Spotlight: Cinderella's Night In Venice by Clare Connelly

This shy Cinderella will go to the ball…but will she end the night in the billionaire’s arms? Harlequin Presents author Clare Connelly enchants with this passionate and uplifting romance.

The most infuriating man she’s ever met.

The only man she’s ever wanted…

When Ares Lykaios insists that Bea Jones accompany him to a gala, she wants to refuse—if just to put the arrogant Greek in his place. Yet Ares is as gorgeous as he is commanding, and she can hardly say no to her PR firm’s biggest client.

Bea is shy, awkward…and breathtaking in a ball gown. And one kiss proves her desire matches Ares’s own. So after the opportunity arises to finish what they started in Venice, resisting becomes the ultimate test of his strict self-control!

From Harlequin Presents: Escape to exotic locations where passion knows no bounds.
Signed, Sealed…Seduced

Book 1: Ways to Ruin a Royal Reputation by Dani Collins
Book 2: Cinderella’s Night in Venice by Clare Connelly

Heartfelt or thrilling, passionate or uplifting—our romances have it all. Visit TryHarlequin.com to sample FREE books from among 12 different series. It’s just a taste of the new books published each month—every story a journey guaranteed to leave you with That Harlequin Feeling.

Excerpt

‘Oh, my God.’ Bea stared at the fast-spreading blob of coffee with a look of sheer mortification on her dainty features. ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you.’ 

The man—at least, he looked part-man, yet he was also part-warrior, all broad shoulders, lean muscle and hard-edged face—stared at her with surprise first, and then displeasure. ‘Evidently.’ 

‘Please, let me—’ She cast an eye around for some- thing—anything—she could use to mop up the man’s shirt, which now bore the marks of her early evening energy boost. ‘I just made it. It must be hot. Does it hurt?’ 

‘I’ll live.’ 

She grimaced, looking around the office, but it was past six and almost everyone had left. ‘Let me just grab—’ She plucked a tissue from a box on a nearby desk, lifting it to his shirt and wiping furiously, all the colour draining from her face when she realised she was only making it worse. Little white caterpillars of tissue detritus were sticking to the coffee stain, damaging the obviously expensive shirt even more. 

His fingers curled around her wrist, arresting her progress, and warmth enveloped her out of nowhere, shocking her into looking up into his face properly for the first time. At five foot ten she generally found she was almost at eye level with most men but not this guy. He stood a good few inches above her, at least six foot two, she guessed. 

There was something familiar about him, though she was sure they’d never met. She’d definitely have re- membered him. His face was angular and strong, like his body, a square jaw covered in dark facial hair—not a look that was cultivated or painstakingly trendy so much as a fast-growing five o’clock shadow. His lips were curved and bracketed on either side by a deep groove, like parentheses in his face, his cheekbones were prominent and his brows were thick and dark, framing his grey eyes in a way that turned the already spectacular specimens into works of art. 

Her breath caught in her throat and she pulled at her hand on autopilot, a familiar instinct to deny anything approaching closeness marking her actions, her lips twisting in a silent gesture of rejection and simultaneous apology. ‘Naturally the London Connection will cover the dry-cleaning fees,’ she offered, her cheeks growing hot under his continued inspection. 

He held up a hand in a gesture of silence. 

Bea swallowed, taking a step back. ‘I didn’t see you.’ Quit talking, Captain Obvious, she derided. It was a tendency she’d worked hard to curb—speaking when nervous was a girlhood habit she’d kicked long ago. Or thought she had. 

‘Where is Clare?’ 

‘Clare?’ Bea parroted with a frown, flicking a glance at her wristwatch to be sure she had the time right. Was her friend and founder of the London Connection—a woman who was as well-regarded for her business nous as she was for being notoriously disinterested in romance and relationships—dating this guy? She hadn’t mentioned anything, but something had been different with Clare recently. Perhaps this explained it? 

‘Clare Roberts—about this tall, dark brown hair? Given that you work here, I imagine you’ve heard of her?’ 

Bea’s eyes narrowed at his tone, which was innately condescending. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell the man that not only had she heard of Clare, but they’d gone through almost every major event in their lives, along with Amy Miller, side by side together. The three amigos, from way back. 

‘We had a meeting and I do not appreciate having my time wasted.’ 

‘Oh.’ She grimaced; the oversight was unprofessional and unexpected. ‘She’s not here.’ 

‘She must be.’ His nostrils flared as he exhaled a deep breath. ‘Please go and find her.’ 

‘Find her?’ Bea felt like a parrot, but her senses were in overdrive. 

‘You know, walk through the office until you dis- cover where exactly she is?’ He spoke slowly, as though Bea was having difficulty comprehending what he was saying, when his English was perfect, albeit tinged with a spicy, exotic accent that was doing funny things to her pulse points. 

Old feelings of inadequacy were stealing through her, making her stomach swirl with a very familiar sense of unease. She tried to banish it, forcing a tight smile to her face. ‘Clare was called away on urgent business,’ Bea explained, a pinprick of worry at her friend’s inexplicable and urgent departure pulling at her. ‘Is there anything I can help you with, Mr...?’ She let her question hover in the air, allowing him time to offer a name. 

His brows knitted together, and every cell in his body exuded impatience. ‘You must be mistaken. This meeting has been scheduled for weeks. I flew in this after- noon for this specific purpose.’ 

Bea’s eyes opened wide. If that was true, then they’d bungled something—badly—and that ran contrary to every instinct she possessed. ‘Oh.’ 

‘Yes,’ he clipped, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring—there was really no other way to describe his expression—at her across the space. The air between them seemed to grow thick with a tension that made Bea feel as though she was continually cresting over the high point of a roller coaster. She dug the finger- nails of one hand into her palm, forcing her expression to remain neutral with effort. 

‘As I said, something urgent came up, otherwise I know Clare wouldn’t have left you in the lurch.’ She waved a hand in the direction of Clare’s office, the lights off, door closed. ‘If you give me a moment, I can try to get in contact with her, or log into her calendar and see if—’ 

He scowled fiercely. ‘This is completely unacceptable.’ 

Bea hesitated, unprepared for this man’s obvious frustration. When he was cross, like this, his accent grew thicker, more mysterious and honeyed. 

‘I do not have time to be messed around, nor to accept excuses from some secretary or cleaner or what- ever the hell you are. I’ve worked with Clare a long time, but this is—’ 

Bea felt as though she were drowning. She’d only been with the London Connection for a few months but she knew what this company meant to her friends. Not to mention what it meant to her! This PR firm was important to all of them and, whoever this man was, she didn’t want to have a disgruntled client on her hands. 

‘Yes, very disappointing,’ Bea inserted, belatedly remembering that while she was relatively new to the firm she was also the head of the legal department, having been recruited across from her senior partner role in a top tier City firm. She wasn’t accustomed to being spoken to as if she were the dirt on someone’s shoe. Modulating her voice to project an air of calm authority, she met his eyes straight on, her spine jolting at the clarity of their steel-grey pigment. They were like pewter; she wasn’t sure she’d ever seen anything like it before. ‘Unfortunately, standing here firing scorn and derision at me isn’t going to achieve very much, is it?’ 

His shock was unmistakable. His eyes widened, flashing with an emotion she couldn’t register, and then his jaw moved as though he was grinding his teeth together. 

‘I am not—’ 

She expelled a soft breath as she cut in. ‘Yes, you were, but that’s okay. I understand you’re disappointed. And I am truly sorry that you’ve flown to London from—’ 

He said nothing. 

She waved a hand through the air. ‘Wherever, only to find Clare not here.’ She turned, moving towards her friend’s office. ‘You mentioned that you’ve worked with Clare for a long time, so obviously you’re aware how unusual this is. I hope you’re able to overlook this rare mistake.’ 

‘I am not generally in the habit of forgiving mis- takes, rare or not.’ 

A shiver ran down her spine at the steel in his words. She didn’t doubt for a second that he meant what he said. There was an air of implacability about the man that she’d felt from the minute he’d arrived. 

Bea had, at first, thought his accent was Italian, but as he spoke more, her appraisal changed. She was al- most certain he was from Greece—one of her favourite places in the world. She’d spent a summer there during her degree, and had fallen in love with the sun, the water, the history and, most of all, the anonymity. When she travelled abroad, no one knew Bea as Bea- trice Jones, daughter of Rock Legend Ronnie Jones and Supermodel Alice Jones. 

‘Then I hope you’ll make an exception just this once,’ she implored as she flicked Clare’s screen to life, typing in her friend’s password quickly. ‘Please, have a seat.’ 

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About the Author

Clare Connelly grew up in a small country town in Australia. Surrounded by rainforests, and rickety old timber houses, magic was thick in the air, and stories and storytelling were a huge part of her childhood. 

From early on in life, Clare realised her favourite books were romance stories, and read voraciously. Anything from Jane Austen to Georgette Heyer, to Mills & Boon and (more recently) the 50 Shades trilogy, Clare is a romance devotee. 

She first turned her hand to penning a novel at fifteen (if memory serves, it was something about a glamorous fashion model who fell foul of a high-end designer. Sparks flew, clothes flew faster, and love was born.) 

​In 2016, Clare Connelly accepted a book deal with Harlequin and now fulfils a life-long dream by writing romance that sets your soul on fire for the brand that the world trusts with its heart.

Connect:

Website: https://clareconnelly.co.uk

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1160213.Clare_Connelly

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

Twitter: https://twitter.com/clarewriteslove

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Spotlight: A Plan For Her Future by Lois Richer

One little girl could give him a second chance at love.

Jack Prinz barely knows how to be a grandfather, much less raise a child by himself. But he has the perfect solution—marry his childhood friend to provide his orphaned granddaughter with the mother figure she needs. Now he has to convince Grace Partridge to accept his loveless proposal. If only sticking to his plan were that simple…

From Harlequin Love Inspired: Uplifting stories of faith, forgiveness and hope.

The Calhoun Cowboys

Book 1: Hoping for a Father
Book 2: Home to Heal
Book 3: Christmas in a Snowstorm
Book 4: A Plan for Her Future

Excerpt

Grace Partridge, you look stunning so stop fussing.” Jessica James flipped up the car’s visor, hiding the passenger mirror. “Trust me, with your makeup update, your stunning wardrobe and now that glorious feathered cut, you’re going to be attracting men’s looks the entire three months you’re traveling the world.” 

“Oh.” Grace gulped. Attracting men’s looks— Did she really want that? “Maybe it’s too much...” 

“Out!” Jess laughed as she parked in front of Grace’s tidy bungalow. She leaned across and flicked the door latch so the passenger door swung open. “No more second- guessing yourself. Embrace the new you, best friend of mine. And finish getting ready,” she ordered after glancing at her watch. “The Calhoun boys will soon be here to drive you to catch your flight in Missoula.” 

“Yes, they will. Thanks for being my cheerleader.” Grace hugged Jess, stepped out of her car and then she bent over to ask anxiously, “You will call me before I leave?” 

“Try and stop me.” Jessica sounded amused by her hesitancy.

“Thank you, dear friend. You are so—” 

“I love you, too. Later, kiddo.” With a cheery wave, Jess drove away.”

-

Inside her home, Grace dropped her keys on the dish in the foyer while thinking how much she’d miss Jess these next few months. She hung the new dress she’d just purchased in the closet. What a lot of things she’d bought for this trip. 

Actually, her wardrobe shift wasn’t only for the trip. It was part of Grace’s plan to shed the three D’s: Dumpy, Drab and Dreary. 

Her musing disintegrated at the sound of frantic pounding on her front door. When she pulled it open, her jaw dropped at the sight of a young girl whose face streamed with tears while she danced from one foot to the other. 

“Help,” she pleaded. “My pops is hurt.” 

Taken aback, Grace wondered when that nest of black hair had last seen a comb. 

“Hey! Lady! Help him,” the girl begged. 

“Of course, dear.” Grace snapped into action and grabbed her phone. “Uh, where is your pops?” 

“There.” The child pointed. 

Grace gasped at the sight of a silver-templed man in a battered black leather jacket, lying sprawled on the street in front of an expensive-looking black car. She dialed 911 before racing outside and down her sidewalk toward the victim. 

“I didn’t see him, Grace,” her elderly neighbor Mrs. Fothergill wailed as she stood by her car. “When I started backing up, he wasn’t there. Then he was and my foot slipped on the gas pedal. Please help him.” 

“I’ll try, Mrs. Fothergill. I’m reporting an accident.” Grace focused on the operator and gave her address. “A man’s been hit by a car. We need the ambulance and police. Hold on while I try to find out more about his condition.” 

Grace knelt by the man. He was unconscious. She pressed her fingers against his neck for a pulse. With his head half-buried under his arm she couldn’t get a good look at his face. She was afraid to move him lest there were nonvisible injuries. 

“Oh, Lord, help us,” Mrs. Fothergill chanted repeatedly. Distracted by the feeble woman’s agitation, Grace suggested she sit in her car and wait for help. 

“Please, do something for Pops,” the little girl implored her. 

“I’m doing my best, dear.” Grace studied her watch. “He has a pulse,” she told the operator. “It’s a bit fast. Yes, I do have first-aid knowledge, but I don’t want to move him because his leg is at a strange angle. Also, there’s a large bruise forming above his left eyebrow. I believe he hit his head when he fell so he may be concussed.” She turned to the child. “Does your grandfather take medication?” 

“He already took it,” the girl explained. “I dunno if he’s s’posed to take more.” 

Grace relayed that information and the name of the pre- scription on the vial she withdrew from the pocket of the leather jacket. The name suddenly registered. 

“Jack?” she gasped in utter consternation. 

The man moaned and moved his arm slightly, revealing his face. Grace gaped as her breath whooshed out. 

He’d aged. His face was thinner, more angled, rendering him more rakish-looking than ever. But it was Jack. The operator demanded to know what was going on. 

“The victim’s name is Jack Prinz,” Grace explained after licking her dry lips and finding her voice. “He’s fifty-three. Not from Sunshine. Not for many years.” 

Buy on Amazon Kindle | Large Paperback | Mass Paperback

About the Author

With more than fifty books and millions of copies in print worldwide, Lois Richer continues to write of characters struggling to find God amid their troubled world. Whether from her small prairie town, while crossing oceans or in the midst of the desert, Lois strives to impart hope as well as encourage readers' hunger to know more about the God of whom she writes. 

Connect:

Website: http://www.loisricher.com

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/128821.Lois_Richer

Cover Reveal: Royal Trouble by Jennifer Bonds

Published by: Entangled: Amara
Publication date: May 17th 2021
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance

It’s time for everyone’s favorite bad boy, Prince Alexander Stanley, to clean up his act. Given the rare opportunity to lead a new royal program that aids veterans and their families, Xander can’t afford to be making scandalous headlines anymore. He has only two months until the program launches. No more overindulging. And definitely no more women.

Then halfway into it, his good behavior streak is threatened by a devil in a fuchsia dress.

Everly Wilson has kept a secret for years. She was the mastermind behind the celebrity dirt website Royals Gone Wild, which exposed some of her home country of Valeria’s juiciest secrets. But once she was out of school, she left the website and her past behind, moved to New York, and became a serious writer.

A seriously broke writer. If she doesn’t find a fresh story to earn her top dollar, she’ll be out on the street, with nothing but her laptop and a stack of unpaid medical bills to keep her warm at night.

But when a friend’s wedding brings her back home, it seems like the fates have aligned to deliver her the scoop of the year. Prince Alexander is suddenly on a mission to clean up his act, avoiding the escapades he once embraced—and she’s determined to be the one to catch his inevitable screwup. So when things between them start to heat up, and Xander’s walls start coming down, Everly might be the one royally in trouble this time…

Buy on Amazon

About the Author

Jennifer Bonds writes sizzling contemporary romance with sassy heroines, sexy alphas, and a whole lot of mischief. She's a sucker for enemies-to-lovers stories, laugh-out-loud banter, and over-the-top grand gestures. Jennifer lives in Pennsylvania, where her overactive imagination and weakness for reality TV keep life interesting. She's lucky enough to live with her own real-life hero, two adorable (and sometimes crazy) children, and one rambunctious K9. Loves Buffy, Mexican food, a solid Netflix binge, the Winchester brothers, cupcakes, and all things zombie. Sings off-key.

To connect with Jen online, visit http://www.jenniferbonds.com or find her on Facebook and Instagram @jbondswrites.

Connect:

https://www.jenniferbonds.com/

https://twitter.com/jbondswrites

https://www.facebook.com/jbondswrites

https://www.instagram.com/jbondswrites/

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/13650425.Jennifer_Bonds

Spotlight: Recipe for Passion by L. Moone

Publication Date: April 19, 2021

Genres / Tropes: Adult, Contemporary, Husky Hero, Body Positive, Plus-sized Hero, Steamy, Romance

A man who makes food like this…

has got to be great in bed.

Sarah:

I’ve landed the job of a lifetime: to write a profile about the Heartthrob Chef himself, Byron Ainsworth. Too bad he’s a slime ball in person. No, the real hero on the set of Decadent Desserts is Ethan, Byron’s deliciously cuddly sous-chef, and I’m making it my mission to spend my time at the studio mostly with him. Let’s call it background research.

As I enjoy more of Ethan’s company and my article begins to take shape, I realize two things: I need to tell Ethan how I feel about him before it’s too late. And something feels wrong about Byron. I just don’t know what it is yet.

Ethan:

The moment Sarah walked onto the set, she didn’t just steal a piece of my heart, she took the whole thing. But she’s not here for me, she’s here to interview Byron. I might be the better chef behind closed doors, but he’s the star of the show, whereas I’m a nobody.

Still, Sarah’s presence infects me like a sickness. She leaves me obsessed and full of yearning, but I know she deserves so much better than me. Every minute spent with her sucks me deeper into delight and despair, and yet I continue to seek her out. Maybe, just maybe, I can use my talents in the kitchen to woo her? Because if I let her slip away, I know I’ll regret it forever.

Recipe for Passion is a steamy body-positive romance featuring an adorable teddy bear of a plus-sized hero and a strong-minded heroine who loves him exactly for who he is.

Excerpt

“What the hell, Ethan? Where have you been?” Byron asks. “We’re about to start!”

I turn my head and am awestruck by the man who’s currently blocking the door. At well over six feet tall, and with broad shoulders to match, he’s almost bigger than the doorframe he just entered through. I wouldn’t really call him muscular, though. He’s more of a cuddly giant rather than a scary one, and yet I’m absolutely lost for words. My heart is racing and my eyes are glued to his. Blue with a hint of green; full, sensual lips and an even fuller head of dark blonde hair. This. This is what I’d hoped to feel during my first encounter with Byron. This is the sort of thing Tom wants me to write about.

The butterflies. The odd lump in my throat. The floaty feeling in my chest. How ironic. The feelings are completely right, but they’re for the wrong guy.

He seems equally flustered by my presence. Or maybe he’s just stunned by my mute psycho stare.

“This is Sarah, the reporter. Remember what I told you the other day, yeah?” Byron says. “Sarah, meet my sous-chef, Ethan.”

Byron’s tone when he addresses Ethan rubs me the wrong way. But it doesn’t seem to bother the gentle giant in front of me, who pays Byron no mind as he offers me his hand.

“Welcome, Sarah. While you’re here, if there’s anything you need at all… Just let me know and it’ll be done,” he says.

That voice. That is the voice Byron should have had. And the firm handshake Byron should have offered me, rather than the weak-ass way he just held my hand for too long.

“Thanks so much. Sorry, what did you say your name was?”

“Ethan,” he says with a brief smile.

Oh God. I’m done for.

Before I get to swoon any longer, Jill returns to get everything back on schedule. She leads me to a chair near one of the camera monitors where Claire is already sitting with a headset on and I follow on autopilot. Claire nods a brief acknowledgement in my direction, which finally makes me snap out of my trance.

What the hell just happened?

My heart rate takes a good while to settle down to something close to normal; meanwhile the lights come on and everyone gets into position to start recording.

I let my eyes wander across the darkened studio and the various members of the production team as I calm down. I do a double take when I spot Jill talking to one of the camera guys who vaguely reminds me of Ethan, only not quite. The man himself isn’t anywhere within sight. I wonder what he does here the whole day? There’s never been anyone else on the show except Byron. Why would a TV chef need a sous-chef anyway? Doesn’t he just prepare all the food live in front of the cameras?

“Quiet, everyone! Let’s roll!” Claire calls out next to me before leaning forward to check the feed from the various camera angles on her tablet.

I sigh and shake my head at myself. Remembering Claire’s last instruction, I grab my phone out of my bag and put it on silent.

That’s when I see a message waiting from my bestie from work, Megan, who writes the regular lifestyle column.

‘How goes?’

I can’t help but take the bait and send her a barrage of messages. About Byron. About his fake looking teeth and arrogant demeanor. All of it. Except for the moment of relief I felt once Ethan arrived in the changing room.

‘I thought this feature was my golden ticket, ya know? And a chance to meet TV’s most eligible bachelor. But he’s horrible! Everything you think he is from watching the show, right? He’s the exact opposite,’ I write.

‘Ha! You can’t put any of that into your article, darling. Tom will kill you.’

I hate that she’s right.

I sink deeper into my chair and shoot a sullen glance in Byron’s direction. I wish I could just write about Ethan instead. The feature would practically write itself.

‘I know,’ I write back.

It takes Meg a couple of seconds to send her reply. ‘It’s supposed to be a fluff piece. Think of the readers. Think of the advertising revenue. He’s everyone’s favorite of the month. Nobody wants to read about his creepy, clammy hands.’

I roll my eyes. She sounds exactly like Tom, and I don’t want to hear it.

‘It’s the truth, though,’ I respond.

Should I tell her about Ethan now? Probably. Maybe. But that’ll require a lot more time than what I can get away with. Beside me, Claire is still completely focused on the camera feeds, but she’s bound to notice my absentmindedness sooner or later. She already seemed annoyed by my presence here, so I should do my best to blend in.

Meanwhile, Megan is still typing. ‘Tough shit. Nobody visits celeb gossip sites for the boring old truth. They want glamour! They want to imagine themselves bent over that floury kitchen counter while he impales them with his… rolling pin.’

That would have been funny, if the mental image wasn’t also so off-putting. And she does have a point. I guess this is where the reality of being a tabloid journalist doesn’t match the dream. I don’t happen to like the subject of my feature, but the readers do. Plus, Tom made a deal with the network. Ugh. I suppose it’s still miles better than the opposite scenario: having to tear someone down whom I do like as a person.

I make a face at my phone and stuff it back into my bag, then I open up my notepad and try to figure out what’s going on beyond the stage lighting. I’ve never been to a cooking show shoot before, but it still surprises me how many tries Byron-effing-Ainsworth needs to whip up a basic meringue. Again, these candid observations are not too useful for my article, but I scribble them down anyway.

I start wondering how I’m going to survive a whole week of this when Ethan walks onto the set, carrying several bowls of ingredients, probably. I peer across at Claire’s screen to get a closer look.

Ethan is delicious. Despite the few extra pounds he’s carrying around the waist, or perhaps even because of them? Here’s a man who seems to have a real appetite for life, unlike Byron, who just looks miserable all around. Someone to cuddle with on the sofa while sharing a pint of choco-chip ice cream. A real man, not a cardboard cut-out of one with fake bleached teeth, plucked eyebrows, and a clammy, weak handshake.

The stage—Byron and all—fades into the background until I barely even realize it’s still there. All I have eyes for is Ethan. My pen is moving across the page with a mind of its own, recording any and all impressions I have of him. How watching him interact with Byron makes me feel. How I wish he were the star of the show instead.

I wonder how old he is? Mid-thirties, maybe? Definitely a few years older than me, but not outrageously so...

Okay, I can do this for a week. I’ll just interview him most of the time. I’ll call it background research, or something. Learn about the inner workings of the show from him and brainstorm a new angle for my piece at the same time.

Yes, that could work. Ethan did tell me he’d make sure I get anything I need. It's probably a good thing he doesn't know where my mind went as soon as he said that.

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About the Author

Realistic characters, pure emotions, true passion. Everything I write is about the characters: how they interact, what’s going on in their heads, how the passionate relationship develops and affects them. I don’t believe in keeping things hidden, or dressing them up just for show. Some of my characters are potty-mouths, most of them are less than perfect (yes, even physically). I aim to write a happy ending for all of them, without keeping anything behind closed doors.

Connect:

Website: https://lmoone.com/

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Spotlight: Before Summer Ends (Harlequin Special Edition) by Susan Mallery

A long, hot summer with her secret crush…

What could possibly go wrong?

Nissa Lang knows Desmond Stilling is out of her league. He’s a CEO, she’s a teacher. He’s gorgeous, she’s…not. So when her house-sitting gig falls through and Desmond offers her a place to stay for the summer, she vows not to reveal how she’s felt about him since their first—and only—kiss.

Desmond should’ve known better than to bring temptation into his house. He decided long ago that his best friend’s sister was too sweet, too good, for him. She deserves a guy who can give his heart. For her sake, he’s stayed away. But as her laughter breathes life into his lonely mansion, he’s not sure how long he’ll be able to resist.

From Harlequin Special Edition: Believe in love. Overcome obstacles. Find happiness.

Excerpt

“Stop,” he told her, stepping back to wave her inside. “I’m glad you’ll be here. I’ll enjoy the company and Hilde needs someone to fuss over.”

“Hilde was so nice when we texted.” Nissa leaned close and lowered her voice. “She asked me what kind of cheese I like. No one’s ever asked me that before. I honestly didn’t know what to say. I was afraid I would disappoint her if I didn’t ask for something fancy, but all I could think of was cheddar.”

He thought about the contents of the refrigerator. “She bought more than that. You can try them all and tell her which ones you like best.”

“I can’t wait.” She paused in the foyer and looked up.

He followed her gaze, taking in the two-story entry, the large windows and elegant chandelier. Desmond had lived in the house long enough that he no longer saw any one part of it, but he knew it wouldn’t be the same for Nissa. While she’d been to the house a few times for parties and barbecues, she’d never lived here.

She looked at the wide staircase and the long hallway, then back at him.

“Is there a map?” she asked, her eyes bright with humor.

“It’s an app.”

“I almost believe you.”

Hilde, his housekeeper from the day he’d moved in, appeared. She was in her mid- to late-forties, with short dark hair and a warm smile.

“Miss Nissa,” she said, her hand outstretched. “Welcome to Mr. Desmond’s home. Please let me know if I can do anything to make your stay more pleasant.”

“I’m thinking you’ve already done so much,” Nissa told her. “It’s nice to meet you in person. I hope you didn’t go to too much trouble.”

“No trouble.” Hilde glanced at him. “Did you want to take her on a tour, Mr. Desmond, or should I do it?”

“Go ahead,” he murmured, thinking she knew the house better than he did. But instead of retreating to his office, he joined the two women as Hilde led the way.

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About the Author

No.1 New York Times bestselling author Susan Mallery writes heartwarming, humorous novels about the relationships that define our lives – family, friendship, romance. She’s known for putting nuanced characters in emotional situations that surprise readers to laughter. Beloved by millions, her books have been translated into 28 languages. Susan lives in Washington with her husband, two cats, and a small poodle with delusions of grandeur.

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Spotlight: The Restarting Point by Marci Bolden

(Chammont Point #1)

Publication date: April 27th 2021

Genres: Women’s Fiction

Synopsis:

Marketing executive and mother of two, Jade Kelly can now add cancer survivor to her list of successes. But while her life looks good on paper, four months out of treatment, Jade realizes she hardly knows her college-age children and she and her husband Nick are little more than housemates.

Determined to start over, Jade schedules a family vacation to a lakefront cabin. When her kids bail and Nick stays home to handle a last minute work crisis, Jade heads to Chammont Point alone, determined to dust herself off and figure out what to do with the rest of her life.

While she’s away, the life she thought she had unravels. Secrets, lies, and old wounds drive Jade into new adventures and new relationships. With the help of family and new found friends, Jade learns starting over sometimes means finding a brand new restarting point.

Excerpt

Jade walked to the banister and rested her hands on the cracked and weathered wood. There wasn’t a single car horn or airplane or siren to be heard. Birds chirped happily, bugs buzzed, and if she listened closely, she could hear the faint sound of water lapping the shore.

Hoping to get a better look at the lake in the distance, she leaned forward and bent at the waist to see under the branches. Her nice, relaxing, meditative breath came to a startling end at the sound of cracking wood. A scream of surprise surged from Jade and echoed around the cove as the banister gave way, sending her hurtling toward the ground.

Like some kind of surreal survival instinct kicking in, her mind flashed to those action movies her sons watched so often. In the seconds between falling through the banister and crashing to the patchy grass below, she decided the only way to come out of this unscathed was to do one of those rolling landing things she’d seen Angelina Jolie do a thousand times on-screen.

Jade managed to get her hands and feet in place, expecting to flip over and somehow land in a pre-sprint pose that would magically absorb the pain. If she were a stunt double in Hollywood, she might have nailed it. Instead, she landed hard, twisting her left ankle and bashing her face into the patchy grass. Since she didn’t roll, or even come close to it, her chest smashed into the ground as hard as her cheek had. The oxygen pushed from her lungs in a painful rush, leaving her in a gasp, and her left ankle instantly started to throb.

She lay there, too stunned to move, trying to figure out exactly where she’d gone wrong with her landing and if anything had been seriously damaged in the process. Damn it. This hadn’t exactly been a stellar start to her vacation. Every attempt at breathing she made felt like a weight pressed on her chest. The wind had been knocked out of her and her ankle hurt like hell, but Jade was certain the only thing broken was her intent to make the best out of this stupid vacation.

“Don’t be dead,” a woman said from what seemed like a million miles away. “Don’t be dead.” Then she said something in a language Jade didn’t understand. She thought it might have been Spanish, but the voice was so far away and the ringing in her ears was so loud, she couldn’t be sure.

Seconds later, someone grabbed Jade’s shoulder and flipped her onto her back. She barely had time to process what was happening before a woman dressed in a blindingly incandescent yellow shirt leaned over her. Firetruck red hair had been curled into victory rolls on top of the woman’s head, making her look like a comic book throwback to the 1940s. The woman’s eyeliner flared out into long wings, and her lipstick matched her hair.

Jade squinted her eyes, mostly out of confusion. Perhaps she’d hit her head harder than she’d realized.

“Don’t worry. I know CPR,” the woman announced and then took a deep breath.

Jade tried to explain that she didn’t need CPR, but she hadn’t caught her breath yet. Her protest came out soundless. Not even a whisper left her lips. However, she swatted the woman’s hand away before she could pinch Jade’s nose.

As Jade attempted to sit, the colorfully dressed woman pushed her back, hands planted hard on her shoulders, and stared into her eyes.

“Don’t move,” the woman warned with a dire tone. “You could have internal bleeding.”

“I don’t,” Jade said, though her words were barely above a breathy hiss.

“You don’t know that,” she insisted.

Jade took another deep, painful breath. Though her diaphragm still wasn’t working right, she got enough air into her to say, “I’m fine. Who are you?”

The woman pressed a hand with long red fingernails to her chest and said, “I live next door. I was on my way over to introduce myself when I saw you fall. You looked like a baby bird testing out your wings. Except they usually fly, you know. You just kind of…” She slapped her hands together to demonstrate Jade’s far from graceful landing.

Jade scowled and turned her attention to her palms.

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About the Author

As a teen, Marci Bolden skipped over young adult books and jumped right into reading women's fiction and romance novels.

Marci lives in the Midwest with her husband, two kiddos, and numerous rescue pets. If she had an ounce of will power, Marci would embrace healthy living but until cupcakes and wine are no longer available at the local grocery store, she'll put that ambition on hold and appease her guilt by reading self-help books and promising to join a gym "soon."

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