Memaparkan catatan dengan label Ardent Prose PR. Papar semua catatan
Memaparkan catatan dengan label Ardent Prose PR. Papar semua catatan
Exmas by Winter Renshaw
This Christmas, I’ll be getting a visit from a man in a suit, only it won’t be Santa.
Let me first say: Reed York was never my boyfriend. He was the pen. I was the company ink. Though if you want to get technical, we were more like colleagues-who-hated-each-other … with benefits.
Everything was fine until the charming jerk went behind my back, stole my promotion, and became my boss—literally overnight.
Refusing to work beneath him (professionally speaking and otherwise), I transferred 2,014 miles away to our Chicago division, and I’ve spent the past year trying to remember how much I hated his panty-melting smirk so I can forget how much I secretly loved the way his ocean eyes lit every time I walked into the room.
But he’s just announced a last-minute site visit the week between Christmas and New Year’s Day, and on top of that, he’s audaciously designated me as his ‘right hand gal’ during his visit. If he thinks he has a snowball’s chance in this hell at getting back in my good graces, he’s got another thing coming.
Reed York might be a man used to getting everything he’s ever wanted, but Joa Jolivet is a woman that never forgets.
He can put me on his Christmas list all he wants, but everyone knows naughty boys only get coal.
Reed
“Pam said you were looking for me?” Joa stands at the threshold of the conference room, favoring the hall side, her hands braced against the door jamb. Everything about her says she’s trying like hell to physically resist me.
I take my time checking my watch. “Do you always take three-hour lunches?”
Her arms tighten across her chest. “I was with a client.”
“Do you always let your clients kiss you?”
Her jaw hangs loose. “You were watching me?”
“Not watching. I looked outside and happened to see. Joa, why don’t you come in and shut the door.”
She hesitates, nostrils slightly flared, and then her arms drop to her sides and she exhales before stepping inside and shutting the door.
“You don’t have to stand all the way over there.” I chuff, finding amusement in the fact that she’s still digging her heels in. “I’m not going to bite. Only did that once. You didn’t like it, remember?”
“I can’t believe we’re having this conversation right now.”
“I can’t believe we’re having a conversation, period.” I rise, buttoning my suit coat as I make my way to her. “And I also can’t believe I had to fly two thousand miles across the country to get you to even look at me.”
“Really? Reed? You can’t believe that?” Her tone is mocking, her angled brows a stark contrast on her sweet face. She’s never been good at looking angry. It doesn’t suit her.
“All I wanted to do that day was tell you how sorry I was—”
“—sorry?!” She laughs, refusing to let me explain that my hands were tied. I was tapped that morning and told I had no choice but to take a job for which I never applied—a job that I didn’t even want—and that was before I knew the half of what was going on. “You were sorry? You wished me luck that morning, Reed. And then you took the job right out from under me. You knew how much I wanted that job and you just … took it. And then you stand here a year later with the audacity to act like I owe you a chance to apologize.”
“Pam said you were looking for me?” Joa stands at the threshold of the conference room, favoring the hall side, her hands braced against the door jamb. Everything about her says she’s trying like hell to physically resist me.
I take my time checking my watch. “Do you always take three-hour lunches?”
Her arms tighten across her chest. “I was with a client.”
“Do you always let your clients kiss you?”
Her jaw hangs loose. “You were watching me?”
“Not watching. I looked outside and happened to see. Joa, why don’t you come in and shut the door.”
She hesitates, nostrils slightly flared, and then her arms drop to her sides and she exhales before stepping inside and shutting the door.
“You don’t have to stand all the way over there.” I chuff, finding amusement in the fact that she’s still digging her heels in. “I’m not going to bite. Only did that once. You didn’t like it, remember?”
“I can’t believe we’re having this conversation right now.”
“I can’t believe we’re having a conversation, period.” I rise, buttoning my suit coat as I make my way to her. “And I also can’t believe I had to fly two thousand miles across the country to get you to even look at me.”
“Really? Reed? You can’t believe that?” Her tone is mocking, her angled brows a stark contrast on her sweet face. She’s never been good at looking angry. It doesn’t suit her.
“All I wanted to do that day was tell you how sorry I was—”
“—sorry?!” She laughs, refusing to let me explain that my hands were tied. I was tapped that morning and told I had no choice but to take a job for which I never applied—a job that I didn’t even want—and that was before I knew the half of what was going on. “You were sorry? You wished me luck that morning, Reed. And then you took the job right out from under me. You knew how much I wanted that job and you just … took it. And then you stand here a year later with the audacity to act like I owe you a chance to apologize.”
Tower by Measha Stone
When Azalea meets Peter Titon, she’s sure it was a one-time chance meeting. But when her over protective mother leaves for a work trip, and the men left behind to protect her fail- she’s taken by Peter in the dark of night with no explanation.
Peter isn’t one to explain his motives, and taking Azalea is no exception. He takes what he wants. When he sees Azalea at his newest club, Tower, her fire and grit draws him to her. Later when he finds her locked away in her rooms, he decides better to have her locked away with him.
But there’s more at stake here than just a few nights of fun with an attractive woman. While the two of them sway to the sensual waves, old grievances and long forgotten truths dance dangerously close. Azalea and Peter will have to decide where their loyalty and hearts truly lie- and what are they willing to risk to find the truth.
She walked past a narrow storefront selling liquor and cheap thrills, mostly gambling from what the blinking neon lights advertised, and headed to the larger, more sophisticated-looking club. The building stood out from the rest on the strip, towering over all of them, and decorated in a much darker scheme than the rest.
The club resembled a Renaissance mansion, with ominous architecture and two large gargoyles perched on podiums overlooking the entrance. Two towers climbed to a second story with a third rising two stories higher than the others.
The owner had aptly named the club Tower, or maybe he’d built the club around the name.
It didn’t matter, and she had much bigger concerns at the moment. Her curiosity had driven her down to the city streets, out of the comfort of her suite where she lived with her mother. But she had only a few hours. If she didn’t return home before midnight, her absence would be discovered.
Having an overprotective mother had been annoying growing up. Now, it caused a desperation Azalea had never felt before.
“Hey there, beautiful.” A voice from behind her slithered over her shoulder. She quickened her steps. The owner of the voice cursed at her but didn’t follow her.
Tower may cater to upscaled clientele, but it brought out the seedy beasts as well. She wasn’t completely naïve; she knew better than to think she’d be able to walk the street without at least one man’s eyes on her. It was her hair. The golden tresses easily snagged attention.
She pulled her hood closer around her face and came to the entrance of the club. Taking a deep breath, she retrieved her small purse and dug out the cover charge.
“You alone?” The bouncer looked behind her. At such a late hour, the evening was already in full swing, yet there wasn’t a line.
“Yes,” she said and waved the bills in his direction. “Fifty dollars, right?” She pushed the money at him again when he didn’t accept it.
“Take off that coat,” he ordered.
She heaved a sigh. She would hardly hide weapons in such a flimsy overcoat, but if it would make the hulking guard take her cash and let her off the street, she’d play along.
Shaking off the garment, she threw it over her arm and thrust the bills at him again. “Okay?”
He looked her over. A smile grew on his lips as his gaze reached her chest, and brightened as it traveled downward.
The Sound Of Home by Krista Sandor
One steamy summer night. One unforgivable betrayal. Two lives forever changed.
Em MacCaslin was never an ordinary girl. A child music prodigy, she competed in elite competitions and performed with symphonies all over the world. At eighteen years old, her future couldn’t have been brighter. But all her dreams were shattered in one night.
A night she doesn’t remember.
After twelve years of running from the past, she’s back in Langley Park. And she wants answers.
Sparks fly and passions ignite when the man who betrayed her trust offers to help uncover the events of that fateful night.
But not everyone wants Em to learn the truth. A truth with the potential to kill.
The Sound of Home is a sexy standalone romance in the Langley Park series.
Em MacCaslin was never an ordinary girl. A child music prodigy, she competed in elite competitions and performed with symphonies all over the world. At eighteen years old, her future couldn’t have been brighter. But all her dreams were shattered in one night.
A night she doesn’t remember.
After twelve years of running from the past, she’s back in Langley Park. And she wants answers.
Sparks fly and passions ignite when the man who betrayed her trust offers to help uncover the events of that fateful night.
But not everyone wants Em to learn the truth. A truth with the potential to kill.
The Sound of Home is a sexy standalone romance in the Langley Park series.
If there’s one thing Krista Sandor knows for sure, it’s that romance saved her. After she was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis in 2015, her world turned upside down. During those difficult first days, her dear friend sent her a romance novel. That kind gesture provided the escape she needed and ignited her love of the genre. Inspired by the strong heroines and happily ever afters, Krista decided to write her own romance series. Today, she is an MS Warrior and living life to the fullest. When she’s not writing, you can find her running 5Ks and chasing after her growing boys in her adopted home of Denver, Colorado.
The Road Home by Krista Sandor
You can outrun a lot of things. The truth isn’t one of them.
Jenna Lewis has spent the last fourteen years lying about her past, but all that changes when a family emergency calls her back to the quaint town of Langley Park. Her plan is to get in and get out as quickly as possible, but things become complicated when she comes face-to-face with her lost childhood love who is struggling with his own demons. While neither wants to admit their connection is still lightning-hot, the intensity of their attraction is too strong to deny.
But not everything is as it seems.
Unsettling events begin to occur, threatening not only Jenna’s second chance at love but her very life. Will she survive what lies ahead? Can her heart navigate the road home?
The Road Home is a sexy standalone romance in the Langley Park series.
“Looks like we might get some weather,” Zoe said, motioning to the lightning in the distance.
“It’s that time of year,” Sam replied with a yawn.
“All right, lazy bones, why don’t we give poor Jenna a reprieve,” Zoe said, taking Sam’s hand and joining Jenna and the children on the pavilion dance floor.
Sam picked up Kate, and Zoe ushered the remaining little girls over to watch a woman making balloon animals. Jenna was left standing alone as the first few notes of Eric Clapton’s ballad “Wonderful Tonight” began to play.
Jenna turned to leave, and Ben’s heart rate kicked up. His limbs twitched. His body was nearly vibrating. He needed to be close to her. Unable to hold himself back, he walked up the steps to the pavilion and cut off her departure.
She stopped and met his gaze, confusion clouding her eyes.
He offered her his hand. Jenna looked at it warily as if he were handing her a stick of lit dynamite.
She shook her head. “I don’t think—”
“It’s just a dance,” he countered, knowing that was a lie.
She bit her lip. He could tell she was turning something over in her mind, but she put her hand in his.
Several people had gotten up to dance, and soon the pavilion was full of couples swaying under the twinkling lights.
He gathered Jenna into his arms and inhaled, smelling the faint lavender scent of her shampoo. She shivered, and he wasn’t sure if it was because of his touch or the cool breeze that picked up and caused the hanging lights to sway as if they too were moving to the beat.
“Are you cold?” he asked, pulling her in closer.
She studied his face as if she were trying to decipher a code. “Why are you dancing with me?”
He released a pained breath. “Because I couldn’t stay away from you any longer.”
“I don’t know what you want from me. Did I do something to upset you?” Her brown eyes were full of questions.
Dating The Enemy by Nicole Williams
Ms. Romance, Hannah Arden, writes one of the top read relationship advice columns in the nation. Mr. Reality, Brooks North, writes the top read relationship advice column.
Ms. Romance believes in true love and soul mates. Mr. Reality believes love is a term humanity has assigned to the primal instinct to procreate. She believes in fate—he in chance. She knows there’s one right person for everyone—he knows there are multiple ones. The two writers couldn’t be more polarized on relationships. They’re professional rivals, and philosophical antagonists.
For eight years, their battles have been fought with words and ink. That changes when they apply for the same position at the World Times and find themselves face-to-face for the first time. Brooks isn’t the sour-faced, antiquity of a man Hannah pictured. And Hannah isn’t exactly the middle-aged shrew with cat hair on her housedress that Brooks imagined either.
In lieu of competing for the promotion traditional ways, the two writers are presented with playing the leading roles in a social experiment unlike any before. Can a person be tricked into falling in love? Can a relationship be crafted under the right string of circumstances? Hannah knows the answer. So does Brooks.
Agreeing to the terms, the two set out on a three-month dating experiment, live-streamed for the world to watch. All Hannah has to do to win is not fall in love with the narcissistic brute. All Brooks has to do is get the starry-eyed dreamer to fall in love with him. Both are so confident in their philosophies, they expect the challenge to be easy.
With the world watching, Brooks and Hannah will be forced to confront their beliefs and conclude, once and for all, who’s right. The answer is one neither of them saw coming.
Ms. Romance believes in true love and soul mates. Mr. Reality believes love is a term humanity has assigned to the primal instinct to procreate. She believes in fate—he in chance. She knows there’s one right person for everyone—he knows there are multiple ones. The two writers couldn’t be more polarized on relationships. They’re professional rivals, and philosophical antagonists.
For eight years, their battles have been fought with words and ink. That changes when they apply for the same position at the World Times and find themselves face-to-face for the first time. Brooks isn’t the sour-faced, antiquity of a man Hannah pictured. And Hannah isn’t exactly the middle-aged shrew with cat hair on her housedress that Brooks imagined either.
In lieu of competing for the promotion traditional ways, the two writers are presented with playing the leading roles in a social experiment unlike any before. Can a person be tricked into falling in love? Can a relationship be crafted under the right string of circumstances? Hannah knows the answer. So does Brooks.
Agreeing to the terms, the two set out on a three-month dating experiment, live-streamed for the world to watch. All Hannah has to do to win is not fall in love with the narcissistic brute. All Brooks has to do is get the starry-eyed dreamer to fall in love with him. Both are so confident in their philosophies, they expect the challenge to be easy.
With the world watching, Brooks and Hannah will be forced to confront their beliefs and conclude, once and for all, who’s right. The answer is one neither of them saw coming.
“So?” His head lowered toward mine. “Have you fallen in love with me yet?”
A single-noted laugh escaped from me. “No. Sorry to burst your bubble.”
“You know it’s only a matter of time.”
“Before our three months are up and, lo and behold, I haven’t fallen madly in love with you?” I said. “Yeah, I know that.”
He held out my glass of cider, scooting closer. “Am I really that offensive?”
“Taken as a whole, no, you’re not. But taking this whole set-up into account, along with your beliefs that love is for weak-minded ninnies, then yes. You really are so offensive.”
A half smile emerged. “What do your readers think about this whole thing?”
“My readers definitely don’t want me falling for you,” I answered.
“But your readers love romance, and some handsome, roguish fellow taking your hand in a park while you’re dressed in a white dress is the definition of romance.” Right then, Brooks’s hand covered mine where it was resting on the blanket.
Instead of stiffening or whipping away, I found myself relaxing under his touch. The camera’s presence screamed at me from the corner of my eye.
“My readers believe in finding the one.” My hand slipped from beneath his. “Not the one who takes your hand and pretends to like you so he gets the promotion.”
“Who says I couldn’t be your one?”
I laughed. “Even I don’t need to run the numbers to know that has about a one-in-an-impossible chance of happening.”
Brooks slid his glasses onto his head, his eyes unapologetic in their stare. “You and me? You couldn’t see it?”
“Not even a little.” I had to look away. “When it’s right, you know it. You feel it.”
Brooks’s head shook before he took a drink of his cider. “I admit, it’s a nice idea. But don’t you feel it inside? The realization that it’s just not true?” He stared out at the park and the people in it.
I gazed with him, trying to ignore that pit opening up in my stomach. “I’d rather spend my life chasing a dream than swallowing a cruel reality.”
“You’d rather spend your life lying to yourself than being honest?” Brooks asked.
“I don’t think any of what I believe is a lie. Soul mates, unconditional love, happy endings—it’s all real.”
“Fairy tales,” he muttered under his breath. “So explain why a marriage dissolves after twenty years because of fifteen minutes of indiscretion.”
Reaching for my glass, I answered, “It wouldn’t have if he kept it in his pants.”
He blew out a sharp breath. “No, that’s like saying twenty years, our kids, our house, our finances, everything is worth less than that fifteen minutes of fucking.” His arms threw out, his tone rather impassioned. “That’s not unconditional love. That’s the very conditional kind.”
“You’re right. It is the conditional kind. On the part of the one who engaged in the fifteen minutes of extra marital . . .” I just caught the cameraman’s hands flailing before I said, “Screwing. That was one-sided unconditional love, and that never works in a relationship.”
One of his brows rose. “That’s a convenient explanation. But I’ll stick to my beliefs that all of that unconditional love junk is worth its weight in bullshit.”
I shot the cameraman an apologetic look—so much for keeping this date in the PG realm. “Then how do you explain the couples it has worked for? The ones who live a long, happy, committed relationship together.”
“I call it a case of two determined people willing to overlook each other’s weaknesses and not be hell-bent on changing or fixing the other, who’ve figured out a way to laugh at themselves, forgive easily—not to mention often—perfect the fine balance of selflessness and selfish, and on top of that, won the relationship lottery.” Brooks clinked his glass against mine before finishing what was left of his cider. “That’s how I explain that.”
I blinked at him. “Wow. Don’t hold back or anything.”
“That’s just half of it.”
A single-noted laugh escaped from me. “No. Sorry to burst your bubble.”
“You know it’s only a matter of time.”
“Before our three months are up and, lo and behold, I haven’t fallen madly in love with you?” I said. “Yeah, I know that.”
He held out my glass of cider, scooting closer. “Am I really that offensive?”
“Taken as a whole, no, you’re not. But taking this whole set-up into account, along with your beliefs that love is for weak-minded ninnies, then yes. You really are so offensive.”
A half smile emerged. “What do your readers think about this whole thing?”
“My readers definitely don’t want me falling for you,” I answered.
“But your readers love romance, and some handsome, roguish fellow taking your hand in a park while you’re dressed in a white dress is the definition of romance.” Right then, Brooks’s hand covered mine where it was resting on the blanket.
Instead of stiffening or whipping away, I found myself relaxing under his touch. The camera’s presence screamed at me from the corner of my eye.
“My readers believe in finding the one.” My hand slipped from beneath his. “Not the one who takes your hand and pretends to like you so he gets the promotion.”
“Who says I couldn’t be your one?”
I laughed. “Even I don’t need to run the numbers to know that has about a one-in-an-impossible chance of happening.”
Brooks slid his glasses onto his head, his eyes unapologetic in their stare. “You and me? You couldn’t see it?”
“Not even a little.” I had to look away. “When it’s right, you know it. You feel it.”
Brooks’s head shook before he took a drink of his cider. “I admit, it’s a nice idea. But don’t you feel it inside? The realization that it’s just not true?” He stared out at the park and the people in it.
I gazed with him, trying to ignore that pit opening up in my stomach. “I’d rather spend my life chasing a dream than swallowing a cruel reality.”
“You’d rather spend your life lying to yourself than being honest?” Brooks asked.
“I don’t think any of what I believe is a lie. Soul mates, unconditional love, happy endings—it’s all real.”
“Fairy tales,” he muttered under his breath. “So explain why a marriage dissolves after twenty years because of fifteen minutes of indiscretion.”
Reaching for my glass, I answered, “It wouldn’t have if he kept it in his pants.”
He blew out a sharp breath. “No, that’s like saying twenty years, our kids, our house, our finances, everything is worth less than that fifteen minutes of fucking.” His arms threw out, his tone rather impassioned. “That’s not unconditional love. That’s the very conditional kind.”
“You’re right. It is the conditional kind. On the part of the one who engaged in the fifteen minutes of extra marital . . .” I just caught the cameraman’s hands flailing before I said, “Screwing. That was one-sided unconditional love, and that never works in a relationship.”
One of his brows rose. “That’s a convenient explanation. But I’ll stick to my beliefs that all of that unconditional love junk is worth its weight in bullshit.”
I shot the cameraman an apologetic look—so much for keeping this date in the PG realm. “Then how do you explain the couples it has worked for? The ones who live a long, happy, committed relationship together.”
“I call it a case of two determined people willing to overlook each other’s weaknesses and not be hell-bent on changing or fixing the other, who’ve figured out a way to laugh at themselves, forgive easily—not to mention often—perfect the fine balance of selflessness and selfish, and on top of that, won the relationship lottery.” Brooks clinked his glass against mine before finishing what was left of his cider. “That’s how I explain that.”
I blinked at him. “Wow. Don’t hold back or anything.”
“That’s just half of it.”
Nicole Williams is the New York Times and USATODAY bestselling author of contemporary and young adult romance, including the Crash and Lost & Found series. Her books have been published by HarperTeen and Simon & Schuster in both domestic and foreign markets, while she continues to self-publish additional titles. She is working on a new YA series with Crown Books (a division of Random House) as well. She loves romance, from the sweet to the steamy, and writes stories about characters in search of their happily even after. She grew up surrounded by books and plans on writing until the day she dies, even if it’s just for her own personal enjoyment. She still buys paperbacks because she’s all nostalgic like that, but her kindle never goes neglected for too long. When not writing, she spends her time with her husband and daughter, and whatever time’s left over she’s forced to fit too many hobbies into too little time.
Nicole is represented by Jane Dystel, of Dystel and Goderich Literary Agency.
The Ocean Between Us by Michelle Heard
Model Credit: Drew Truckle.
Photographer Credit: Eric David Battershell.
www.ericbattershell.com
Cover Artist: Sybil, PopKitty Design.
Photographer Credit: Eric David Battershell.
www.ericbattershell.com
Cover Artist: Sybil, PopKitty Design.
Dying to experience life, I cross an ocean to get away from my fears. I find my safe haven in the form of Detective Aiden Holden. He shows me what love is, but then our lives collide. Our little world shatters, and I'm caught in the crossfire.
I'm forced to return home, to let go of the only person who has made me feel like I could be more.
How do you return to a cage once you’ve tasted freedom?
My only hope is that Aiden will cross an ocean for me.
I'm forced to return home, to let go of the only person who has made me feel like I could be more.
How do you return to a cage once you’ve tasted freedom?
My only hope is that Aiden will cross an ocean for me.
Michelle Heard is a Bestselling Romance Author who likes her books hot, dirty, and with a touch of darkness. She loves an alpha hero who is not scared to fight for his woman.
Want to be up to date with what’s happening in Michelle’s world? Sign up to receive the latest news on her alpha hero releases, sales, and great giveaways → http://eepurl.com/cUXM_P
Want to be up to date with what’s happening in Michelle’s world? Sign up to receive the latest news on her alpha hero releases, sales, and great giveaways → http://eepurl.com/cUXM_P
Langgan:
Ulasan
(
Atom
)