleasure. His lips were firm and generous at the same time, as if they were inviting her into his world. A world where she would be queen and he would be whatever she needed. 

A kind of exhilaration swept through her and she parted her lips for more. He gave it to her, sweeping his tongue inside the cave of her mouth, where every surface tingled and warmed at his touch. 

Fake kiss, my ass. 

This was the real thing and she couldn’t get enough of it. She drank him in as if she’d been starving for this, pining for it. Her mind—always working, always on guard—let go like an anchor releasing her to drift on the current. She lost herself in the flood of pure physical joy. 

She staggered as the boat got slammed with a supersized wave. Rune held her tight so she didn’t lose her balance. “I need to steer this thing,” he murmured against her lips before turning back to the helm. 

“Yes. Yeah. Of course.” She ran her tongue across her lips, tasting salt from the spray and sweet from Rune. She plopped down onto the bench as he wrestled with the wheel. Picking up her binoculars, she focused on the spot where the two men had been. 

They were gone—or maybe her angle had changed and she couldn’t see them anymore. 

She dropped her glasses and sighed. Hopefully she hadn’t messed anything up by making them suspicious. “Go ahead and pick up speed. Let’s keep going toward Mount Sage for a bit.” 

“Roger that.” 

Was his voice a little gruffer than usual? Was it the effect of the salt in the air?

He put the boat in gear and they cruised farther into the bay. She watched the little cove as it receded into the distance, swallowed up by the greater landscape of forests and rugged outcroppings.

What now? How to handle this? She and Rune had kissed, and there was no way she could forget about it the way she had when she was a kid. 

Maybe never mention it again? 

Or maybe do it again?

The tempting thought hovered out there like the promise of an ice cream sundae after a long week. Treat yo-self, she could imagine her cousin Reecie in Anchorage saying. Go for it, Kate would urge. I knew it, Jessica would say. 

“Tell me when you’re ready to head back,” Rune said. “It’s your call.” His voice had returned to normal. She wondered what he was thinking about this situation. Then again, he didn’t overthink things like she did. He probably wasn’t worried about it at all. He probably kissed people all the time—all those non-girlfriend “girls” he’d talked about. 

“I will,” she told him. “Give it a few more minutes.” 

“The other thing is your call too,” Rune said softly, his attention still on the choppy water ahead. 

“What are you talking about?” 

“I know you’re trying to decide what to do about that kiss. I can see your wheels spinning from here.” 

“I’m not—okay, I am. I didn’t intend for it to be like that.” 

“It’s my fault.” His voice shifted to a jaunty cheerfulness. “My pride was hurt that you forgot the first kiss. I was aiming for ‘best kiss.’ One that you wouldn’t forget. That’s all.” 

It wasn’t all. She could hear it in his voice. It was so much more complicated than that. Friendship, attraction, sizzle…all that, lined up against her better judgment. But even so, it touched her that he was trying to make the whole thing easier for her.  

“Best kiss? Isn’t that a little arrogant?” She adopted a teasing tone to match his. 

“Second best? Third? Just tell me it wasn’t the worst. Gotta start somewhere.” 

“It wasn’t the worst.” 

That was as far as she could go right now. 

And maybe it was the best. Because right at this moment, she couldn’t think of any other specific kiss that might compete with it.

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About Jennifer Bernard

 Jennifer Bernard is a USA Today bestselling author of contemporary romance. Her books have been called “an irresistible reading experience” full of “quick wit and sizzling love scenes.” A graduate of Harvard and former news promo producer, she left big city life for true love in Alaska, where she now lives with her husband and stepdaughters.  She still hasn’t adjusted to the cold, so most often she can be found cuddling with her laptop and a cup of tea. Sign up for her newsletter for book news and fun exclusives.

Connect with Jennifer:  Website | Newsletter | Facebook | Reader Group | Instagram | Twitter | Amazon | Bookbub |  Goodreads

Spotlight: Christmas in the Rockies by McKenna Grey

"McKensie’s Christmas Gift"

 When McKensie Scott returns to Wycliffe, Wyoming, she’s uncertain of her future . . . and the man she left behind two summers before. With the help of an unexpected ally, McKensie will discover that sometimes leaving the people you love is the only way to find your path home.

 
"A Snowy Falls Christmas"

After five years of searching for answers at her family’s home in Scotland, Maura Coburn returns to Snowy Falls, Colorado, the place she's always called home. When Wyatt Dobbes sweeps into town to take over his family's horse farm, Maura realizes five years might not have been long enough. When unexpected circumstances bring them together, Wyatt and Maura will soon discover the powerful magic of Christmas, love, and second chances.

"Christmas in Moose Creek"

Saige Travers said goodbye to Owen McGregor sixteen years ago. A spontaneous choice brings Saige home to Moose Creek, Montana, and she doesn’t expect her past to catch up with her present. When Owen walks back into her life, she struggles to remember why she left. Together they discover second chances are real and hope is a cherished gift.

Can six willing hearts find a second chance at love? Join us this holiday season and fall in love like it was the first time.

Book Excerpt

From “McKensie’s Christmas Gift” in Christmas in the Rockies

The fog cleared from McKensie’s brain. “And knowing my aunt, she insisted you have the wedding here.” 

“Yeah. I thought about moving the location, but Shirley insisted we still have it at the hotel, and Olivia—”

“Wouldn’t have wanted you to change a thing. I get it. Yes, you’ll have it here.” McKensie prided herself on handling tense situations, a handy talent when managing a kitchen. She avoided looking at Cameron throughout her conversation with Julie and realized he hadn’t moved, patient as ever. “When is the wedding?” 

“The week before Christmas.” 

McKensie raised a brow and studied her friend. “That’s fast.” 

Julie shrugged. “When it’s right, it’s right. That reminds me, I have one more thing to ask Shirley about the food. Meet you in the foyer in ten, big brother.” She stopped at the door and pointed to McKensie. “I will call you tomorrow. We have so much to catch up on.” 

Julie exited the office with as much excitement as she entered. McKensie replayed some of her last words over in her mind. When it’s right, it’s right. 

From “A Snowy Falls Christmas” in Christmas in the Rockies

Her breath faded into the crisp morning air. The stoneware mug cupped in her hands warmed her skin while the lavender tea blend stole away the frigid cold from within. She stood on the expansive deck overlooking the glistening waters of Winter Lake and contemplated her quiet return home. 

The Snowy Falls Lodge stood tall and grand behind her, a landmark on the lake and in the quaint mountain village. Her grandmother would have said, “For better or worse, it is now yours, Maura.”

Maura spent the first twenty-five years of her life in the spacious rooms and luxurious halls of the lodge that blended the design of a Scottish castle and Victorian cattle ranch. The idea might have resulted in a haphazard structure had it not been for a truly talented, though little-known, Scottish architect named Charles Mackenzie. 

Five years ago, Maura did what no one ever expected—she left home—and not because she didn’t love the lodge or the village. Her father called her a dreamer. Her mother used the word “wanderer,” and her grandmother often said she was a seeker. Maura appreciated her grandmother’s description best. What exactly Maura sought when she left Snowy Falls remained a mystery to everyone. 

From “Christmas in Moose Creek” in Christmas in the Rockies

The 4x4 careened to a stop and the driver waited in disbelief at the deplorable timing of Mother Nature. Moose Creek, Montana, had its share of wildlife—bear, deer, elk, mountain lions—but in her thirty-three years, Saige Travers had never seen a moose on this mountain. Until today. 

No one waited for her in her swank two-bedroom condo in Seattle except the goldfish her brother gave to her as a joke for her birthday. She’d needed a break from the city and the cataclysmic string of end-of-the-road relationships she’d been in the past five years. More like dates, if she was going to be honest with herself. 

Saige Travers didn’t have time for relationships.

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About the Author

McKenna Grey is the contemporary alter-ego of an award-winning, historical romance author. She writes romantic suspense, including the Kyndall Family series, and heartwarming, small-town romance to break up the murder and mayhem. She lives and plays in the northern Rocky Mountains where she manages to stay out of the trouble her characters can't seem to avoid. 

Connect:

Website: https://www.mckennagrey.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/authormckennagrey/

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/authormckennagrey/

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Spotlight: Ride the Tide by Julie Ann Walker

Once a fighter, always a fighter...

Former Navy SEAL Mason McCarthy is done being a fighting man. Now he and the Deep Six Salvage crew are working feverishly to find the wreck of the Santa Cristina and its legendary sunken treasure. Unfortunately for Mason’s peace of mind, chatty, brilliant historian Alexandra Merriweather has joined the hunt and there’s no avoiding her. Alex is exactly the kind of distraction Mason can’t afford right now…or maybe ever.

When a murderous enemy from Mason’s past threatens the Deep Six, he must rely on old instincts and the skills he honed from years of running black ops to make sure nothing touches Alexandra. But with their lives on the line and the adrenaline running high, it’s inevitable that sparks will fly.

Excerpt

Mason “Monet” McCarthy had a problem. 

She was five feet tall. Had curly red hair that was only fifty percent tamed under the best of conditions, and one hundred percent out of control this early in the morning. And she was sitting at a table by the window watching the multicolored ships of the shrimp fleet as they rocked precariously with the wave action out near the horizon while her fingers absently fiddled with the corner of a book. 

Oh, and she was also studiously ignoring him. 

She was wicked good at that last part. Was making a frickin’ hobby of it, as a matter of fact. Not that he could blame her, considering what she’d offered him. 

And what he’d turned down. 

Her name was Alexandra Merriweather. Alex for short, which was a ridiculously masculine moniker for such a tiny wisp of a woman. One with skin like porcelain, eyes the color of Colombian emeralds, and a laugh as sweet and tinkling as a music box. 

She was his problem because…well…he liked her. Like, liked her liked her. And if his cheating ho of a wife… Scratch that. Rewind… That would be his cheating ho of an ex-wife—had taught him anything, it was that he wasn’t fit to like a woman like Alex. 

Not anymore. 

All the years schlepping his ass through countless missions, maiming and killing in the name of the flag, had turned him into something…not normal. 

That was the phrase Sarah had used when he came home early to surprise her for her birthday, but instead found her screwing his ex-best friend in their marriage bed. Surprise! 

“What d’you expect, Mason?” Sarah’s expression had been so sincere. “You’re gone all the time, and when you’re here, you’re not normal.” 

Copy that. When it came to a life of violence, the effects were biological, physiological, and psychological. It was the price of being a warrior. 

So even though he’d been heartbroken by her betrayal, he’d never worked up much anger over it. Then and now, there was no way to deny the truth. Mason McCarthy was no longer capable of living an ordinary life with the house, the wife, and the two-point-three kids. 

The only reason he was sitting in this hotel bar now, a bona fide civilian, was because of a deathbed promise he and the rest of his teammates had made to Rusty Lawrence, the eighth man in their SEAL unit. Barring that, Mason figured he would’ve kept on running and gunning until he found the bullet with his name on it. 

With a fingertip, he traced the scrolling black letters inked on the inside of his left forearm. For RL they read. Picturing Rusty’s craggy face, he tried to determine whether to curse the sorry sonofabitch or thank him for forcing them all to make that vow and wave their fond farewells to the navy. 

A call of “G’morning, asshole!” cut into his thoughts. Turning, he found Ray “Wolf” Roanhorse standing behind him. 

Since he’d yet to determine how good the morning was or wasn’t, Mason grunted his reply. Wolf, used to Mason’s wordless responses, bent to scratch Meat’s exposed belly. 

The fat English bulldog slept on his back beside Mason’s barstool, dick and balls on display for the entire breakfast crowd, and his snores nearly drowning out the cries of the seagulls coming in through the hotel’s open windows. 

Meat was the only thing Mason had taken from the divorce. He’d let Sarah have their restored three-decker in Southie, along with the furniture and all the minutia that went with a “normal” life. But Meat? Well, not to put too fine a point on it, but he’d have crossed hell with nothing but a bucket of ice water before he’d let her keep his dog. 

“A wise woman once said, ‘If you risk nothin’, you risk everythin’.’” With the unaffected ease that came with being supremely fit, Wolf settled himself onto the barstool next to Mason’s. 

The two of them had become instant friends when they’d been teamed up as swim partners way back in BUD/S—Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL—training. And through all the intervening years, Wolf had never run out of inspirational quotes. He fancied himself a scholar of the world’s philosophers and religions. 

There were times, including this one, when that could get damned annoying. 

Instead of answering, Mason kept quiet. He hoped his silence conveyed his wish for more coffee and less talk. 

“I said,” Wolf said louder, “a wise woman once—” 

“First off,” Mason muttered irritably, “what part of this face”—he pointed to his scowling mug—“makes you think I’m in the mood for morning convo?” 

“You’re never in the mood for conversation,” Wolf drawled, his Oklahoma accent making the words sound twice as long as they normally would. “Don’t matter what time of day it is.” 

“Second off,” Mason went on as if Wolf hadn’t spoken, “what’s that supposed to mean anyway? If you risk nothing, you risk everything?” 

“It means you should pull your head from your ass and go for it. Take her up on what she’s offerin’.” Wolf stuck a cocktail straw between his teeth and hailed the bartender to put in an order for a Bloody Mary. Hitching his chin toward Alex’s table, he added, “Come on, man. You know you want to.” 

Mason hadn’t been kidding when he said he wasn’t in the mood to talk. But he sure as shit wasn’t in the mood to talk about Alex and her heart-stopping offer. 

***

Excerpted from Ride the Tide by Julie Ann Walker. © 2020 by Julie Ann Walker. Used with permission of the publisher, Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc. All rights reserved.

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About the Author

Julie Ann Walker is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of the Black Knights Inc. and the Deep Six romantic suspense series’. She has won or been nominated for numerous awards including a Top Ten Romance by Booklist and a Best Summer Read by Publishers Weekly. She lives in Chicago, IL.

Connect: https://julieannwalker.com/ 

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Spotlight: Pretending by Holly Bourne

In this hilarious and heartbreaking debut novel perfect for fans of Fleabag, a woman struggling to move on after a traumatic relationship pretends to be “the perfect girl” in an act of vengeance that goes awry when she finds herself emotionally compromised.

He said he was looking for a 'partner in crime' which everyone knows is shorthand for 'a woman who isn't real'.

April is kind, pretty, and relatively normal - yet she can't seem to get past date five. Every time she thinks she's found someone to trust, they reveal themselves to be awful, leaving her heartbroken. And angry. Until she realizes that what men are really looking for is Gretel.

Gretel is perfect - beautiful but low maintenance, sweet but never clingy, sexy but not a slut. She's a Regular Everyday Manic Pixie Dream Girl Next Door With No Problems.

When April starts pretending to be Gretel, dating becomes much more fun - especially once she reels in the unsuspecting Joshua. Finally, April is the one in control, but can she control her own feelings? And as she and Joshua grow closer, how long will she be able to keep pretending?

Excerpt

I hate men.

There, I’ve said it. I know you’re not supposed to say it. We all pretend we don’t hate them; we all tell ourselves we don’t hate them. But I’m calling it. I’m standing here on this soapbox, and I’m saying it.

I. Hate. Men.

I mean, think about it. They’re just awful. I hate how selfish they are. How they take up so much space, assuming it’s always theirs to take. How they spread out their legs on public transport, like their balls need regular airing to stop them developing damp. I hate how they basically scent mark anywhere they enter to make it work for them. Putting on the music they want to listen to the moment they arrive at any house party, and always taking the nicest chair. How they touch your stuff instead of just looking; even tweak the furniture arrangement to make it most comfortable for them. All without asking first—never asking first.

I hate how they think their interests are more important than yours—even though twice a week all most of them do is watch a bunch of strangers kick a circle around a piece of lawn and sulk if the circle doesn’t go in the right place. And how bored they look if you ever try to introduce them to a film, a band, or even a freaking YouTube clip, before you’ve even pressed Play.

I hate their endless arrogance. I hate how they interrupt you and then apologize for it but carry on talking anyway. How they ask you a question but then check your answer afterward. I hate how they can never do one piece of housework without telling you about it. I hate how they literally cannot handle being driven in a car by a woman, even if they’re terrible drivers themselves. I hate how they all think they’re fucking incredible at grilling meat on barbecues. The sun comes out and man must light fire and not let woman anywhere near the meat. Dumping blackened bits of chicken onto our plates along with the whiff of a burp from their beer breath, acting all caveman, like we’re supposed to find it cute that we may now get salmonella and that we’re going to have to do all the washing up.

I hate how I’m quite scared of them. I hate the collective noise of them when they’re in a big group. The tribal wahey-ing, like they all swap their IQs for extra testosterone when they swarm together. How, if you’re sitting alone on an empty train, they always come and deliberately sit next to you en masse, and talk extra loudly about macho nonsense, apparently to impress you. I hate the way they look at you when you walk past—automatically judging your screwability the moment they see you. Telling you to smile if you dare look anything other than delighted about living with stuff like this constantly fucking happening to you. 

I hate how hard they are to love. How many of them actually, truly, think the way to your heart is sending you a selfie of them tugging themselves, hairy ball sack very much still in shot. I hate how they have sex. How they shove their fingers into you, thinking it’s going to achieve anything. Jabbing their unwashed hands into your dry vagina, prodding about like they’re checking for prostate cancer, then wondering why you now have BV and you still haven’t come. Have none of them read a sex manual? Seriously? None of them? And I hate how they hate you a little just after they’ve finished. How even the nice ones lie there with cold eyes, pretending to cuddle, but clearly desperate to get as far away from you as possible.

I hate how it’s never equal. How they expect you to do all the emotional labor and then get upset when you’re the more stressed-out one. I hate how they never understand you, no matter how hard they try, although, let’s be honest here, they never actually try that hard. And I hate how you’re always exhausting yourself trying to explain even the most basic of your rational emotional responses to their bored face.

I hate how every single last one of them has issues with their father.

And do you know what I hate most of all?

That despite this, despite all this disdain, I still fancy men. And I still want them to fancy me, to want me, to love me. I hate myself for how much I want them. Why do I still fancy men so much? What’s wrong with me? Why are they all so broken? Am I broken for still wanting to be with one, even after everything? I should be alone. That’s the only healthy way to be. BUT I DON’T WANT TO BE ALONE. I hate men, that’s the problem. GOD I HATE THEM SO MUCH—they’re so entitled and broken and lazy and wrong and…and…

Hang on…

My phone.

HE MESSAGED BACK!!!

WITH A KISS ON THE END!

Never mind.

Forget I said anything. It’s all good.

Excerpted from Pretending by Holly Bourne, Copyright © 2020 by Holly Bourne. Published by MIRA Books. 

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About the Author

Holly Bourne is a bestselling UK-based YA and Adult Fiction author and is an Ambassador for Women’s Aid. In 2019, she was an Author of the Day at the London Book Fair, and was named by Elle Magazine’s weekly podcast as one of “Six Female Authors Changing the Conversation in 2019”. Pretending is her US debut.

Connect:

Author website: https://hollybourne.co.uk/

Twitter: @holly_bourneYA

Instagram: @hollybourneya

Facebook: @Holly.BourneYA

Spotlight: The Wife He Needs by Brenda Jackson

Will this billionaire bachelor say “I do” to love? He desires her more than any other woman. 

The arrangement is simple: a two-week getaway, then a marriage of convenience. Until Garth Outlaw’s potential bride is a no-show. Now family pilot Regan Fairchild is sharing his bed—and he can’t get enough…even though he’s vowed never to love again. Can Regan convince him the wife he needs and the woman he desires are one and the same?

Excerpt

“So, when is the wedding, Garth?”

Garth Outlaw raised his eyes from studying his cards. Was his brother playing mind games to mess with his concentration?

“And just what wedding are you talking about?”

Garth glanced around the table and saw the smirks on the faces of all four of his brothers. Even Jess had made a trip home from the nation’s capital for a week long visit.

“Is anyone going to answer?” Garth asked.

Jess grinned as he threw out a card. “I heard it from Dad the moment I walked through the door. He claims you’ve gotten over Karen Piccard, decided to settle down and do whatever needs to be done for the benefit of the company, which includes getting a wife and making babies to guarantee the Outlaw dynasty. Those were his words, not mine.”

“We heard the same thing,” Cash said, with Sloan and Maverick nodding in agreement.

Garth didn’t say anything. Being the oldest son of Bartram “Bart” Outlaw wasn’t easy, especially when his father liked spreading information that wasn’t true. However, in this case, it was. At least partly. He was planning to do what needed to be done for the company. But he seriously doubted he would ever get over Karen. She would always have his heart.

“No wedding date has been set because I haven’t chosen a bride.”

His brother Cash sat up straight in his chair. “Are you really thinking about settling down with a wife and making babies?” he asked, as if the thought of doing such a thing was as unheard of as living in outer space.

Garth threw out some chips. “Why not? I don’t see any of you guys rushing to the altar to continue the Outlaw legacy. Not even you, Jess, and you’re the politician in the family. You of all people should be thinking about acquiring a wife.” A couple of years ago, Jess had gotten elected as a senator from Alaska.

A grin touched Jess’s lips. “No, thank you. I’m not ready to fall in love.”

Garth shrugged. “Who said anything about falling in love?”

“You’re thinking of marrying a woman you don’t love?” This question came from Sloan. 

“For me there’s no other way.”

There was no reason to explain what he meant. They knew.

“And you’ll do it because Bart says it needs to be done?”

Garth rolled his eyes at his youngest brother, Maverick, who’d been quiet up to now. “No, I’ll consider doing it because I think it’s about time I settled down. I’m thirty-eight, and dating gets old.”

“Speak for yourself,” Maverick said, grinning. “I happen to enjoy dating a lot of women.”

Garth shook his head. “And Walker got me thinking. Look how long he was a loner before he got married. If he can do it, then anyone can.”

Walker Rafferty was Garth’s best friend. A couple of years ago, Walker had met his current wife and now they were parents to twins, a boy and a girl they’d named Walker and Westlyn. Nobody thought Walker would ever remarry after losing his first wife and son in a car accident. Surprisingly, ten years later, Walker had fallen in love again. Garth was happy for Walker, and inspired to settle down, but honestly, he couldn’t see himself falling in love. He was convinced Karen was the only woman he was meant to love.

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About the Author

Brenda Jackson is a New York Times bestselling author of more than one hundred romance titles. Brenda lives in Jacksonville, Florida, and divides her time between family, writing and traveling. Email Brenda at authorbrendajackson@gmail.com or visit her on her website at brendajackson.net.