Mostrando resultados por autor "Max Monroe" en Todas las categorías

When grumpy, muscled-up artist Bennett Bishop bothers to speak, it’s usually to say something you’re not ready to hear. When he first speaks to Norah Ellis, a rambling runaway bride who hitchhikes a ride from him, it’s to tell her to get out of his truck and walk because she’s a pain in the a-s-s. By appearance, Norah Ellis is a fancy fashionista who’s spent the last several years living the good life in the city—expensive apartments, highbrow events, and a fiancé with wealth and good looks. The only problem is that she didn’t choose any of it for herself.

How good are you at keeping a secret? Because I, Juniper Perry, have been keeping a big one. For over a decade, I’ve been crushing on the guy with the easy smile, warm brown eyes, and charismatic charm. He’s all the perfect things that, when you add them up, spell out Man of my dreams. I know that doesn’t sound bad at all, but there’s more to this story. We work together. I’m a lowly intern, and he’s a high-powered executive. He’s my newest neighbor. No joke—he’s temporarily living next door to me. And to top it all off, he’s my best friend’s older brother.

Dr. Will Cummings is the star of a medical reality show that's practically blown up overnight in popularity, and I'm the new nurse at his practice. Unfortunately for me, I'm also the nurse who made a completely awkward first impression by introducing myself while he was in the middle of a pap smear and ending the day by accidentally showing him my ta-tas. Yes, that's right. I gave my new boss a peep show. Gah. You'd think I'd have already put in my resignation and moved to Alaska, but no. I'm still here, getting to know just how much more Dr. Will is than a handsome face.

Meet the swooniest billionaire of all time in one awesome and hilarious romantic-comedy collection. This collection includes Tapping the Billionaire, Tapping Her, and the novella Be My Billionaire Valentine.

Blind dates? Online dating profiles? Been there, done that. Georgia Cummings has zero luck with dating, and the era of the Internet is not her friend. No matter how fast she runs, how many corners she turns, she can't find her way out of this weird, alternate universe where men think dick pics are a replacement for small talk and getting to know a girl. One more crotch selfie and she might write men off for good. But why can't she stop fantasizing about him?

There are ghosts at every corner. In the stolen kisses while I waitressed at the diner, in the town festivals in the square, in the many jokes about Betty Bagley and her pie at the Fall Farmer’s Market, and in countless nights spent watching Clay make drinks with that handsome smile of his plastered on his face while I sat on a stool at the bar. It should all feel familiar and comforting, and yet, it makes it hard for the person I am now to breathe at all.

When it comes to life's fun and games, always know: The rules. What's at stake. When to quit. Wise words from...well...my fortune cookie. But wise words, nonetheless.

My friend Raquel didn't pull any punches when she warned me about my brand-new costar and his notoriously player-esque ways. Apparently, my most important mission on my first role in a feature film is to stay immune to his charms. Are you kidding me? Production costs on this movie are in the hundreds of thousands a day, and staying away from him is supposed to be at the top of my list? Pfft. Puh-lease.

For the entirety of my adult life, I've been content. Content in my single lifestyle, content in my stressful-but-extremely-successful job as the main corporate counsel for almost every Fortune 500 company in North America, and content in my playful, spontaneous ways. I had no idea it was possible for someone to change my mind. The endless women and work are no longer enough, and just as Ruby Rockford told me - it's about time I grow up.

Mabel "Maybe" Willis died a virgin at the very young age of 24. She leaves behind her parents, Betty and Bruce, her brother, Evan, a laptop filled with one too many Jason Momoa memes, and a Kindle library with more books than one human being could ever finish in a lifetime. Cause of death: a text message. Okay. So, I didn't die. But I may as well have. One minute, I'm a woman trying to find her way in the world, and the next, I'm the sender of six of the most embarrassing text messages that have ever been sent in the history of time - or the cell phone. Whatever.

Bro-Code Law 676: You never - under any circumstances - get involved with your best friend's little sister. I messed up - big-time. Two strangers in a foreign country, we said hello. Hello turned into a kiss. A kiss turned into a rendezvous. And a rendezvous turned into more than I'd ever imagined. But her unruly golden curls and beautiful body hid an important detail - he's my mouthiest billionaire best friend's forbidden little sister.

If my time with Ryan Miller were a hit track on the radio, I imagine the lyrics would go something like this: We're so different, but they say opposites attract. Oops, I've fallen, and my heart doesn't want to come back. His dad lives right next to my mom, and after the two of them suffered an unexplained accident while taking down holiday decorations, both Ryan and I were forced to become the only 30something residents of Sunny Creek Village Independent Senior Living Community.

A successful writer accidentally sends her new (and super-dreamy) editor the wrong manuscript. Instead of the full-length paranormal novel she promised Longstrand Publishing, she sends the fan fiction she’s written about her crush…on him—including every detail of the hot, steamy “physical activity” she’s fantasized about happening between them.

My new boss has it all. In spades. Gorgeous green eyes? Check. Hard-and-sexy body? Check. Intelligence? Check. Success? A big fat billionaire.... Check. Too bad I haven't started out on the best foot. My big mouth has already turned him against me, and tempting good looks and success aside, Trent Turner is no peach either. He's stubborn and thick-headed, and son of a fruitcake, he thinks he knows everything there is to know about the hotel business. But that's not all. See, he isn't just my billionaire boss from hell. He's my new neighbor, too.

Goal: Find a boyfriend, get married, buy a house in the suburbs with a white picket fence, and pop out 2.5 kids. Deadline: Sixty days. That's possible, right? There is no doubt that, this year, home for the holidays takes on a whole new, terrifying meaning. I have to travel from New York City - my home and safe haven for the last 15 years - to my tiny hometown in Vermont for Christmas, my baby sister's wedding, and my high school reunion.

Wildcat: a football formation in which the ball is snapped, not to the quarterback, but to another player lined up in the quarterback position. Wild, Cat: a beautiful woman from the sky, who hooked me against the rails, and has me on the ropes. Sweet like honey, with a hint of sass burning behind her pretty brown eyes, she took over my heart without warning. I'm Quinn Bailey, quarterback for the New York Mavericks. Sports analysts predicted I'd break records and take my team all the way. But no one predicted this. And just like the other team, I never saw it coming.

Have you ever seen a fireman who's so insanely sexy you'd actually consider DIY-ing a little at-home arson just so he'd show up at your front door? Dramatic, I know, but hear me out. Chiseled hot body, bright blue eyes, and the sexiest smile I've ever seen - the first time I saw Garrett Alexander in my exam room, it took everything inside me not to do something crazy like mount him during his yearly physical. Not only is he a total babe, but he's charming, hilarious, and the kind of single dad that would make your ovaries explode.

Raquel and Harrison sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G. First comes love. Then comes marriage. Then comes a baby in the baby carriage. That's how her brother used to sing it when we were kids - a simple ploy to get under my skin and make me stick my fist in his face - but man oh man, did he get the order wrong.

"I need a ride," I said to a sexy stranger on a Harley. Three hours later? A six-foot-tall Marilyn Monroe was officiating our Vegas wedding at the Happy Chapel. But it's not love—it's business—a marriage pact made out of desperation so my career doesn't go up in flames. Sure, Flynn Winslow is a hot, broody, mysterious man that women all over the globe would sell their souls to land for real, but I have my eyes on the prize and our marriage arrangement will end in three months with no strings attached. Right?

I'm begging you to tell me that the practice of falling in love with your should-be-enemy is common. Please tell me that I'm not the only person to track down a guy - who used to be Hollywood's baddest bad boy before he left LA for good - at his off-the-grid cabin in Alaska, show up unannounced, and find him gloriously naked.