Mostrando resultados por autor "Pippa Grant" en Todas las categorías

All I want for Christmas is to be alone. You’d think having a breakout Christmas song to take your pop career to the next level would be a good thing, but the holiday has never been good to me, and I just need to escape. Hide away from the world until all of the lights are down and every radio station, streaming channel, and social media site on the planet gets tired of my viral holiday hit. Unfortunately for me though, my LA landlord has followed me to the mountains.

If people have polar opposites, Luca Rossi is mine. His butt is in the baseball hall of fame. Mine's comfortably seated in the hall of lame. When he's not snagging fly balls out in center field, he's modeling in shampoo commercials. I once jammed my own finger while stirring cookie dough, and sometimes I forget shampoo is a thing. He's a total cynic when it comes to love. I make a living writing love stories. But after my latest broken engagement (no, I don't want to talk about how many times that's happened), it's clear he's exactly the man I need.

Never borrow pants from your brother. Especially if he’s a size smaller than you are, because all that pressure in the junk will short-circuit your brain. And you’ll lie to a woman in a club about your real name. Leave her unsatisfied after making out in a bathroom. Then find out that she’s the one thing standing in the way of your dreams. And she very much doesn’t like being lied to. Now I have to convince Lila Valentine - the woman I can’t stop thinking about, my biggest regret, and my new boss - that I’m what’s best for the baseball team she’s inherited.

I, Tillie Jean Rock, am not in love with my brother’s teammate. Sure, he might have those biceps and that “I am the grouchiest of grouchy bears” smolder, and he might shovel snow off his driveway next door wearing nothing but boxer shorts and rubber boots, and he might be running a side business feeding all the stray goats in town, but studliness is only skin-deep.

Secrets always catch up with you. The world knows me as Tavi Lightly, sugar-free social media influencer. But my true purpose lies in secretly restoring a cacao farm in Costa Rica. Unfortunately, to save the farm, I need access to the trust fund that my grandmother has frozen. She’s requiring me to do charity work in Tickled Pink, Wisconsin, and until I meet her ultimatum—no trust fund. So to Tickled Pink I go.

There are three things I hate: Bratwurst in any form, my neighbors boinking like farm animals at 3 AM, and Chase Jett. Mostly I hate Chase Jett. It's been 10 years since he took my virginity - I'd make a bratwurst joke, but the unfortunate truth is that it would have to be a brat-best joke, and yes, it kills me to admit that - and now he's not only a billionaire, he's also my new boss.

She’s the last woman on earth I’d marry...again. Yet here I am. Saying my vows. Again. To save an alpaca. At least, that’s my story. But the truth might be a little more complicated. I didn’t want to let her go the first time. But now I have a second chance to win over my wife. We’re older. Wiser. And hornier. This time, I won’t fail. Hitched is a red-hot enemies-to-lovers laugh-a-palooza featuring a girl in need of a marriage of convenience and a man in need of a cold shower to keep from falling for his fake wife.

Large and in charge? Honey, I'm the biggest, baddest, mother pucking-est machine to ever own the ice. I shoot. I score. In and out of the rink. I don't come early, but I come often, if you know what I mean. And I always leave the ladies wanting more. Until that chick last night. I'm no one-thrust wonder, and you're damn right I'm going to prove to her I can do better. But every time I think I'm finally on my way back into her pants, she one-ups and out-balls me. I should cut my losses, lick my wounds, and walk away. But Zeus Berger doesn't walk away from anything.

When you’re an heir so spare that getting attacked by a shark is more likely than you ever wearing the crown, you’re only allowed certain liberties. Yet still, those liberties can bite you in the ass. Good thing I’m such a charming devil. Even then, I’ve been banished to America for a year under the pretense of playing professional hockey while my father cleans up my latest mess. But trouble follows me wherever I go. Generally trouble of the beautiful female variety, and Gracie Diamonte is no exception. Or possibly, she’s the best exception.

You’d think nearly dying trying to get out of a too-tight gown in a dressing room and being saved by a strong, competent man was a good thing. Not so much, though, when that strong, competent man is your ex. Your secret ex. And the reason you need a gown is because you’re part of a charity auction. The charity auction where he gets into a bidding war to win you. And now, because you’re one of few female coaches in professional baseball, and he’s the captain of the local professional hockey team, and he paid a ridiculous sum of money for you…

You know those stories where an adorably misunderstood, clumsy girl needs a fake date to a wedding so she asks her brother’s best friend and they accidentally fall in love? I wish that was the kind of life I lead, but it’s not. I don’t need a date to a wedding. I need a date to a funeral. And I don’t have a brother, or a best friend with a brother available, which means I’m stuck with Tyler Jaeger. Sure, he’s a professional hockey player who also knows advanced calculus, but let’s say we’re not compatible and leave it at that. I should know. I am a matchmaker.

Remember that time you accidentally sexted your in-laws? Yeah. I just did that. Except worse. Now my million social media followers are reading and sharing the rude, smartass message I meant to send privately to my little sister...and I'm officially public enemy number one. I'm Beck Ryder. Former boy bander. Underwear model. Fashion mogul. And I just buried my entire leg in my mouth - not just my foot - modern internet style, and publicly insulted my sister's neighbor.

I, Cooper Rock, baseball god, worshipper of women, hometown hero, beloved son and brother, and owner of a well-deserved ego, have always reached for the stars. Usually in baseball. In love? Nah. When you’ve played the field as much as I have and haven’t been bit by the bug, you’re immune. Or so I thought until she walked back into my life.

There are a million reasons why I shouldn’t date Fletcher Huxley. He’s a growly-faced, stubborn-streaked, international rugby legend trying to revive his flailing career in the US after being canned by his team overseas. While he might have the good kind of thunder thighs, intriguing tattoos, and a booty of steel, he also holds the top position on my very short nemesis list thanks to what happened the first time we met.

Anything your tongue desires, I can bake it. Scones? Child's play. Cupcakes? I'll frost them so good you won't know what hit you. Donuts? Please! You're talking to a master baker. But there's one egg I've never been able to crack. My best friend. Correction: my former best friend. She's the apple in my pie. The whip in my cream. The lemon in my meringue. The wish in my bone. She's the one who got away.

I didn’t know bridesmaid was code for babysitter for the bride’s brother, but if that’s what my best friend needs of me for her dream wedding to go off without a hitch, that’s what I’ll do. Even if Theo Monroe has been a pain in my rear since third grade. Even if he should be responsible enough to not wreak havoc at his sister’s destination wedding.

I didn’t mean to kidnap the groom. It was an accident. Mostly.... At least I didn't take much time to plan it. It was more of a spur of the moment kidnapping. Does that count? One minute, the town’s bad boy is standing at the altar about to marry the world’s most evil kindergarten teacher. The next, he’s passed out in my Vespa sidecar with his bride hot on our tail. But I couldn't stand by and watch Jace O’Dell be blackmailed into a loveless marriage. And besides, what’s a little kidnapping between friends? Okay, so maybe we’re not just friends....

When you work hard and have the bank account to prove it, you're entitled to play hard. I've seen some crazy things. I've caused some crazy scenes. And there's no shame in my game. But I'm still knocked off my stilettos when an insane chain of events leads to me inheriting a baby. The craziest part? The baby comes with a by-the-books, no-nonsense retired Marine who's so regimented that I wouldn't be surprised if he irons his boxer shorts.

Call it superstition, but when a guy bats as hot as Brooks Elliott, you don’t mess with what’s working. And what’s working is him keeping his pants zipped and doing all of his scoring on the field. So when I hear he’s planning to ditch his V-card now that he’s been traded to baseball’s lovable losers - a.k.a. my home team and my reason for living every March through October - I do what any rational, dedicated, obsessed fan would do. I make a plan to stop him. But the thing about stopping him is that it requires spending time with him. Lots. And lots. And lots of time.

Nick Murphy. Hockey god. My best friend’s big brother. My friend with mind-blowing benefits. The best thing to happen to my nether regions since my subscription to the toy of the month club. The man I’ve been secretly in love with for years. And a total ass. I am so done with him. Except there’s one small problem. Now that I’ve cut him off, his hockey game is in the toilet. He’s convinced I’m his good luck charm, and he wants me back. But only for his game.