We’re stuck together for a night when our plane is forced to make an emergency landing, and that’s all the promise we make—one night, then we go our separate ways.
Except she pops up again.
Then again.
Suddenly, she’s everywhere. In my head and in my bed, completely taking over my life and ruining all my plans with her quippy comebacks, her smarts, and a body that fits against mine just perfectly.
The problem? Auden is off limits. Forbidden. Strictly in the DO NOT TOUCH zone. She goes against all the rules, but never have I wanted to bend them as badly as I do when it comes to her.
This might be one battle I’m not going to win…
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TEAGAN HUNTER writes steamy romantic comedies with lots of sarcasm and a side of heart. She loves pizza, hockey, and romance novels, though not in that order. When not writing, you can find her watching entirely too many hours of Supernatural, One Tree Hill, or New Girl. She's mildly obsessed with Halloween and prefers cooler weather. She married her high school sweetheart, and they currently live in the PNW.
I admit it was me who shouted, “Looking good, hot stuff!” at Mr. Richmond this morning, but I didn’t mean it like that. Yes, Mrs. HR Lady, I know how it looks. Believe me, I am totally anti-catcalling, but that’s not what that was. Honest. I was paying him a compliment! That’s kind of what I do: I’m a proud, small-town Floridian, and Manhattan is craving some Florida sunshine—nothing like a sincere compliment to turn those New York frowns upside down!
Grayson Richmond needs some positivity. Have you seen how grumpy he is? Sure, he’s the big boss, but I’m always at his house, so we’re kind of, well, not friends, that would be awkward, but like… Okay, so no, I didn’t actually meet him until today. I only go to his penthouse to drop off the dry cleaning…
Wait, I’m sorry, he felt threatened? Are you kidding me? I’m dead broke, my fashion style is Disney adult, and I’m five feet tall when I stand up straight. I’m twenty-three and look like I’m twelve. People constantly stop me and ask me if I lost my mommy. Grayson is six foot five, one of the richest men in Manhattan, and literally owns multiple city blocks and two of the tallest skyscrapers in the city, which is, by the way, totally a phallic calling card.
Yes, I understand that Mr. Richmond takes these matters very seriously. No, I’m not making a mockery of this company or of him. Yes, I will return to my duties as Mr. Richmond’s lowly assistant of the assistant to the secretary. No, I’m not being snarky. Believe me, my credit card debt and I are very happy to have this job.
Also, I hate to ask, but Mr. Richmond didn’t say anything about the notes of positive affirmation in his underwear drawer, did he? It wasn’t anything awkward like “I want to bang you.” Because, you know, I don’t want to. Not at all. Is he hot? Washboard abs, that jaw, those hands—phff yeah! After all, my momma didn’t raise no liar. But I’m not going to like, tell him, because that would be weird. Wait, what? He wants to see me in his office? Now? Like now now? Gulp!
This is an enemies-to-lovers, grumpy New York billionaire boss versus Florida-sunshine assistant, stand-alone romantic comedy! If you like cupcakes, sparkly stickers, and hot guys in suits whose rigid routines get a hilarious shake-up, this book is for you! Happily ever after guaranteed!
I picked up the mug of black tea and tried not to stare at the buttons that were threatening to pop on Lexi’s blouse and let her t*** spill out.
I took a large swallow of the scalding-hot water.
“You two are harshing his snarly, self-important, condescending vibes. It’s the gestapo up in here. A man can’t even cuss out his own assistant in peace. Shoo!” Lexi waved away the two older women. “Can’t you see you’re smothering him? Some people,” she said to me, cupping a hand to the side of her mouth.
“Can we please fire her?” Anthym shrieked.
“But then who will sort our dear leader’s underwear?” Lexi asked magnanimously.
“You’re not supposed to be touching his underwear.” The HR director was appalled.
“I was folding them Marie Kondo style, to bring joy to Mr. Richmond’s life,” Lexi said primly.
“Oh my god, you left the note,” I said before I could stop myself.
The office was dead quiet.
Author Bio:
If you like steamy romantic comedies with a creative streak, then I'm your girl!
Architect by day, writer by night, I love matcha green tea, chocolate, and books! So many books…
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Blake Dillon isn’t exactly living the dream. She longs to follow in her grandfather’s footsteps and make a difference in the world as a journalist. Unfortunately, her current job has her paying-off hotel staff for celebrity gossip. Tasked with shadowing a film star for an in-depth profile, Blake sees it as a chance to finally prove her worth. She never expected the interview to reconnect her with her old college crush.
Oliver Benjamin agrees to move to Los Angeles to work as the executive assistant to his best friend, a rising star. He hopes it will give him some direction. However, he soon discovers the only difference between being a frat boy and a Hollywood heartthrob is the amount of free stuff and the level of media attention. Ollie spends most of his time putting out fires, leaving little time for anything else. When Blake is sent to chronicle their lives, he finds himself face-to-face with the one that got away.
Blake and Ollie are smart enough to recognize the signs—there are enough sparks between them to melt glass—but they agree to put a lid on it until the article is finished. Much easier said than done when they’re forced to spend more time together than apart. There’s more going on than a simple interview, but they’re both professionals. They must resist temptation or risk unraveling both their lives.
Keep reading for a look inside Love on the Byline!
Blake stared, wide-eyed. // Ollie Benjamin was a mystery she wanted to solve.
Too many of her memories of him from college had been tied up with the incident with Bran. Until recently, she’d filed both men away in her mental yearbook.
In college, Ollie had been a tantalizing combination of hot, shy, brilliant, awkward, and athletic. As well as fiercely loyal to his best friend. He seemed to remain all of those things to varying degrees. If anything, his loyalty to Bran had increased exponentially. Blake found this mentoring kids, French-speaking, expert in organization and people-handling version of Ollie intriguing.
He was also heart-stoppingly beautiful.
“Bien sûr, si cela n’est pas possible, Monsieur Cody devra malheureusement décliner l’invitation.” There was a pause, and Ollie looked up at Blake, clearly amused by whatever expression he saw on her face.
Blake realized she’d frozen still, her glass of OJ stuck midway to her lips. Lowering it to the counter, she arched a brow and gestured towards the phone in his hand as if to say really? French?
Ollie shrugged one shoulder, the apple of his cheeks turning an adorable shade of pink. Looking away, he blinked a few times before someone on the other end of his call brought back Bossy Oliver. “Oh? Merci, ce serait merveilleux. Monsieur Cody est impatient d’assister au spectacle. Oui, merci. Merci. Au revoir.”
When he disconnected the call, Blake raised her glass in a toast. “Impressive.”
“What?” Ollie set his phone on a wireless charger underneath one of the kitchen cabinets.
“What? he asks, as if he didn’t just rattle off his demands in fluent French,” she said, teasing.
“Do you speak French?”
“No, I took Spanish. None of it stuck, I’m afraid.” “Then how do you know I was making demands?” Crossing his arms, he leaned against the counter behind him. They were very nice arms.
“Spanish, French…those romance languages share enough for me to recognize some things,” she replied. “But that doesn’t answer my question.”
“My father is French,” he said, casually blowing her tiny mind. “Remember? You met him once.”
“I did?”
Ollie visibly deflated, though he tried to cover it by waving away her question. “It was only briefly. Anyway, yeah. I spent every summer in France until I was fifteen.”
“Wow, you’d think I’d remember something like that.”
“Maybe, maybe not. Back then, people didn’t pay much attention to anything I said.” He laughed under his breath. “Not much has changed, now that I think of it.”
“I think you’re severely underestimating yourself,” she countered. “My experience with French begins and ends with Ratatouille, but I understood enough to know you got what you wanted from that call.”
“That has nothing to do with me, and everything to do with Bran. He’s at that point in his career that he only needs to ask, and lots of people will bend over backward to give him what he wants.”
“Sheesh. I’m not sure that’s a good thing.”
Thankfully, he laughed. A rich, hearty sound, unguarded and free, that made her insides hum.
“He’s not so bad. Believe me, I’ve heard horror stories from other assistants. At least he’s not a diva.”
The jury was still out on that. “How did you and he become friends?” It was a curiosity how these two men could have formed such an obviously strong bond. On paper, at least, they were different in almost every possible way. She’d heard of opposites attracting, but still.
For More Information about Xio Axelrod, visit her website:
The One I Need, an all-new opposite-attract, accidental marriage standalone romance full of heat from bestselling author Chelle Sloan is available now!
You’re cordially invited to the wedding of Oliver Price and Izzy McCall…
That’s how my wedding invitations should have started. I should know, I’ve had my wedding planned since I was ten.
I should’ve been wearing a designer tuxedo, not a tuxedo t-shirt.
The wedding should’ve been in a church with family and friends, not in a 1960’s style chapel with Elvis as the officiant.
It’s nothing I ever imagined.
Except the girl.
She’s the only thing about this accidental marriage that is exactly right. Even if we’re complete opposites.
I’m glass-half-full and crazy colored socks. She’s glass-half-empty and power suits.
I love love. She thinks it doesn’t exist.
I want to stay married. She wants a divorce. A problem for all newlyweds, right?
From the moment I met Izzy, I knew she was the only one I’d ever need.
Now I just need to convince my wife that I’m the one for her.
My head is spinning and pounding at the same time, and it has nothing to do with the loud music playing at this wedding reception or the obnoxious amount of liquor I’ve consumed. Okay, the spinning is because of the booze. But the pounding? That’s because my best friend Wes is a fucking idiot. I’m hammered out of my damn mind and even I see that. And I’m seeing three of everything right now. “It’s your future that’s going to be alone and miserable.” Wes shoots a glare to our friend Simon, who isn’t backing down to Wes’s insane logic. “But her future is what I’m trying to save!” “Is she not a part of your future?” Wes snaps a look to Shane, our friend who usually keeps his mouth shut. Hell, Simon and I both are now staring at the normally broody one of the bunch, surprised he chimed in. “What did you say?” Wes asks. Shane leans his elbows on the table. “I said, before this fight, was Betsy not part of your future?” “Of course she was.” “Then why can’t you be part of hers?” Damn…I can actually feel my brain explode with the truth bomb Shane just dropped. I look over to Wes, who still hasn’t said anything. Is he really this dense? He has to be. He has this amazing woman who came into his life when he least expected it, fell in love with him, loves his kids like they are her own, and yet because he can’t get out of his own way, he’s going to fuck everything up. Does he not realize people would kill for that kind of partner? That it’s what some of us look for our entire lives? That some of us—me—are starting to think that it’s just not in the cards? Is he really going to throw that away? “She loves you, Wes,” I say. I think I interrupted him, but I don’t give a shit. “She loves the kids. She’s the kind of woman you hope to fall in love with one day. I don’t know what’s going on in your head but don’t push that away. Some of us look for this kind of love our entire lives. You have it. And now look at it.” I nod to the dance floor where Betsy is dancing with one of Wes’s former Nashville Fury teammates. It’s a slower song—a wedding staple, if you ask me. Everyone who’s here with a date is on the dance floor. Which means that’s my cue for another trip to the bar. I love weddings. I’m the best wedding date there is if I do say so myself. I like to dance and have fun. I will lead any conga line. Need a dancing partner for the great-grandmother? I’m your guy. Need someone to hype the newlyweds up? I’m here for it. And when it comes to catching the garters? No one is better than me. Most guys run away from it. Not me. I’ll grab that thing every fucking time and celebrate like I just caught a foul ball at a Tennessee Arrows game. The old wives’ tale is that when you catch it, you’re next. Bullshit. It’s all bullshit. I’ve caught seventeen of them. Yet here I am, still alone. “Jack and Coke.” I don’t know why I needed to say it. I’ve been to the bar so many times tonight this man knows my drink by now. He sets it in front of me, and I turn around to watch the couples on the dance floor. I should be out there. I thought Shannon, the girl I was seeing as of today, was going to turn into something special. Yes, it was stupid to say what I said. And I apologized. Apparently she’s never said or done anything stupid before, like proposing marriage during sex. Whatever. That just means she wasn’t the one. The woman who I’m supposed to be with is out there somewhere. One day I’ll find her. Hopefully. Maybe. Possibly. “Jack and Coke. Make it a double.” I look to my left and nearly lose my footing. And not because of the six Jack and Cokes I’ve had tonight. It’s because of the woman standing next to me. She’s that damn gorgeous. Her fiery red hair is sleek and smooth, running down past her shoulders. The gold dress she’s wearing is fitted and catching every one of her mouthwatering curves. And a woman who drinks Jack and Coke? Now that’s my type. And because I’m so drunk, I’m seeing two of her. Double the pleasure, double the fun. “Do you want to dance?” She turns to look at me, and even in my drunkenness I can tell she doesn’t know if I was talking to her. “Excuse me?” I nod over to the dance floor. “I asked if you’d like to dance?” “Do you always ask strangers to dance?” “Only the beautiful ones.” She rolls her eyes. “Now that’s a line if I’ve ever heard one.” I shake my head. “Not a line.” “Really?” “Really.” “Well, sorry,” she says as she takes her drink from the bartender. “I don’t dance.” “What do you mean you don’t dance? Who doesn’t dance?” “Me,” she says before taking a sip. “Sorry to ruin your night.” She turns back to the bar, but I don’t let that stop me. I’m persistent, if nothing else. It’s part of my charm. At least I like to think so. “I’m Oliver.” I extend my hand to her, because that’s what drunk me feels like is the right thing to do at the moment. For a second I think she’s just going to walk away. She looks down at my hand and then back up to me. I’m about to pull it back and crack a joke to make it a little less awkward when her hand meets mine. I don’t know if it’s the booze or what, but I swear I think I was just electrocuted. “Nice to meet you Oliver. I’m Izzy. How about another drink?”
The One I Need, an all-new heat-filled, opposite-attract, accidental marriage romance and standalone in the Rolling Hills series from bestselling author Chelle Sloan is available now!
You’re cordially invited to the wedding of Oliver Price and Izzy McCall…
That’s how my wedding invitations should have started. I should know, I’ve had my wedding planned since I was ten.
I should’ve been wearing a designer tuxedo, not a tuxedo t-shirt.
The wedding should’ve been in a church with family and friends, not in a 1960’s style chapel with Elvis as the officiant.
It’s nothing I ever imagined.
Except the girl.
She’s the only thing about this accidental marriage that is exactly right. Even if we’re complete opposites.
I’m glass-half-full and crazy colored socks. She’s glass-half-empty and power suits.
I love love. She thinks it doesn’t exist.
I want to stay married. She wants a divorce.
A problem for all newlyweds, right?
From the moment I met Izzy, I knew she was the only one I’d ever need.
Now I just need to convince my wife that I’m the one for her.
Peaches, Beaches, and a whole lot of misunderstanding...this hero has his work cut out for him! The local chocolatier is his exact opposite and someone he should stay away from, but he can’t. There’s no harm in a little fling, right?
Readers who enjoy instalove and fun in the sun romance will love Son of a Peach by Claire Hastings, a steamy, small town, opposites attract, grumpy/sunshine romance.
Peaches are my life. I’m talking about the sweet, fuzzy fruit that represents my home state of Georgia—not the emoji that most people use for a different peach. If you know what I mean... When there’s the chance to show off my peaches at a Christmas-themed island for the Peach on the Beach festival, it’s a no-brainer. Then I arrive in Candy Cane Key. Turns out, they aren’t celebrating my favorite fruit. Nope. This event is about that other type of peach. To make matters worse, I can’t stop thinking about the event organizer, the local chocolatier—Tizzy. And that’s exactly what she’s worked my insides into. The strawberry blonde wild child is my exact opposite in every way. Someone I know I should stay away from. Yet, I can’t. There’s no harm in a little fling, right?
Son of a Peach is an opposites attract, insta-love, fun in the sun novella about an uptight horticulturist and a happy-go-lucky chocolatier with a guaranteed HEA.
“See, not so hard.” Maybe this isn’t, but my dick… “It’s not dirt,” I say, repeating the motions, “but I can see how this would be fun.” “Dirt is not more fun than chocolate.” I stop dead, chocolate fork held in midair, Oreo precariously perched on it. She cannot be serious. Then again, of course this free spirit of a woman would think that. “Dirt is basis for all life. From dirt you came and to dirt you shall return,” I paraphrase. I can practically hear the preacher back home from Hickory Hills Baptist rolling his eyes for getting that piece of scripture wrong. The meaning is still there though. “Maybe, but…chocolate gives life meaning,” she counters. “Does it though?” Dipping her finger into the bowl, she scoops out some of the melted goodness before running her finger along her lips, then sucks all the chocolate off. My dick surges and I swallow hard, wishing that were me she was licking. Fuck, I need to get it together… “It does. Besides, doing this with dirt is less fun.” I don’t have time to ask, “doing what.” Tizzy’s too quick with the spatula, flicking it at me, sending chocolate flying. It’s warm as it hits my skin, catching me off guard. I scoff, unable to believe she just did that. Well, two can play this game. Grabbing the fork, I mimic her movements, splattering chocolate across her face. Tizzy gasps, her smile wide. She clearly was not expecting me to retaliate. I laugh, enjoying her reaction and the playful fight that ensues. Back and forth we go, each one flinging bits of chocolate at each other. I can’t remember the last time I did anything like this. Certainly not with food. Mud, maybe. Mud fights were plentiful as children. Anton and I never passed up a chance to enjoy a good puddle. But it’s been years since we did that. Since I really let loose and played. And then I met Tizzy. It’s time to up the ante though, the little splatter from the kitchen instruments no longer having the same effect. So I do what any man would do. I go big. I dip my whole hand into the chocolate bowl, scooping up as much as I can. I hear Tizzy's breath hitch, like she knows what’s coming. She doesn’t move though, the impish look on her face turning even more devilish the closer I get to her. I’ve wanted to lick this chocolate off her since the moment she spread it on her lips. Time to create my chance. Only, physics has a different idea. Stepping forward to close the distance between us, I slip. My legs wobble underneath me and I lunge forward, trying to keep my balance, and fall into Tizzy. The momentum sends us backward into the counter, which thankfully stops us from hitting the ground. A second later, both of us trying to catch our breath, I pull back slightly, noticing the placement of my chocolate-covered hand. Smack-dab on Tizzy’s boob.
Claire Hastings is a walking, talking awkward moment. She loves Diet Coke, gummi bears, the beach, and books (obvs). When not reading she can usually be found hanging with friends at a soccer match or grabbing food (although she probably still has a book in her purse). She and her husband live in Atlanta.
Stuck with the Single Dad releases September 6th, and here’s the fun new cover!
𝑇𝑟𝑜𝑝𝑒𝑠 & 𝑉𝑖𝑏𝑒𝑠
✔️ Scorching one-night stand
✔️ Hot tattooed single dad
✔️ Marriage of convenience / fake marriage
✔️ Forced proximity
✔️ Explosive chemistry
✔️ Romantic comedy
𝐵𝑙𝑢𝑟𝑏:
I’m stuck with my one-night stand.
What was supposed to be a quick and blissful night with a yummy stranger has turned into my worst nightmare, thanks to a nasty storm and power outage.
The carefree single life I choose to lead only works because I wholeheartedly avoid getting to know the guys I meet. And now, I’m dangerously close to being swept off my feet by the tattooed former soccer player. I can’t escape learning every intriguing detail about him.
Not that it matters, of course. I won’t be seeing him again.
Except fate intervenes, and I do see him again—and he asks me to marry him.
With wild hair and charm for days, Wade Jameson is the stuff of fantasies. It’s why I hooked up with him in the first place. But marriage? Ha! I cherish my single life like I do my margaritas.
But when he insists I’m his best option to get custody of his daughter since we have “a history,” I can’t say no.
I can’t share with him the main reason I say yes, either. That would mean getting even closer to him, and developing real feelings for my fake husband would be a mistake.
But the more we pretend to be a family, the more I surprise myself by wondering… what if we can have it all?
I should not still be hung up on my high school girlfriend.
I’m a billionaire, with a penthouse in New York City, a private plane, and was recently crowned one of Manhattan’s most eligible bachelors.
She’s engaged to my rival. A real prick of a guy whose family is about as famous as mine. So, pictures of the happy couple are plastered everywhere, and it’s driving me insane.
The last time I spoke to her was my freshman year of college, and I never imagined I’d bump into her at a crowded restaurant in the busiest city in the world. But fate had other plans, and when I innocently suggest that the press wouldn’t bother with her wedding plans if she held it in our small Alaskan town where we grew up, I had no idea she’d take me seriously.
Now, I find myself helping her plan the wedding at my dad’s luxury resort while the town’s gossip app follows our every move, afraid that their golden boy will get his heart broken twice by the same girl.
But that’s impossible because she stole my heart when we were fifteen, and never gave it back.
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Piper Rayne is a USA Today Bestselling Author duo who write "heartwarming humor with a side of sizzle" about families, whether that be blood or found. They both have e-readers full of one-clickable books, they're married to husbands who drive them to drink, and they're both chauffeurs to their kids. Most of all, they love hot heroes and quirky heroines who make them laugh, and they hope you do, too!
