.
Lonnie 1, is only .99 cents
.
Lonnie 1, is only .99 cents
.
.
He’s a Brute
Chloe Liese
(Tough Love, #1)
Publication date: May 6th 2019
Genres: Adult, Romance, Suspense
One dark and handsome control-freak sports star meets one smarty pants bioengineer with hair to match her fiery temper. It’s an experiment straight out of sexual thermodynamics.Every good scientist knows the second law of thermodynamics: the universe’s disorder, entropy, is always increasing. Professionally and personally speaking, Nairne’s familiar with the principle. After a streak of costly fame, now she’s set on saving the world, microscope in hand, and there’s no time for romance. Problem is, when a rude, despicably sexy Adonis shows up to run their board meeting, chemistry and its ensuing chaos become more than a formula—now they’re a burning hot reality.
Mafia prince. Professional footballer. Bad boy demeanor and a reputation for being as talented between the sheets as he is on the pitch. Rumors are the man’s an absolute brute. And he turns out to be just as demanding, controlling and vicious in person as he is on paper. The Law of Attraction’s proven true, as Nairne finds herself accepting Zed’s proposal: rough, wild stress release, more orgasms than she can count, and most importantly—no falling in love.
Agreement in place. End date secured.
No attachments. No forever.
What could possibly go wrong?
Book One in the Tough Love Series—an enemies to lovers, suspenseful romance, full of sexy Italians, bedroom negotiations, feisty heroines, and an ending that’ll both satisfy you and leave you ready for more!”
—
EXCERPT:
I took a few careful steps toward her because something about her made me uneasy. From the other end of the table, she’d been lovely. A pretty face with a pouty frown. By the time I was one third the way down the conference table toward her, she was devastating. I stopped because she was affecting me plenty from twelve feet away. Long and glossy dark auburn hair. Ivory skin. Fine bones, a smattering of freckles, and a warm glow to her cheeks. Her eyes were the real showstopper, though. They were an unfairly high chroma green, like blades of grass darkened after rain. They glittered with defiance and not a little contempt for me as she spoke.
“Understood, Mr. Salvatore. I look forward to showing you how misplaced your concern is. Until then, I’ll remember not to take such stingy optimism personally.”
No one spoke to me like that. I was Zedekiah Lazaro Salvatore, Deirdre O’Shea and Brando Salvatore’s firstborn. Boston fucking royalty, king of the soccer field, and prince of the city’s Italian criminal underworld. People kissed my ass and rolled out the red carpet. They bowed their heads and averted their eyes. Nobody gave me shit. Except Nairne MacGregor, apparently.
I dropped my grip on my jacket to hide the boner her sharp mouth gave me and feigned a smile. “You’ll excuse me.”
Waiting for her polite acknowledgment was out of the question. If I stuck around, she’d know exactly what her sass did to my body. I stormed out, knocked shoulders with someone and muttered an apology, then barreled toward the exit. I wasn’t normally clumsy—both of my professions were predicated on exceptional coordination and hyper-awareness—but I chalked it up to ninety-five percent of my blood gathering in my dick rather than my brain. Finally, I landed outside where I sucked in a breath and oriented myself.
Observing her during the meeting had been torture. Elbow on the table, jotting things down then setting her pen exactly parallel to the paper’s edge. Precise. Perfectionist. She’d listened while her wide green eyes darted between people as they spoke. Nairne was neurotically observant, cunning even. Watching her gears turning had turned me on. Big time.
She hadn’t spoken much, but when she had, I’d noted her vowels were off. She had an accent, and it wasn’t Southie. I couldn’t place it, and just like her hair that wouldn’t make up its mind between mahogany and rich red, her speech was another wrinkle in my morning. I’d never been this simultaneously annoyed and aroused.

Author Bio:
Chloe’s always been a sucker for a suspenseful steamy romance, ever since she managed to find the one saucy mystery series hiding in her high school’s prim little library. Nothing drives her crazier than a story that cranks up the heat, then closes the door on the reader’s face, so don’t read her books if you don’t want to know what actually happens when the lights fade to black…
When she’s not writing, Chloe’s busy reading books of all genres, rereading Harry Potter (which she can’t help but make her characters similarly obsessed over), and playing catch-up with her bad@$$ little girls. She’s also been known to scramble around the pitch for a pick-up soccer match and run along the river while dreaming up her next book.
GIVEAWAY!
a Rafflecopter giveaway
.
.
Nobody’s Fool
Ophelia Bell
(Fate’s Fools #5)
Publication date: May 7th 2019
Genres: Adult, Paranormal, Romance
Deva Rainsong has a mission to take revenge on a god, but all she really wants is to understand why one mortal man doesn’t love her. Once upon a time, Ozzie West was her first love, her savior, and the man she always believed she could count on no matter what. But to him it’s as if she never existed.
Unfortunately Deva’s mission won’t wait, and she needs Ozzie’s love to fulfill her promise to Fate or their entire world could come crashing down around them. Because when you piss off a god, you’d better have the power to strike back.
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo / Google Play
—
EXCERPT:
I plucked at the strings again, restarting the song and finding my voice. Despite a tongue clumsy from drink, I had no trouble singing clearly. Call it my superpower; I may not have been able to walk a straight line, but I could still make flawless music while wasted.
Her eyelids fluttered closed and some of the tension in her expression eased. Her spine became less rigid and she seemed to flow across the room toward me. The way she moved may have been the most graceful thing I’d ever seen. She was just walking, but it felt like a dance, each step matching the beat of my song. My pulse raced, my body heated, and I could hear my heartbeat in my ears, thrumming to the same tempo.
My mouth had gone dry by the time she climbed up on the bed. She crawled across the covers, her movements seductive though her eyes were closed now. She only paused for a second to listen before continuing toward me, straddling my legs.
I pushed back against the pillows, the notes faltering, then stopped entirely when her breasts grazed my hand.
“Uh, I can’t play if you’re going to climb all over me. You understand that, right?”
“Sing,” she demanded.
I got the impression her vocabulary must have been limited to singular syllables in this form, and I doubted the wisdom of allowing her to just crawl on top of me the way she was doing. I clutched the guitar, deciding it was probably better to keep some barrier between us, considering she was looking at me as if she wanted to eat me.
“Why don’t you just sit next to me here, and I’ll sing you all the songs you want?” I patted the bed beside me and then started in on a different song—one I knew all the words to.
Her face twisted with displeasure. “No!” She tore the guitar from me with surprising strength and sent it crashing to the floor in a dissonant clatter. She surged up close, her breath hot against my ear, her full breasts warm through the thin fabric of my shirt.
“Sing,” she rasped.
I cleared my throat and hummed a bar of the unfinished song, then stopped. “You mean that one?”
“Mmm,” she said, a small smile gracing her lips and her eyelids fluttering closed again.
“All right, but I need you to—ah—move off me.”
I grasped her by the shoulders and attempted to twist around to position her beside me. The next thing I knew, I was pinned flat to the bed, her wild eyes staring down at me as vines snaked down and coiled around my wrists.
“Sing.”
“Fucking hell,” I muttered, staring at the vines. I tugged hard, but they held tight.
Her lovely, dark face hovered over me, eyes a maelstrom of need, but a flicker of deeper awareness made me think Deva was still in there, perhaps along for the ride while her instincts had control. Up close, her lips were a deep blue, as was her tongue as it swept across her lower lip.
Fuck, now she did look like she was going to eat me, and I was only more convinced of that when she grasped the sides of my shirt and wrenched it open, leaving me absently relieved it had snaps instead of buttons.
She raked her blunt nails down my chest, the sensation more arousing than painful. My body came alive under her touch despite the fact that I knew she was off-limits. But holy fuck, was this hot. If she went any further, all bets were off.
Author Bio:
Ophelia Bell loves a good bad-boy and especially strong women in her stories. Women who aren’t apologetic about enjoying sex and bad boys who don’t mind being with a woman who’s in charge, at least on the surface, because pretty much anything goes in the bedroom.
Ophelia grew up on a rural farm in North Carolina and now lives in Los Angeles with her own tattooed bad-boy husband and four attention-whoring cats.
If you’d like to receive regular updates on Ophelia’s publications, freebies, and discounts, please subscribe to her mailing list: http://opheliabell.com/subscribe/
GIVEAWAY!
a Rafflecopter giveaway
.
More Time Kissed Moments
Tracy Cooper-Posey
(Kiss Across Time #8.1)
Publication date: May 2nd 2019
Genres: Adult, Paranormal, Romance, Time-Travel
Where is Rafael?
Rafael is missing, with not a trace of him to be found, not even on the Timescape.
In a volume of interconnected short stories, snippets and conversations, Veris’ extended family of vampires and time jumpers comes together in unexpected ways, united by their need to find Rafael and get him back.
Reader Advisory: This time travel ménage romance collection features at least two super-hot alpha vampire heroes, multiple sex scenes, including anal sex and MM sexual play. Do not read this book if frank sexual language and sex scenes offend you. The time-space continuum was restored to order at the end of this book. Promise.
This book is part of the Kiss Across Time paranormal time travel series:
1.0: Kiss Across Time
2.0: Kiss Across Swords
2.5: Time Kissed Moments*
3.0: Kiss Across Chains
4.0: Kiss Across Deserts
5.0: Kiss Across Kingdoms
5.1: Time And Tyra Again*
6.0: Kiss Across Seas
7.0: Kiss Across Worlds
7.1: Time And Remembrance*
8.0: Kiss Across Tomorrow
8.1: More Time Kissed Moments*The characters and events in this series are interconnected from book to book. Reading the books in order is strongly encouraged.
[*Short stories and novellas featuring the characters and situations featured in the Kiss Across Time series].
A Vampire Time Travel Romance Collection
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo
—
EXCERPT:
As soon as Veris was low enough to see into the big room, he looked down at the colorful rag rugs covering the hardwood floor and the worn sofas and armchairs—veterans of a dozen different lives and houses. Their used, comfortable patina matched the warm golden wood paneling on the walls. The lighting was also a pleasant yellow, although daylight emitting overhead fluorescents could be switched on if decent working light was needed.
Sydney stood with her arms crossed, chewing at the ball of her thumb, her golden brows creased together. She wore gym pants and no makeup and watched the monitors on the wall which showed views of the main floor of the house and every potential angle of approach on the outside.
Veris glanced at Alex, then came to a halt on the stairs, for Alex was covered in dried blood, his clothes ripped and dirty, his hair ruffled and his eyes haunted.
“What the hell happened?” Veris demanded, moving down the rest of the stairs at a speed that would have made Kit McDonald’s jaw drop.
Sydney dropped her arms and turned to Veris, her jaw working. “Rafe is missing.”
Veris frowned. “Missing,” he repeated, trying to encompass how anyone could go missing, when at least five people in the family—including Sydney—could reach across the timescape and find anyone, no matter where they were.
“He was taken,” Alex said, his voice strained.

Author Bio:
Tracy Cooper-Posey is a #1 Best Selling Author. She writes romantic suspense, historical, paranormal and science fiction romance. She has published over 100 novels since 1999, been nominated for five CAPAs including Favourite Author, and won the Emma Darcy Award.
She turned to indie publishing in 2011. Her indie titles have been nominated four times for Book Of The Year. Tracy won the award in 2012, and an SFR Galaxy Award in 2016 for “Most Intriguing Philosophical/Social Science Questions in Galaxybuilding”. She has been a national magazine editor and for a decade she taught romance writing at MacEwan University.
She is addicted to Irish Breakfast tea and chocolate, sometimes taken together. In her spare time she enjoys history, Sherlock Holmes, science fiction and ignoring her treadmill. An Australian Canadian, she lives in Edmonton, Canada with her husband, a former professional wrestler, where she moved in 1996 after meeting him on-line.
GIVEAWAY!
a Rafflecopter giveaway
.
His Little Wife Lie
Sloan Storm
Publication date: April 26th 2019
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance
IT’S NOT A LIE IF WE BELIEVE IT’S TRUE.
That’s what Griff Foster said right after he asked me to be his wife.
Sweet, isn’t he?Let’s be real: his proposal had nothing to do with romance. Falling in love isn’t in his DNA. With piercing blue eyes and a hard body to match, he goes through women like candy.
But he saved my life.
I promised I’d repay him. I should learn when to keep my mouth shut.
Griff needs a Mrs. Right Now, and he’s convinced I’m the perfect actress.In case I have any doubts, there are seven badly needed zeroes on a check with my name on it to help make up my mind.
Ugh.
We’re totally fake. Nothing but lies.
Except the way his lips feel on mine.
Except the way his touch sets my body ablaze.
Except the way my soul aches when he looks into my eyes.He says that without me, he loses everything.
But if I’ve got the upper hand, why does it feel like he’s in control?There’s only one thing missing from this arrangement.
What happens to my heart when it’s over?
—
EXCERPT:
That was it!
What kind of fucking game was he trying to play? I made a complete fool out of myself, then he tried to turn it around on me! No one was going to treat me like this, especially not him.
Once in my room, I raced toward the closet, grabbed my bag, and dragged it out. Fuck this place!
Tiny Me chimed in. No, no! Wait! What are you doing? The money!
“I don’t care about the money!” I yelped, clutching my fingers into fists. “Don’t you understand? I care about him!” Oh shit. No. No.
I sensed a presence in the doorway. “What did you say?”
“Stay away from me.” I spun in place, biting my lip and sputtering hate. “I’m leaving. You can’t stop me.”
He didn’t listen. Of course. I mean, why start now?
Marching right toward me, Griff continued, “You said you cared about me. Don’t try and deny it.”
Yeah, no kidding. You ass. “Of course, I do! Jesus! Do you know how many men I’ve offered my virginity to? Do you? Take a wild guess.”
Griff didn’t respond. What could he say? He already knew the answer.
I poked him in the chest. “Just one. Guess how that went over?”
Griff’s nostrils flared. His eyes narrowed. I was pissing him off. Well. Good! Now he knew how I felt!
“Move,” I snarled, edging past him.
I felt the handle of my suitcase rip free from my hand. By the time I turned to look and see what happened, he’d swept me up me in his arms, racing for the bed.
No!
“Put me down!” I floated in his embrace until he slammed me with a thump, pinning me beneath him. Struggle was useless, but I gave it everything I had, jerking from side-to-side until the instant his lips found mine.
Oh fuck. No! Yes. Yes. Yeeessss…
The passion from his kiss ripped through my body like wildfire, reigniting the embers he left smoldering inside of me with his refusal. Griff’s pelvis pressed into me, the impossible hardness between his legs threatened to reawaken my lust into an inferno until my wits returned.
“Stop!” I gasped, breaking my mouth free. My palms went flat, shoving against his torso. “Get off of me!”
His gaze gave me the answer. Never. Griff ignored my pleas and gripped harder, making me feel he’d crush me into dust if I uttered another word. Reaching up, I clawed and scratched, digging my nails into the steel of his thick chest. But my rage only stoked him, and he groaned, his mouth invading mine again, filling it with his tongue. My resistance turned to vapor, whisps of hate floating away from me while Griff took what he wanted.
At last, he pulled away. I looked at him, my vision glassy from the struggle, each of us fighting for a breath.
“We can’t.” I exhaled. “It’s a mistake.”
Wait. That wasn’t no. Was it?
He licked his lips and sank his pelvis deeper, driving it hard between my legs. I stifled a whimper.
“You’re right,” he hummed, reaching for one of my tits, cupping it in his grasp. Uhhh. My eyes rolled back in my head, his touch had me on the verge of blackout
“It’s the biggest mistake of all,” he warned. “No turning back. No way out.”
No way out. His words reached into my soul, giving me the answer my brain couldn’t. I don’t want one. Don’t give me one. If you do, I might take it.
Wordless, Griff moved over me, a shadow threatening the last shreds of my chastity. With my legs spread and my innocence at risk, I inched my mouth toward his lips when he whispered his final threat.
“At last.”

Author Bio:
Sloan Storm pens imaginative yarns based on dominant men and the women who challenge them. As such, power plays and passion are the heart of each and every story.
The writer’s creative tendencies may drift as the mood strikes, but the essence of all tales told wind up back at the same place… the polarizing difference between the sexes.
After all, what else is there in life?
When not glued to a keyboard creating tales of whimsy, Sloan loves to talk to fans! If you want to connect, you can do it in any number of ways:
Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Twitter / Instagram / Bookbub
GIVEAWAY!
a Rafflecopter giveaway
.
.
Forgiven Are the Starry-Eyed
Christine Doré Miller
Published by: Evernight Teen
Publication date: April 26th 2019
Genres: Contemporary, Young Adult
Naïve sixteen-year-old Andrea Cavanaugh is elated when Josh, a charismatic, bright-eyed piano prodigy, becomes her first boyfriend. But the closer she gets to him, the more she realizes that he is not the boy she first fell for. In its poignancy and emotional darkness, Forgiven Are the Starry-Eyed takes you deep into the delicate and devastating web of shame that spirals from the depths of dating violence when dreamy teenage love turns dark. Andrea must find not only an escape, but a belief that she is even worthy of freedom.
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo
—
EXCERPT:
My eyelids closed as if they were being drawn down by sluggish, unhurried weights. When I forced them open after several seemingly endless moments, nothing had changed. I could still make out a blurry image of Josh standing nearby, Mr. Thompson’s hands clenched firmly on Josh’s shoulders from behind. There was a crowd, I think, and muffled voices. The steel school locker felt cold against my back and I recognized the familiar feeling that lately seemed to just dwell and ache in my bones. Fear, I think it was, mixed with just enough madness to keep the blood racing through my veins … fast. Too fast.
“Why did you do that, Andrea?” Josh shouted in my direction.
My eyes fell closed again. I don’t remember what else he said. I just remember the feeling of each overly pronounced syllable piercing the air while he said it. I stared through the darkness that danced behind my heavy eyelids. What had I done?
I tried to pry open my hazy eyes to examine the faces of the expanding crowd as they stood, mouths agape. I only recognized a few. There were hardcover music books sprawled open on the tile floor at my feet. Confused, I looked to Josh, but the heavy silence of the room deafened any words he may have been saying. I gripped the ends of my soft, thin hair between my slender fingers and waited. Each thought sunk deeper than the last.
There was a poster taped sloppily against the locker behind me. I turned my head to face it and focused. The ends were curled up and there were ripples in the masking tape adorned to the edges. “Oakwood High School Invitational—TONIGHT” it read in handwritten purple block letters. There was a pixelated saxophone image pasted underneath the words, “Brought to you by Mr. Thompson and the Oakwood High Jazz Band.” I brought my hand up to trace the edges. The poster board felt crisp and thick under my fingertips. I could smell the aftermath of the permanent marker. The loud reverberating voice behind me got softer until it resembled a deep echo I could easily ignore. I started to pick at the tape from the bottom left corner of the poster until I felt the sticky residue ball up underneath my fingernail.
Suddenly the life reentered my body in one abrupt breath when I felt a strong tug on my arm. I turned and saw Ethan Marks. Everyone else was gone. Had it been minutes this time? Hours?
“Andrea! Come on,” he barked at me, interlacing my arm, tucking it quickly under his. He jerked me to a standing position and pulled me down the hall, speeding up his gate as I stumbled to catch up.
“Where’s Josh?” I asked worriedly, but he didn’t answer. We were silent as we walked through the empty hallway. I lifted my gaze, trying to catch Ethan’s eye, trying to read his thoughts. His light blue eyes, usually sparkling with laughter, were steely and somber as he charged forward, dragging me with him, away from the wreckage I’d caused.
He stopped short and took a deep breath. His eyes were unyielding and dismal as they studied me, and slowly his frustration melted into a deep sadness.
“What happened, Andrea? What was that back there?”
“I don’t know…” My voice began breaking. My thoughts were muddled beyond recognition and I couldn’t form the right words, or any words, to explain.
Ethan wrapped himself around me in a gentle, firm embrace. It felt kind. And warm. And wonderfully different. My muscles unclenched for the first time in months, and I didn’t know I was crying until I tasted the salt as it stained my face. I buried my head into Ethan’s chest as he tightened his hold on me. I wanted him to say something, to tell me everything would be all right, but we both knew better. So we just stood there, Ethan supporting me as I clasped the back of his cotton t-shirt between my fingers.
After a few minutes, I fully returned to my body as my breathing calmed. I steadied my stance and took a step backward, shakily holding Ethan’s forearms as I regained my balance. Wiping smudged mascara from my pale face, I met Ethan’s eyes and quickly looked down, fixating on a crack in the tile below me.
“Hey,” he started, “Andrea … it’s…”
“I’m okay. Ethan, I’m sorry. I’m sorry you had to … I’m sorry I … ugh your shirt.” I motioned to the tear stains on his light green tee that crept from his chest to his shoulder.
“Oh God, don’t worry about that. Andie, I just…”
“It’s fine.” I wiped my face and took a deep breath. “Thanks,” I said, squeezing Ethan’s hand and looking in his eyes sincerely, so he knew I meant it. “I should go. But thanks.” I shook my head and turned around to walk back into the havoc and face what I had done. I felt Ethan staring at me as I left. He was just another person whose life would’ve been better if he hadn’t met me. I swallowed, took a breath, and kept walking.
It was over for now, that latest incident, and there was no way to tell when there would be another one … but there would definitely be another one. I was too broken for it to be any other way.

Author Bio:
Christine lives in the Los Angeles area with her husband and their two children. She works full-time as a senior marketing manager for a large media company and holds a Bachelor’s of Business Administration degree from Western Michigan University where she studied marketing. Growing up in the chilly midwest, she developed a deep passion for dramatic writing and alternative music at an early age, which still peaks through in her adult-corporate-mom life today. Forgiven Are the Starry-Eyed is Christine’s debut novel.
GIVEAWAY!
a Rafflecopter giveaway
.
Animal Attraction
Kate Willoughby
(San Francisco Dragons #2)
Publication date: April 27th 2019
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance, Sports
What do you do when an NHL player steals your dog and won’t give it back?
Maggie Hudson made a heartbreaking decision nine years ago that has haunted her ever since. To fill the hole in her life, she showers her rescue dog with love and affection. But one day, Kirby goes missing.
Six months later, NHL player Spencer Corbett is astonished when Maggie shows up on his doorstep demanding her dog back. He’d found the pug on the side of the road, collarless and in bad shape. But even when confronted with hard evidence she’s the dog’s owner, he begs her to reconsider. His own elderly dog is on her last legs and Kirby has given her a new lease on life.
After Maggie relents, Spencer can’t help but fall for her. Not only is she the most compassionate and selfless person he’s ever met, she’s witty, intelligent and sexier than sin and doesn’t even realize. What starts out as a friendship quickly turns into more, but when a woman from Spencer’s past throws everything into chaos, their fragile relationship is put to the ultimate test.
Animal Attraction may be read and enjoyed as a standalone sports romance!
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo / Google Play
—
Are you a reviewer?
Request a review copy here!
—
EXCERPT:
What kind of jerk didn’t give back a person’s dog?
The PR man said he had personally given Corbett the message only a couple of hours after she’d called. As the days continued to pass with no word, Maggie grew increasingly frustrated and even angry.
Finally, she decided to take matters into her own hands. Kirby belonged with her and damned if she was going to let some immoral, spoiled, self-centered jerk who only pretended to be a nice guy for the public, get away with keeping her dog, even if he was an NHL player.
After making the decision to hunt down the dog-napper herself, she had watched the video segment again, this time watching for clues as to where he lived. They mentioned Hillsborough. Of course. Very high-class neighborhood. That narrowed it down quite a bit. He dropped the name of an Italian restaurant he frequented that was “within easy walking distance” of his house. That narrowed it even further. She printed a map of the area and marked a three-block radius out from that restaurant. They showed a few seconds of him walking away from his house with the dogs on a leash and she froze the video and took a picture of the view.
Then because he mentioned a team party he was hosting to watch the All-Star game, she decided to go to his house and accuse him of dog-napping in front of all his friends. With any luck, peer pressure would make him give up Kirby. Was it going to be horrid, shaming a Dragons player when for more than ten years she’d rooted for the team with all her heart as a hockey fan? Yes. Could she have gone to the media and exposed him the way Jade had suggested? Yes.
But what it all came down to was she thought he was morally despicable and she wanted to tell him so to his face. She wanted the satisfaction of taking her dog away from him personally.
It took her about fifteen minutes of search-cruising before she found his place. Looking toward downtown San Francisco, the view matched the photo.
As she parked her car, the realization hit her that she was about to barge in on what might be the entire Dragons hockey team. Before she’d arrived, all she’d focused on was getting Kirby back. She’d imagined herself going in and righteously claiming her dog. Her main emotion had been indignation. Now, a case of the jitters undermined her determination.
Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.
She looked up at the spectacular two-story house. The sprawling property looked as if Arts and Crafts architecture and Japanese landscaping had a baby. Lush mature trees cast shade over mossy rocks and boulders. The wooden bridge leading to the front door crossed an actual pond, complete with brightly colored koi fish. As she looked around and the luxuriousness of the neighborhood sunk in, the jitters progressed into near-panic. She’d passed the Sierra Point friggin’ Yacht Club on her way, for Pete’s sake.
No. She would do this. Kirby was hers. Even if she couldn’t offer him posh digs like these, they belonged together. She’d had him since puppyhood. They had a bond that couldn’t and wouldn’t ever be broken. Even now, he was probably wishing he were home with her, cuddling on her old sofa watching reruns of Friends and eating microwave popcorn. She told herself the players were only people, like her. People with unusual, high-profile jobs and bodies like gods.
She went up to the front door where a sign said, “Come on in. Hope you brought beer.”
Gathering her courage, she knocked anyway.
No one answered. And it was kind of quiet. Maybe the party hadn’t started yet.
She tried the door and found it unlocked. Before entering, she took a picture of the sign, because if this devolved and the police were called, she wanted evidence that, technically, she was invited in.
“Hello?” she called hesitantly, crossing the threshold into the foyer.
The house was just as gorgeous on the inside as it was on the outside. She’d seen it on the video, but in person, it felt richer and more personal. A San Francisco Dragons player actually lived here. Spencer Corbett occasionally sat on that couch. He walked on this plush rug.
He—gulp—was standing right there, staring at her.

Author Bio:
USA Today bestselling author Kate Willoughby is in love with the sport of hockey and the entire Los Angeles Kings team. Having lived most of her life completely uninterested in professional sports, she is surprised at the intensity of her enthusiasm and her growing collection of Kings merchandise: a Dustin Brown jersey (covered with autographs), 3 T-shirts, 5 lapel pins, 3 hats, earrings, several play-off towels, 2 replica Stanley Cup Champions banners, a Christmas ornament, blanket, a car windshield sticker, a license plate frame, and the pièce de résistance, an autographed collector card with a swatch from Justin William’s game-worn jersey.
Yeah. Don’t judge her.
She resides in Los Angeles with her husband, their two sons, and a Chihuahua named Mochi.
She is also a member of the Romance Writers of America and winner of the 2009 EPPIE Award for Best Fantasy/Paranormal Erotic Romance and the 2016 EPPIE Award for Best Contemporary Romance.
GIVEAWAY!
a Rafflecopter giveaway