Résultats de "Pippa Grant" dans Toutes les catégories

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.

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.

The world’s sexiest firefighter is about to get a second chance with the virgin next door.... He’s bossy, arrogant, and so ridiculously hot that he should come with a warning label and a pair of flame-retardant coveralls. He’s also the boy who broke my heart when we were in high school. I want to move in next door to Ryan O’Dell the way I want to be the virgin gamer geek suddenly in charge of running my sister’s sex-toy factory. Too bad both are written in my stars.

If I had to pick a bride of convenience, my first choice would not be Peach Maloney. My 50th choice would not be Peach. Top spot on my list of occupational hazards? Yes. Royal pain in the crumpets? Yes. A bride of convenience? No. But I've unexpectedly gone from royal bodyguard to monarch, having inherited a crown that was stolen from my family long before my birth. The kicker? In order to take the throne, I must find a wife. Have I mentioned Peach would not have been my 100th choice? But I've no other options, and she needs a favor that my new position can fulfill quite nicely.

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.

He's the last man I should've picked for a one night stand. See that guy over there? The insanely tall, broad-shouldered, dark-haired, scowling, “I don’t drink coffee” suit? Surprise! He’s the new owner of my family’s mountain café.

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.

Faking an engagement to my secret high school crush was not on my to-do list when I landed for a short visit home. But when Amanda Anderson announces that she’s my fiancée, I take a leap and play along with the farce. Why? Because the Capulets and Montagues have nothing on the Andersons and Silvers of Tinsel, Michigan. In the name of bringing peace to our Christmas-themed hometown and ourselves, we’ll play the part of Romeo and Juliet.

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.

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 knew fixing up my life with a fresh start on the hobby ranch I inherited in Hell’s Bells, Wyoming, would come with challenges. Things like snow. Wildlife. Local gossip about why my daughter and I are here. But the biggest challenge? My surly new tenant. He’s like a bear. Fascinating from a distance, but don’t get too close, or he’ll bite. His personality should be a good thing. I have no need of a new man in my life. But he’s not only my tenant; he’s also my daughter’s math teacher and soccer coach.

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.

There are two kinds of women in the world - those I can bang, and those I can’t. My teammate’s sister? She’s a can’t. I moved in with her to protect her from a nasty ex, not to be the next guy in line. She’s the brains. I’m the brawn. She’s the fruit. I’m the sausage. She talks too much. I don’t talk at all, if I don’t have to. Should be easy to resist her.

Mission: Survive my best friend's wedding, where I must play nice with my ex and his perfect new girlfriend. Strategy: Bring the hottest fake boyfriend on the planet. Target: Grady Rock. Master baker. Dimples. Muscles. The unicorn of fake boyfriends. Complication: Wyatt Morgan. My brother's best friend. My sworn enemy. Military man. Sexy as hell single dad. The man I let into my panties for one night of hot hate sex after my ex dumped me.

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....

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.

He’s the world’s most alpha Marine and the last man I should be letting jingle my bells this holiday season. But when Clint steps in to rescue me - from a murderous goose, a rogue reindeer, and the ghost of Christmas Right Now causing trouble in my bakery - I can’t help but wonder if we’re meant to be more than friends.

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.

It started as a joke. After a string of bad boyfriends, I made up a fake boyfriend so people would quit asking when I was going to meet a grumpy lumberjack trying to save his mama’s inn in my adopted hometown. When my grandma demanded proof from afar, I sent her a picture of me and my “boyfriend.” Spoiler alert: He wasn’t really my boyfriend. He was actually a reclusive former boy band member who swings through town sometimes and is friends with my friends. As much as a reclusive former boy bander can be friends with anyone, that is.