Julia Kent's Blog, page 3

If you haven’t read JJ Knight’s Pickle brothers, you are missing out on laughs. Enter the Pickleverse with her new release, Royal Pickle, featuring Sunny, the last of the unmarried Pickle cousins.

From the moment Prince Leopold literally lunged onto the first page, I was hooked. Sunny and Leopold are a study in contrasts, and Royal Pickle charms you from the moment they meet, through their unorthodox relationship, and leaves you laughing. Swoony, flirty, rom com fun!  -Julia Kent, Author

He’s a prince who can’t keep his pants on. She writes dirty limericks in a Brooklyn deli. Their spontaneous royal wedding is a match made in mayhem.

I have to find a wife.
And not just any wife.
A love match.

My parents gave me ten years to find a princess on my own, and the deadline has arrived.

I’ve outrun the palace guards for months, but due to an incident in a rooster Speedo that went viral, they have tracked me to America.

I’m not known for my stellar taste in the opposite sex. The last one put my naked pictures on Instagram.

But there is this one girl. I saw her in a New York deli making sandwiches. She helped me escape the photographers.

Smart. Beautiful. Quick-witted.
Yes. I choose her.

Now all I have to do in convince her to marry me.

In the next seven days.
__
Royal Pickle is a standalone romantic comedy about a prince on the run, a poet with a dream, and a made-up European country where everyone likes to sing and dance. With donkeys.

Available on Amazon/KU.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Treat yourself to the first three books in The Do-Over Series for 2.99 (two days only)! This new boxed set, available in ebook and audio, features Little Miss Perfect, the prequel to Fluffy, along with Perky.

Mallory (Fluffy), Persephone (Perky), Fiona (Feisty), and Hastings (Hasty) come from the small town of Anderhill, Massachusetts, with lives that take sudden turns as they get surprise “do-overs” when it comes to second chance love.

This boxed set features New York Times bestselling author Julia Kent’s first three books in the series, starting with the prequel, Little Miss Perfect, which takes place ten years before Book 1, when Mallory Monahan and Will Lotham competed for valedictorian in high school.

The nerd and the quarterback have a tantalizing encounter, but what happens when they meet ten years later is unbelievable…

Which brings us to Fluffy — how Will and Mallory reconnect is a tale of mishaps, misunderstandings, and Mallory’s innocent mistake in thinking a job on Craigslist for a “fluffer” meant a house designer.

Oops.

This boxed set continues with Perky, another second-chance “do-over” for Persephone and Parker. Five years ago, he released very, very private photos that turned Perky into a social media sensation in the worst way possible. Hurt and betrayed, she’s blocked him from her life and her heart.

But what if he didn’t do it?

And surprise! He’s a member of Mallory and Will’s wedding party, too.

Second chances and do-overs never felt so good…

The Do-Over Boxed Set is a romantic comedy binge read. Get ready for a massive laughfest escape!

Amazon:  https://mybook.to/DOBS0-2_AznALL

Apple Books:  https://mybook.to/DOBS0-2_AB

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Amazon Audio:  https://mybook.to/DOBS0-2_AznAudio

When her private photos are posted online, Perky is ready to get revenge on her ex. But as she gets close to Parker again, Perky realizes he wasn’t responsible for the leak — and the connection between them is as strong as ever…

One hundred years ago when I was young and impulsive (okay, it was five, alright? Five years ago…) I let my boyfriend take, let’s just say…compromising pictures of me.

(Shut up. It made sense at the time).

Surprise! The sleazy back-stabbing jerk posted them on a website and, well, you can guess what happened. That’s right.

I’m a meme. A really gross one.

You’re seen the pictures. And if you haven’t – don’t ask. And don’t look!

As face recognition software online improves, I get tagged on social media whenever anyone shares my pictures. You try getting a thousand notifications a day, all of them pictures of your tatas.

So. I’m done.

It’s time for revenge. Let him see how it feels! But how do you get embarrassingly intimate pictures of your jerkface ex who double-crossed you five years ago?

Especially when he’s a member of the U.S. House of Representatives now?

Getting sweet between the sheets with a congressman is pretty much every political roadie’s dream, right? I’m one in a crowd.

Except to this day, he swears he didn’t do it. Pursued me for months after I dumped him five years ago. Begged me to take him back.

And I almost did it. Almost. I was weak and stupid and in love a hundred years ago.

Okay. Fine. Five.

But I still have the upper hand. Second chance romance has all the emotional feels, doesn’t it?

I can’t wait to punch him in the feels.

All I need to do is sleep with him once, take some hot-and-sweaty pics of him in… delicate positions, and bring him down. That’s it. Nothing more.

Pictures first. Revenge after. And then I win.

At least, that’s how it was supposed to happen. But then I did something worse than sexting.

I fell in love with him. Again.

Read this standalone romantic comedy from Julia Kent’s Do-Over series for FREE! Add the audio for a few more dollars (Whispersync on Amazon).

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Narrated by Erin Mallon

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Shopping for a Highlander (Shopping for a Highlander Book 2)

Available January 11, 2022

Chapter One

Amy

I am standing here in my black cap and gown, wearing my master’s hood, as I graduate with my MBA from UMass Amherst’s Isenberg School of Management, photographers snapping pictures like crazy, and Hamish McCormick’s tongue is in my mouth.

I realize this is a problem half the women on the planet would love to have. He’s a world-famous Scottish soccer–sorry, football to everyone except Americans–player, and my sister is married to his cousin, the billionaire.

Given the fact that Hamish is kissing me in front of my date, though, it’s a little awkward.

“Ahem,” said date says, scratching his temple, adjusting his glasses, and using polite, understated throat techniques to get Hamish off me. Subtlety doesn’t work on Hamish, though. This kiss is anything but subtle. Pretty sure you’d need a crowbar to pry him off me.

Or me off him. The distinction between who is kissing whom was lost long ago.

I see my date, Davis, out of the corner of my eye, and I’m about to shove this two-hundred-pound sack of hard muscle and overconfident heat off of me and slap him, but sweet merciful deity, I swear Hamish’s lips have some kind of magic potion on them that renders me spellbound.

No kiss has ever tasted like this.

Except the last kiss from him.

Six months ago, under the mistletoe at my family’s Thanksgiving celebration. Right before news broke about Hamish screwing his team owner’s daughter, when their sex tape was leaked to the media.

Yeah. That kiss. That kiss tasted like this.

As I try to pull away, Hamish moves along with me, his hands flattening against my shoulder blades, his tongue soft and discreet, caressing me like I’m naked in bed and we have an acre of mattress to explore.

He can round my Cape of Good Hope anytime. He can be the Ponce de León to my virgin territory.

“Hamish!” My mother’s shrill voice cuts through this tormenting fantasy-come-to-life. “How wonderful of you to stop by for Amy’s graduation ceremony!” She’s grinning up at him, arms wide in anticipation of a hug.

Then she looks at my date. “Oh, hi, Davis. I didn’t know you’d be here?” The uptick in her voice, turning it into a question, shows that even my mother, who is the embodiment of the word awkward, realizes this is a social mess.

Air. Suddenly, I can breathe again. There is entirely too much air in the world, and I’m sucking all of it in at the same time. A single breath becomes the atmosphere.

“Marie! How’s yer leg?” Hamish says, giving Mom a big hug, one she enjoys as her eyes close and she squeezes him with genuine affection. Mom’s proud of me, for sure, but it’s the human connection at big events that she really enjoys.

She makes a fist and knocks lightly on her thigh. Mom is perfectly coiffed, her hair recently dyed and cut in a stylish fashion, her blonde a little blonder, her new mink eyelash extensions shaving years off her life. Thick eyeliner that was in style maybe five years ago dominates her eyes, and she’s gone with peach tones for the day, a gauzy, lightweight shirt over cream pants and sensible flat shoes – very unlike her – are a testimony to her injury.

Mom’s had to learn to sacrifice fashion for function, and she doesn’t like it.

“Good as new! I hate to hug and run, but Jason’s waiting for me in the car. He’ll be so sad to have missed you.” Mom gives me a quick embrace. “See you at the party?” she asks me.

“It’s my party, Mom!”

“Of course.” And she skitters off, though her gait is a little off.

“So good to see ye again, Amy. Ma congratulations.” Hamish is staring down at me, ginger hair clipped short on the sides and back but longer across his forehead. It hangs in waves so insolent, they deserve a spanking.

Why am I thinking about spankings?

“Amy.” Davis is using his serious voice, the one he uses when he thinks I’m being ridiculous. We’ve only been dating for three weeks, and he already has a Ridiculous Voice.

You know what Davis doesn’t have?

Magic-potion lips.

“Yes? Oh! Right. Davis, this is Hamish. Hamish, meet Davis.”

Hamish reaches for Davis’s hand and wrings it like he’s working out a muscle spasm in the poor guy’s forearm. I didn’t know a shoulder joint could turn in so many directions.

But Davis gamely tries to match Hamish’s strength, despite being eight inches shorter, a good forty pounds lighter, and viscerally not wanting to be touched by the man I’ve complained about during our entire friendship–and now romantic relationship.

“Hi,” he says, eyes going narrow. “The Hamish?”

I get a saucy look and a half grin from the man who just imprinted his taste on me. “Aye.”

“What are you doing here?” I ask. A tingle of annoyance starts in my toes and creeps up, like it has no intention of stopping until it gets to the crown of my head. “I’m–I’m graduating. This is my ceremony. Of all the places in the world where you could turn up, why here? Why now?”

“And why kiss her like that?” Davis’s words hold a challenge in them, his thick, dark beard hiding how clenched his jaw is. Horn-rimmed glasses encircle dark brown eyes that crowd each other slightly. He’s wearing a graduation gown, like me, with dark, shined dress shoes, men’s wingtips that signal he’s serious about his business career.

I’m stuck in four-inch heels because Mom insisted.

“Ach. The kiss? That was just a bet.”

“A what?” I gasp.

A short, compact man with the busy air of an overgrown hummingbird appears behind Hamish. Short might be an unfair description, because he’s taller than me and about Davis’s height, but compared to Hamish, every man is short.

“Saw it,” he says, clapping Hamish on the back. His accent is English, but I can’t place it. “Jesus, Hamish, you really can find someone to kiss whenever and wherever you want.” He slips Hamish something, hand to hand. “You win.”

“You arrogant piece of work,” I say, moving closer to Hamish, truly ready to slap him. “You bet on me?”

“Ye made it easy.”

“I am not easy!” Out of the corner of my eye, I see Shannon approaching, her face changing to confusion as she spots Hamish. It’s impossible to miss him, a redhead standing a good four inches above most people in the crowd.

Big and burly, with a model’s good looks and a professional athlete’s body, he’s becoming the face of more and more sports-related products. In America, nothing makes you more famous than hawking a consumer product.

The more popular, of course, the better.

The fact that he’s a fairly obscure Scottish Premier League player–obscure in the U.S., that is–doesn’t seem to matter. He’s hot and swoony, an attractive human commodity to promote other commodities.

“Never said ye were. Just that ye made it easy, pet.”

“Don’t call me that!” I shout.

Shannon catches up to us, moving next to me just as my date does the same.

Davis reaches for my arm, hand on my elbow, leaning in. He whispers, “Don’t make a scene.”

Something in Hamish’s expression hardens and I realize, with a sinking feeling, that I noticed the microscopic shift because I track him.

“I’m not making a scene.” I point to Hamish. “He started it.”

A lascivious grin from Hamish turns into something deeper as Shannon frowns.

My sister and I are nothing alike. We got different genetic code from our parents that makes me have Mom’s blue eyes and Dad’s thick auburn hair, while Shannon has light brown hair and Dad’s brown eyes. Shes full-figured, and carries herself with a feminine sweetness people mistake for naivete or weakness.

Unlike me, Shannon has no ambition. I don’t say that as an insult. Happy in life, she’s all about her close circle of family and friends. I don’t mean that she isn’t a hard worker–she is–or that she doesn’t have good ideas–she does.

It’s drive that Shannon lacks.

Marrying Declan McCormick, son of the self-made billionaire James McCormick–founder of Anterdec, one of the biggest corporations in Boston–was Shannon’s smartest move in life.

Of course, love had everything to do with it.

Now she’s vice president of Grind It Fresh!, the regional chain of coffee shops that Declan bought for her as a wedding gift (hello? billionaire husband…), but she’s slowly reducing her hours at work because she wants to be at home with my niece.

And soon, I suspect, more kids.

Shannon’s here to support me on my big day graduating with my MBA, a day that celebrates hard work and determination, but she’s also here to be my friend.

Something just set her off. And it takes a lot to piss off Shannon.

“Davis,” she says through gritted teeth, “what did you just say to Amy?” Her happy energy shifted to seething contempt so quickly, I do a double take to make sure I haven’t confused her with our other sister, Carol, who hasn’t earned a bachelor’s degree on paper but has a life experience Ph.D. in Righteous Fury.

We’re standing in a cluster–Shannon, Davis, me, Hamish, and Hamish’s friend, who has his hands on his hips and fidgets like a little kid stuck in a dentist’s waiting room.

Hamish watches Shannon with glee.

“Aye, Davis. What did ye just say to Amy?” he inserts.

“I told her not to make a scene,” Davis says confidently, looking around. “You, of all people, should understand,” he adds with a quiet grin to my sister, expecting an ally.

“Me? I should understand?” she says back with a deadly, flat expression. Whoa. Declan’s taught her a few tricks.

“You’re experienced in business. You’re a McCormick. Making scenes leaves the impression that one is unstable.” Davis is so matter-of-fact, he might as well be reciting a passage from a management textbook.

One of Hamish’s eyebrows flies up, tongue rolling under his lower lip.

“Who would think that, Davis?” Shannon asks with a head tilt he erroneously takes for agreement.

And suddenly, I get it.

Internal groaning commences.

Davis looks nothing like my sister’s ex-fiancé, Steve Raleigh. Speaks nothing like him. Is the polar opposite of Steve in so many ways–politics, food choices, movie selections, life goals.

But he’s tone policing me. Telling me not to stand up for myself. And in that sense, he’s no different.

Which makes this whole mess worse than I thought.

Because now I have to thank Hamish for kissing me.

 

Hamish

I’d have kissed her without Harry’s stupid bet, but it sweetened the pot.

Amy’s mouth was more than sweet enough.

Was it brash? Aye. Should I have done it? Naw, but she kissed me right back, so fiercely and with an enthusiastic all-in that made it clear I wasn’t breaking any of her boundaries. So I did it.

And her twee boyfriend didn’t like it.

I’ve nothing against the man. Or, at least, I didn’t, until he made that comment.

What’s so wrong with making a scene? Scenes are just the result of being yourself. If other people watch, then that’s on them.

Davis hasn’t answered Shannon’s question.

“And what’s wrong with being seen as unstable?” I ask, unable to help myself. “Is there a medal ye earn at the end o’ yer life for being stable? Sounds boring, Davis.”

He snorts and shakes his head but says nothing.

Which means he’s either a coward or a prig.

Or both.

Shannon gives Amy a sad smile and says, “Code Raleigh.” I’ve no idea what that means, but it can’t be good, given the way Amy’s face falls.

Tension affects people in different ways. You see it after losing a match, the changing room a sweaty, oily soup of disappointment and blame. But some people can’t handle direct confrontation. They live on the margins, passive-aggressive and snide, unable to say what they mean and mean what they say.

I’m not one of those people.

“I think,” I say, loud on purpose, turning a few heads, “that we’re here to celebrate Amy’s great accomplishment. I never finished university, ye know.”

Something gleams in Davis’s narrowed eyes. Amy edges an inch or two away from him, the movement subtle. Shannon takes a deep breath and searches the crowd, likely trying to find my cousin, her husband.

The billionaire.

“Went for a year, but football was ma future,” I continue, Davis’s look turning to barely-concealed scorn.

Ah! No. Open scorn now.

“The best future!” Harry calls out with a clap. I’d damn near forgotten he was with me.

“Why are you here, Hamish?” Amy asks softly, looking up at me with doe eyes. Vulnerable and quieter, she’s more grounded now. Less angry.

Searching for answers.

“It’s a long, funny story, but it boils down to girls and football.”

Her face sours. “Of course it does. Everything with you boils down to girls and football.”

Harry barks out a laugh and gives me a hearty clap on the back.

“No’ this time,” I say with a wink. “This is literally girls and football.” I let out a sigh. “Fine. Girls and soccer. There’s a big clinic at Amherst College here in town, and I’ve been coaching the nine-year-olds, along wi’ promoting the program.”

“That almost sounds altruistic.”

“Those little lassies are vicious. I’ve nae skin left on ma shins.” I shake a leg for good measure, and she bursts out laughing.

“That’s because you’re shite at football, Hamish,” Harry adds, laughing with such pleasure that even Shannon and Amy join in. Harry’s naught but a bundle of overagitated nerves, but he’s got a goalie’s mindset: Throw yourself in front of whatever obstacle life sends and head butt it right back.

A tight smile, the kind a baby makes when filling a nappy, crosses Davis’s face. “We can’t all be English Premier League soccer players, Hamish.”

Harry makes a very dangerous sound, and I can tell he’s about to correct Davis. The poor bastard doesn’t know the difference between English and Scottish Premier.

Or he does, and he’s doing this to needle me.

See, that’s where Davis and I are different. Because tossing out an insult like that doesn’t do a damn thing to me.

But it reveals everything about him.

“Well,” I say, splaying my hand over my heart, “we can’t all be MBA-toting executives like ye Davis. And congratulations to ye, indeed. Ye and Amy are classmates, aye?”

“We are.”

“And ye have a big job lined up?”

“Yes. Unlike Amy, I’ve secured employment.”

Something pops in Amy’s jaw. I believe her trigeminal nerve is trying to unwind itself, leap onto Davis, and strangle him.

“I’m in the middle of third interviews with Maartensi, Davis. You know that,” she corrects him.

That name sounds vaguely familiar, but I can’t quite place it.

“I do,” he says in a patronizing tone, turning to Shannon. “I tried for a spot at your company, but HR said you’re not hiring. Expansion hit a roadblock?”

“Hmmm,” she says deftly. “HR said that? Funny. We just brought on an assistant marketing director and someone in finance, both with new MBAs.” She gives him back a tight smile filled with more contempt than I knew Shannon had in her. “Sorry.”

A shadow falls over Davis’s eyes. “It’s fine. Every company makes mistakes.” He lets out a little laugh, as if she’s in on his little joke-that’s-not-a-joke.

“If I had an MBA,” I chime in, “I’d work in sports management and financing. That’s where all the money is these days.”

“Entertainment?” he scoffs. “No. No one with any real smarts would ever go into entertainment to make big money in business. Crypto and international banking, that’s where it’s at.”

Amy stiffens. “You know I’m interviewing with Maartensi in entertainment.”

“And you know I think you’re making a mistake.” The guy won’t shut up, but he also looks pained, as if he doesn’t want to argue with her but he can’t help himself. “But if it’s a mistake, at least you’re in with a great company and can transfer to something better in a year.”

“If yer so hot for crypto and international banking, Davis,” I ask, “why did ye apply to work at Grind It Fresh!?”

Davis’s phone buzzes. He looks at the screen, ignoring my question. “My parents are wondering where I am,” he says to Amy. “I’ll catch you later.”

“Mmm,” she says as he gives her hand a light squeeze, then rushes off. Her eyes follow him, her expression somewhere between a wince and a reckoning.

“Mmm,” Shannon says, one corner of her mouth tight.

“You’re right,” Amy says with mild horror. “I can’t believe I didn’t notice it before.”

“They’re subtle, these guys. Frog in a pot. Steve was like that.”

“Frog in a what?” I ask, moving closer to them as Harry wanders off toward the toilets.

Shannon tilts her head, looking like a brown-haired, brown-eyed version of Amy for a moment. Amy looks just like her dad, but Shannon’s a blend of both parents.

“You know the old adage?” she asks. “How a frog would never jump into a pot of boiling water, but put it in a pot of cold water and slowly turn up the temperature…”

“Aye. Yer saying Davis is like that wi’ Amy? Only the water is his need to tell her what to do?”

“Yes.”

“And how would ye know this, Shannon?”

“Because my fiancé before I met Declan was a controlling, arrogant, manipulative jerk.”

“Let me guess–with an MBA?”

“Bingo.”

“Glad ye found ma cousin, then. He might be a bit closed off, but he’s no arsehole.”

“A ringing endorsement,” I hear from behind us as Declan, holding his daughter, wee Ellie, on one hip, finds our little group. “What the hell are you doing here, Hamish?”

“Teaching a girl’s football clinic in town. Marie found out and texted me. Asked me to stop by.”

Amy’s expression makes it clear the puzzle pieces just fell into place and Marie’s due for a tongue-lashing later.

“You coming to Marie and Jason’s house for dinner?” Declan asks. “There’s a party back in Mendon.” He looks at his phone. “About a ninety minute drive.”

“Naw. Have to get back to the camp. But thank ye.” I eye Amy. “Could have been fun.”

Harry returns. “Your family just keeps expanding!” he says as Declan puts Ellie down.

“That’s how family is, right?” I say, ruffling Ellie’s dark hair.

“Hamish,” she says, her little pre-schooler language skills improving, the H at the beginning of my name distinct now. “Wanna race?”

Last Thanksgiving, I was stuck in the States and spent a crazy day with the Jacoby family at their house in Mendon. Racing little Ellie on the sidewalk was one of the highlights.

Chasing a live turkey out of their backyard was not.

“Not now, lass. But soon.”

Harry tugs on my shirt. “Gotta go, Hamish. You tapped me out of my twenty when you kissed her like that, and dinner starts soon at camp.”

Amy’s face hardens at the mention of the bet.

“By the way, Hamish,” she says loudly, clearly not worried about making scenes now. “Thank you for kissing me.”

Shannon and Declan give us quite the look.

“Yer thanking me now? I thought ye were about to slap me.”

I’ll take the expression of gratitude if it comes with another kiss, though. Can’t say it, but I feel it.

“If you hadn’t done that, Davis wouldn’t have gotten jealous, and we wouldn’t have realized he’s a Code Raleigh.”

A furious look fills in Declan’s features. “Steve Raleigh? He’s here? What’s he doing now?”

“No, not Steve,” Shannon assures him. “Amy saw a different side of Davis today.”

“Oh.” Declan shrugs. “Never met him before. He seemed fine. Uptight, but fine. Networked with me.”

Pain fills Amy’s eyes, which she closes slowly, taking a long, deep breath.

“We were friends for a year. Then we were assigned to a team for a group project. The one we turned in right before Thanksgiving. When we came back from break, he hung out with me more. Asked me out a few weeks ago. I’ve been on guard against people using me for my connections to you,” she says looking at Declan. “But I thought Davis wasn’t like that.”

“We always do, don’t we?” Shannon says with great sympathy. “We always think they’re not like that, because we would never pick someone who is like that.”

“And then I did.”

Amy’s words pierce me. Make me not want to be ‘like that.’

Because I’m damn well not.

“Is it too much to ask to find a guy who doesn’t need my star to shine a little less so his can seem brighter?” Amy goes on, gutting me further.

She’s asking Shannon, but she’s also asking the world.

“No,” Declan answers firmly. “It’s not too much to ask. But guys like Davis are everywhere in business.”

“They’re in sports, too,” I add. “I’m no’ one o’ them, but there’s plenty.”

Amy looks up at me, her face serious, studying me.

“You may have earned your nickname, McWhoremick, and be a playboy, and a cocky jerk, but I will give you that, Hamish: You’re not someone who needs to diminish a woman in order to feel better about himself.”

I flatten my hand against my chest. “Did hell freeze over, Amy? Because I believe ye just paid me a compliment. Sort of.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

Harry’s pulling on my shirt. “Now. We’re late.”

Before I can turn to leave, Amy’s at my shoulder, on tiptoes in her heels. She plants a sweet kiss on my cheek, my arm going around her, palm across her shoulders.

“I mean it, Hamish. Thank you.”

“I get a kiss for being a decent guy? How good do I have to be to get a shag?”

Harry’s started walking away but hears it, laughing his arse off.

She pulls back and smacks my chest. “And there you are, back to being the lout. You have to ruin everything.”

“Naw, Amy. No’ everything. But I am who I am and I won’t change for anyone. Remember that. Don’t ye dare let people like Davis make ye feel like ye need to change, either.”

And with that, I join Harry, jogging toward the exit of the stadium, ready for the trip back to Amherst College. I’ll need the miles to burn off the lust she just triggered in me.

Worse? The deeper need.

Get your copy today!

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Having it all is a fantasy, right?

Chloe Browne knows all about fantasy. Fantasy is her job.

And she’s very, very good at what she does. As director of design for the O Spa chain, a sophisticated women’s club that is trending its way into being the Next Big Thing, Chloe’s ready to take on the world.

One baby at a time.

Her home study’s done, and she’s about to adopt, a thirty-something single mother by choice. Who needs to put her life on hold for the right guy when the right baby is waiting for her? Besides, talk about fantasy.

The right guy? Pfft. Right.

And then in walks Nick Grafton, with those commanding sapphire eyes and wavy blonde hair and a sophisticated mouth that only smiles for her. He’s perfect. But the last thing Nick wants is to start fresh with a new baby as his college-age kids fly the coop. A single father for more than fifteen years after his wife walked out on her family, Nick finally tastes freedom.

But he likes the taste of Chloe more.

Click Here for retailer links.McDermott “Derry” Stanton is an old-money playboy who sleeps his way through half the world, one willing woman at a time.

A bear shifter, he never hibernates alone. Sometimes even one woman isn’t enough.

But when this irresistible billionaire meets Jessica Murphy, everything changes. The man who views life as a female feast suddenly acquires more discerning tastes. The only woman who can satisfy him now…

Is Jessica Murphy. He must have her. Immediately. Frequently.

Jess, however, doesn’t want any man, least of all a spoiled playboy who’s about to become her brother-in-law. A pre-med student with deep ambitions and a past filled with painful rejection, she’s all business.

Too bad Derry Stanton is her business. A frequent customer at the Platinum Club where she waits tables, and now the best man to her maid of honor in her sister’s wedding, the guy is everywhere.

And pretty soon, she finds herself everywhere, too.

In his arms, on his bed, between the sheets….

But sex is the last thing she needs.

Or it was until she meets Derry and starts hearing the Beat. And feeling a connection she’d never imagined, never dreamed, never hoped for.

It’s all too unbearably good.

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She has no idea what she’s doing. Loose cannons never hit their targets.

And they take out plenty of collateral damage.

Four years ago Lindsay experienced the unspeakable right before me, and I couldn’t stop them.

But that’s all changed now.

When her father, Senator Bosworth, contacted me to ask — demand — that I protect her, it was a second chance. A shot at redemption.

An opportunity to right an unspeakable wrong.

Controlling Lindsay as she seeks her revenge on the monsters who hurt her won’t be hard.

Containing my own out-of-control feelings for Lindsay and keeping up this ruse of cold-blooded distance will be.

Even harder than admitting to her what really happened that night four years ago.

It turns out I don’t have to, though.

Someone else did it for me.

And I’ll make sure they regret it.

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Eliot “Pole” Elianzo is a god in college football, and he knows it.

Too bad he’s also a polar bear.

The Morph happens on national television, right after a pro team picks him in the draft. It’s official–Pole is a shifter.

And boy, is he livid.

He can’t choose practice over his mandatory stay at Camp Shifter, but he sure can make camp a nightmare for everyone.

Especially the hot ash blonde who’s teaching Undressed in Public 101 classes.

Risa Devaneau can’t believe Pole’s in her class, in the first row, and very, very undressed. The former sportscaster and wolf shifter ran away from her testosterone-filled career for the quiet peace of Camp Shifter. Sure, teaching people how to be undressed in public isn’t exactly the most prestigious job, but it got her away from the city. From her overly controlling politician father. From her past.

From Pole.

And here he is, smirking at her, front and center.

In his birthday suit.

Amazon ALL: https://mybook.to/YSMHNL_AznALLApple Books: https://geni.us/b5LrU9bKobo: http://bit.ly/2UsMPJ1Nook: http://bit.ly/2EKnvriGoogle Play: http://bit.ly/2SThKwo

Celebrate the holidays with Shannon and Declan as the Jacobys and McCormicks vie for the title of best (craziest!) Dirty Santa gift.

Shopping for a Yankee Swap is on sale for .99 at all retailers for a limited time. Add the audio, narrated by Tanya Eby and Zachary Webber for a few more dollars or Whispersync it on Amazon.

Christmas is nostalgia heaven for my family (unless you count the Christmas tree fire last year, which we won’t…).

Mom owns more holiday decorations than twelve area malls combined. Dad prides himself on hand-chopping the best live tree, while my older sister perfected peppermint cookies to the point of unparalleled bliss, and my younger sister has memorized every Christmas carol with her fingers for a piano bash that goes on and on.

And on.

But this year, Christmas is different.

This year, the McCormick men are joining the Yankee Swap.

You know how it works, right? Bring the craziest gift you can possibly find, pick a number, open the presents in order and play “steal the gift” until person Number One gets one last chance to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat.

My husband, Declan, is on a mission to win. He’s so sure he can find the absolutely, positively, unreservedly weirdest gift that he’s willing to go to any extreme to find it.

Any extreme.

That’s right.

He’s going thrift store shopping with my mother. The billionaire and the frugal queen are on a quest.

Only one will win.

And on Christmas evening, after we’re stuffed silly, sung out, the kids fall asleep and the adults break out the bizarre presents and the alcohol, it’ll be showtime.

Because there ain’t no competition like a McCormick competition.

But the Jacoby family has a trick or ten up its sleeves, too.

Declan and Shannon are back in yet another hilarious Christmas family saga in Julia Kent’s New York Times bestselling romantic comedy series.

It’s a competitive Yankee Swap – what could go wrong? Read and find out .

Amazon (all countries): https://geni.us/SFAYSAmz
Kobo: https://geni.us/SFAYSKobo
Nook: https://geni.us/SFAYSNook
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Apple Books: https://geni.us/SFAYSApp

Get the audiobook, too!

Audible: https://mybook.to/SFAYS_Audible
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Just in time for the holidays! Give your ears the gift of laughter! The audiobook version of Shopping for a Yankee Swap is now available! Almost six hours of hilarious holiday hijinks narrated by Tanya Eby and Zachary Webber.

SHOPPING FOR A YANKEE SWAP

Christmas is nostalgia heaven for my family (unless you count the Christmas tree fire last year, which we won’t…).

Mom owns more holiday decorations than 12 area malls combined. Dad prides himself on hand-chopping the best live tree, while my older sister perfected peppermint cookies to the point of unparalleled bliss, and my younger sister has memorized every Christmas carol with her fingers for a piano bash that goes on and on.

And on.

But this year, Christmas is different.

This year, the McCormick men are joining the Yankee Swap.

You know how it works, right? Bring the craziest gift you can possibly find, pick a number, open the presents in order and play “steal the gift” until person Number One gets one last chance to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat.

My husband, Declan, is on a mission to win. He’s so sure he can find the absolutely, positively, unreservedly weirdest gift that he’s willing to go to any extreme to find it.

Any extreme.

That’s right.

He’s going thrift store shopping with my mother. The billionaire and the frugal queen are on a quest.

Only one will win.

And on Christmas evening, after we’re stuffed silly, sung out, the kids fall asleep and the adults break out the bizarre presents and the alcohol, it’ll be showtime.

Because there ain’t no competition like a McCormick competition.

But the Jacoby family has a trick or ten up its sleeves, too.

Declan and Shannon are back in yet another hilarious Christmas family saga in Julia Kent’s New York Times bestselling romantic comedy series.

It’s a competitive Yankee Swap – what could go wrong? Listen and find out.

Amazon (all countries): https://geni.us/SFAYSAmz
Whispersync the audio:  https://mybook.to/SFAYS_AznAudio

Audible: https://mybook.to/SFAYS_Audible

iTunes: https://mybook.to/SFAYS_iTunes

Take one tall, dark, and handsome playboy prince, add a splash of feisty, American reporter and mix together until their clothes come off. What do you get? A recipe for delicious disaster with a strong hint of happily ever after. Prince Nicholas thought he had everything he could ever want, but it turns out Rose might be the one thing he needs.

Read an Excerpt

Someone once told me that dancing should be like sex standing up. It always sounded a little over the top, but now I understand. A drop of sweat winds its way down my neck, and I send up a prayer that the boob tape is waterproof. My pulse is racing, half from dancing and the rest from him. For all my reservations, I can’t deny that I’m more attracted to this prince than I should be.

The music slows, and we come back face to face. I catch my breath and fall into a gentle rocking motion in his arms. He chuckles as I lean into him, my head practically resting against his chest. The rumble vibrates all the way down.

“I don’t know what you were so worried about. You’re doing fine. There are princesses who couldn’t keep up with you.”

“Yeah, right.” Hopefully he can’t see me blushing.

“Princess Octavia of Luxembourg, for example. Admittedly, she’s eighty-two, but quite spry for her age. Still, after her hip replacement, she wouldn’t stand a chance.” He says it so deadpan that it takes me a second to realize he’s teasing.

“Smartass.” I step on his toe just to make my point.

He laughs. “And while Princess Anne Marie of Denmark certainly has more enthusiasm, at the tender age of six, she hasn’t had the years to work up to a technique like yours.”

“I should leave you on the dance floor by yourself,” I threaten, clearly not going anywhere. I’d never admit it to him, but in his arms is a comfortable place to be.

“I apologize most profusely. No offense was intended.” Nico swings me in a gentle arc, making me look elegant as my dress flares and my feet skim the floor. “I’d never seek to offend someone so beautiful.”

“Again with the flattery.”

He lowers the arm that’s supporting my back and leans in, dipping me low. Our faces are close enough to kiss, and as soon as that thought enters my head, it’s all I can think about. He smiles and his eyes twinkle. He’s thinking the same thing, I know it.

“And I ask again, is it still flattery if it’s true?”

I thought my feet were going to get me in trouble tonight, not words. Usually conversation is my best weapon, but with him I’m always one step behind. “Was sweet talking part of your royal education as well? I’m sure it comes in handy.”

Instead of pulling me back up, he leans in even closer. His nose brushes mine and he grins. “It was indeed, but the trick is to stay as close to the truth as possible, and with you that is no struggle. Your beauty struck me the first time we met, and tonight, you surpass even my wildest dreams. You are without a doubt the most beautiful woman I’ve ever had the honor of dancing with, and it kills me, brutally kills me, that you won’t even give me a chance.”

I want to brush his words off as meaningless charm, but he sounds like he really believes what he’s saying. And wants me to believe him.

Do I?

Available on Amazon/KU:  https://mybook.to/OCHi

HUGE CONGRATS to my friend JJ Knight for her new release. This one’s HILARIOUS and a one-click, so go read it right now!

I didn’t mean to make Santa so hot. Not at first. I started out with a second-chance love story. Two law school students get back together around Christmas. The sort of thing you’d see on Hallmark while cozying up with your mug of hot cocoa.

But then Mack took on a life of his own. He drove a Maserati. He knew all the exclusive clubs. And when he sees Rory again after ten years, he’s not interested in talking about legal briefs.

In fact, he has plenty of things in mind for Santa’s chair once the mall closes.

The funny thing is, once all the wildness settles, Mack shows his real self. The one underneath the glitz. Why he’s become a Santa. And it’s a good thing, because Rory gets her world turned upside down (cue the Pickle brothers!) and the Santa version of Mack has arrived exactly on time.

Available on Amazon/KU: http://deannaroy.com/Santa-Zon

When you imagine a billionaire’s honeymoon, you think of beaches. Private islands. Being swept away on a corporate jet, with Champagne and chocolate, lobster and caviar.

Not drills and saws and five-thousand gallon propane tanks.

Billionaire CEO Andrew bought Amanda his family’s estate as a wedding gift, and they’re ready to make it their own. I know it doesn’t sound romantic, but Andrew never does anything halfway, including romancing his new bride.

Read (or listen) to Shopping for a CEO’s Honeymoon and decide for yourself if Amanda got the honeymoon she deserves. I had so much fun writing this book, because “billionaire preppers” didn’t seem like they should be a “thing,” but oh, how they are.

 

 

He says we never had a proper honeymoon.

So, instead, he’s giving me… a prepper honeymoon?

Who knew billionaire preppers were a thing?

I guess I’m about to find out.

—

Julia Kent’s New York Times bestselling romantic comedy series continues in Shopping for a CEO’s Honeymoon as Andrew and Amanda settle in to married life… and so much more.

Available at Your Favorite Retailer

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Amazon ALL:  https://mybook.to/SFACeoHoney_AznALL
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Google Play: http://bit.ly/2rHcnWw

Audiobook narrated by Sebastian York and Amy McFadden
Whispersync the audio for $7.49

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