The ball and the book both drop on New Year’s Eve!
New Year’s Eve. Times Square. I booked the room over a year ago, with the view of the ball dropping. I’ll propose to Charlotte and drop to my knee at the stroke of midnight.
At least, that’s the plan.
But nothing in my life ever goes as planned. Between a last-minute gig that takes me away from her, a blast-from-the-past boyfriend of Charlotte’s, and the resurrection of Esme the blow-up doll, I have to fight for my right —
To make her my wife.
Charlotte. Not Esme. Because that’s just gross, man. What’s wrong with you?
Liam is finally ready to pop the question to Charlotte after years together, but a last-minute gig and a heaping dose of fate in the form of Darla makes the road to marriage a little bumpier than expected.
Welcome to the Random series, where people propose to chickens, snakes fall in love with blow-up dolls, cell phones become medical devices, and love conquers all, in tune and with three-part harmony.
New York Times and USA Today Bestselling
Author Julia Kent writes romantic comedy with an edge. From billionaires to
BBWs to new adult rock stars, Julia finds a sensual, goofy joy in every
contemporary romance she writes. Unlike Shannon from Shopping for a Billionaire, she did not meet her husband after
dropping her phone in a men’s room toilet (and he isn’t a billionaire). She
lives in New England with her husband and three sons in a household where the
toilet seat is never, ever, down
you,” I say, watching as his fingers halt, two buttons undone, a sprinkling of
chest hair showing from his open shirt.
eyes meet mine.
were going to say it when I came back, but you never did. I told you I loved
you. Love you.” Boldness makes me confront this head on, the timing bizarrely
perfect. In Stateless culture, clarity mattered. Emotion wasn’t allowed, but being
blunt and direct was prized.
need me to say it?”
you want to.”
an answer to my question.”
don’t need you to. I want you to love me, though. That much I know.”
“Do you doubt it? That I love you?”
Raine writes romantic suspense with hot bikers, intense undercover DEA agents,
bad boys turned good, and Special Ops heroes — and the women who love them. Meli
rode her first motorcycle when she was five years old, but she played in the
ocean long before that. She lives in New England with her family.
first book in the False trilogy is a psychological thriller worthy of
Hitchcock, keeping you guessing until the very end.” — Apple Books Editors
and dark humor on display in this thriller…”
the immediate—and more compelling—tension in Raine’s (A Shameless Little Bet, 2018, etc.) heart-pumping series opener
comes from Lily’s constant proximity to her would-be killer, the action takes
place against a backdrop of secret government scandals. The “screwed-up
D.C.-insider scandal,” as it is clumsily summarized early on, is pleasingly
Lily’s voice is captivating, wry, and tough enough to sell this thriller. The
novel ends with a cliffhanger that startles, if only because readers will have
become so attached to Lily.
riveting, and thrumming with emotion and romantic suspense, False Memory is
absolutely unputdownable. You need this book!” – New York Times bestselling author Meghan March
accidentally lost a day to this trilogy! It is unputdownable. Apparently I’m on
a dark-and-twisty binge, and this book is addictive.” – USA Today bestselling author Sarina Bowen (review for Harmless
The holidays are still with us, right? You won’t want to miss this hot new holiday release from Lisabet Sarai!
words, 51 pages
This Christmas, Santa discovers it’s nice to be naughty.
Recent university grad Matt Glaser may not
have the Santa Claus beard or belly, but when it comes to earning extra holiday
cash, it’s a case of ‘ho ho ho, let’s start the show’—he loves his red suit
like a reindeer loves carrots. This potential client, though—classy, curvy
Eleanor Danforth—seems more interested in checking out his butt than his
references. And two grand for a private party? Oy vey, Prancer, something’s not
kosher about this particular Vixen. She’s not one to be denied, though. When
the interview takes a carnal turn, he finds he’s unexpectedly eager to satisfy
the demanding older woman.
Wearing the provocative costume supplied by
his employer, Matt arrives at the Danforths’ swanky apartment to discover he’s
been cast as the emcee for Eleanor’s intimate gathering. His duties include
managing a pair of scantily-clad blond elves, distributing decadent treats to
guests who’ve been good, and meting out punishments to the naughty. Meanwhile,
the mistress of the house has a Christmas gift especially for him—one made of
silicon and leather straps, which requires plenty of lube. Ho ho ho, Matt! It’s
going to be a very merry Christmas indeed.
Muffled in the overcoat I’d borrowed from
my roommate Brian, I faced the hardwood and brass double doors to the
Danforth’s fortieth floor apartment. The doorbell was easy to locate; I just
wasn’t sure I had the guts to ring it.
The Santa costume that my employer had
provided was more appropriate for a go-go boy than Father Christmas. The droopy
conical hat was traditional, with its fuzzy white trim and pom-pom, and the
knee-high black patent leather boots, too, but St. Nicolas wouldn’t have been
caught dead in these shiny red spandex hot pants. They clung to my bum like a
second skin. It was a good thing the weather was warm for December, or I would
have frozen my balls off. The scarlet shirt, fashioned of some sort of stretchy
velvet, had long sleeves with white fur cuffs. However, the front made a
plunging vee that bared most of my chest.
I was grateful for the soft, snowy-white
fake beard. It hid my blushes. I felt ridiculous and incredibly exposed. Like
most authors, I tended to live in my head, my vivid imagination compensating
for my mundane real-world existence. In contrast, this costume emphasized the
physical. My face was hidden; my mind wasn’t important. I had no illusions
about the fact that Mrs. Danforth had hired me primarily for my body.
I could still back out. Turn around, step
back into the chrome and steel elevator and whoosh down to the ground floor.
Spend Christmas Eve eating take-out and working on my novel.
Seriously, though, could I afford to throw
away two thousand bucks? Meanwhile, the experience, however weird, might in the
future serve as grist to the writer’s mill.
Before I could talk myself out it, I gave
the button a firm press.
Almost immediately, Mrs. Danforth opened
the door. “Good evening, Matt. You’re right on time. I do appreciate
My eyes grew wide and my cock started to
harden as I took her in. She’d been attractive in her form-fitting suit and
silky blouse, but now she was stunning.
Her sleeveless, evergreen-colored cocktail dress was fashioned from some
light, shimmery fabric that clung to her voluptuous breasts and hips. The short
skirt showed off her smooth thighs and muscled calves, their shapeliness
enhanced by her sparkling red stilettos. Her pale hair gleamed in the recessed
lights of the entry way. Artfully-applied make up accentuated her patrician
features. Her plump, crimson lips were moist and inviting.
“Toss your coat onto the chair,” she
ordered. “Let’s see the costume.”
Like an automaton, I shrugged off the heavy
She clapped her hands in delight. “Oh, you look spectacular! Sexy and naughty, just the way I imagined.”
romance – over one
every sub-genre—paranormal, scifi,