These Royals will ruin you.
Easton Royal has it all: looks, money, intelligence. His goal in life is to have as much fun as possible. He never thinks about the consequences because he doesn’t have to.
Until Hartley Wright appears, shaking up his easy life. She’s the one girl who’s said no, despite being attracted to him. Easton can’t figure her out and that makes her all the more irresistible.
Hartley doesn’t want him. She says he needs to grow up.
She might be right.
Rivals. Rules. Regrets. For the first time in Easton’s life, wearing a Royal crown isn’t enough. He’s about to learn that the higher you start, the harder you fall.
Warning: This book has a cliffhanger. The story will be resolved in Cracked Kingdom, due out January 2018.
A new standalone from NYT bestselling author Tijan.
Rule #1: No hot guys.
It might sound ridiculous. I get it. It kind of was, but college was supposed to be my sanctuary. It was my place to start over. The rumors, the whispers, and the jealousy I endured through high school would all be gone.
No one would know me at college.
Rule #2: No drama.
I’d major in pre-law. I’d make a few loyal friends. Everything would be easy-breezy. No one was going to use me or hurt me. I wouldn’t let them.
Rule #3: New year. New place. New me.
And all because of Shay Coleman.
Football captain and quarterback, he was the big guy on campus. The cocky guy in my political science class with a smirk. I hated him on sight . . .
. . . and he was about to break all my rules.
She’s Penna Carstairs.
The Renegade they call Rebel.
FMX-treme Magazine’s sexiest female athlete of the year.
There’s no rule in extreme sports she hasn’t broken,
No gender barrier she hasn’t demolished.
She’s the woman I met in a bar in Vegas.
The woman I illegally BASE jumped for.
The woman I spent one insane, incredible night with.
But now I’m screwed.
Or rather…not screwed.
Because the woman I can’t get out of my head is the one woman I can never touch again.
I’m Dr. Cruz Delgado—the youngest professor on this campus,
And Penelope Carstairs just walked into my class.
Down-on-her-luck teacher, Daisy Clemmens, is about to learn some hard lessons. (Not like that, you perv.)
No matter how broke you are, never agree to a job that includes a rabid eight-year-old, requires a tetanus shot or where your boss is a sexy (and cranky) rock ‘n’ roll god.
Do not, do not start to have tender, gooey feelings for the sexy commitment-phobe rock ‘n’ roll god. You’ll only get hurt.
Okay so you’ve slept with the sexy rock ‘n’ roll god. But it’s not too late. Just whatever you do, don’t fall in love. Whoops. Too late.
Never love someone, even if they are a sexy rock ‘n’ roll god, more than yourself.
“Brooks’ heroes will melt your heart . . . and your panties.” – Jennifer Seasons, author of Throwing Heat
Abbi Haas likes them big, bad, and out of her bed the next morning. So when a smoking hot firefighter shuts down a possessive ex by pretending to be her boyfriend, she’s happy to play along—and stay for the no-strings-attached sex under the stars. But her knight with bulging biceps had better not think she’s some damsel in distress. She’ll handle her ex like she does everything: on her own.
Wildland firefighter Tyler McCall is supposed to be taking a break from danger. First step to having fun: pick up a sexy stranger by pretending he’s her man. Too bad his fake girlfriend is also his new coworker…and their little white lie has already spread. Tyler knows he should walk away before he gets burned. But he can’t stay out of trouble, and there’s no way he’s letting her go.
Her lips, the way she feels, how she moves against me. Her voice when she laughs, her eyes when she cries. Her soul connected to mine, for better or for worse, for all eternity.
I don’t remember.
A blank face. Unrecognizable. The darkness and impenetrable fog, day after day after day. Who am I? And for that matter, who is she?
I can’t remember.
Two sides of the same coin – one wants to remember, and the other wants to stay forgotten. Which side will win? Can he trust his heart to bring him back to her? Or will she stay lost in the fog forever?
I might never remember.
Stressed out hotel heiress Arden St. Sebastian is in Maui for one thing and one thing only. Work. But when the hottie at the bar buys her a drink to end all frilly umbrella-and-glow stick drinks, she can’t help but accept his unspoken invitation. When they get back to her villa, however, and the sexy moment of truth arrives, she can’t…quite…get there. Again.
ER resident Nick Bancroft can handle a night of fun, anonymous sex, but he draws the line at a fake orgasm. He makes his mystery woman a deal. He’ll take care of her little stress-induced orgasm problem if she’ll spend the next six days exploring the island with him, no questions asked.
A week of island relaxation on the arm of the sexiest man she’s ever met? Arden’s game. As long as she keeps her identity secret, she’s got nothing to lose…except her heart.
Each book in the Compromise Me series is a standalone story that can be enjoyed out of order.
Book #1 Compromising Her Position
Book #2 Hard Compromise
Book #3 Compromised in Paradise
Gemma Ward, an outgoing and strong-willed wedding photographer, goes through men like she goes through thongs, forever looking for a guy who can handle her. She’s about given up on love when she meets Declan, the sophisticated father of one of her clients. He’s perfect for her, if only she can convince him she’s not too young and inexperienced to meet his singularly erotic tastes.
Then, like an answered prayer, Walker Kincaid shows up, looking for a place to stay while he investigates allegations surrounding the death of his SEAL brother, Liam Prescott. If anyone can tutor her in the art of the kind of power play Declan wants, it’s Walker, her best friend and partner in crime since high school.
But what starts as friendly lessons in forbidden pleasure soon turns into something more…leaving Gemma to wonder if the lover she’s been looking for has been right in front of her all along.
Five weeks ago, my best friend was abducted. A sacrifice for the God of Lust.
It wasn’t the beginning of her end . . . it turned out to be the beginning of mine.
I’ve been brought back from the dead.
Only to be condemned to die once more.
I’ve awakened to find myself mated to Zeniel, the God of Tranquility. But, no. That isn’t who he is anymore.
I’m so vile that simply meeting me tore out the most primal, dark force inside him.
He’s a demon.
A mythical monster.
An indiscriminate killer.
He’s made to destroy the entire fucking world . . . and I’d give anything to have him.
Within the red and black shadows of doom, all I see are my victims. The sinners I need to destroy.
I want to despise her for what her past did to me. A single look into her eyes and the creature trapped inside me broke free.
You see, I’m a fucking sham. A pretender. I wasn’t born as Zeniel, God of Tranquility.
I was born as Mavrak, the war demon God of Vengeance.
He killed millions across the dimensions once.
To avenge and protect her, he’ll destroy millions once again.
For her, I’ll let my powers of Tranquility die in a maelstrom of blood . . .
Even if it means killing everyone else that I love.
The woman’s killing me.
I’m not the kind of man who would normally even consider blurring the lines between landlord and tenant or boss and employee, but Summer is a walking temptation. Neurotic and obsessive-as-hell when it comes to work details, sure, but a damn cute-without-knowing-it temptation nevertheless.
She’s been a good tenant and an even better worker. Plus, she doesn’t simper or throw herself at me like a lot of women who find out my net worth. I’ve grown…fond of her, oddly enough.
But if she drags my ass out of bed in the middle of the night to talk about work one more time…
* * *
The man’s a saint.
Not only did Jason hire me for the greatest project I’ve ever run point on, but he also let me move into an amazing loft in his building as an extravagant job-relocation perk. Sure, he can be a grouch when I accidentally wake him up to go over the project, but he’s still a saint nevertheless.
He’s been a fantastic boss and a surprisingly protective landlord. But…when did his shoulders get that wide? And why is that growling voice of his making me all weak in the knees lately?
And is it still considered morning wood if it happens in the middle of the night…or something more?
To most people, princes, princesses, counts and dukes are found only in the pages of the most famous of fairytales. Crowns, priceless jewels and gilded thrones belong only in childhood dreams.
But for some, these frivolous fancies are truth.
For some, they are real life.
On Manhattan’s Upper East Side, people have always treated me as someone special. All because of my ancestral name and legacy. All because of a connection I share to our home country’s most important family of all.
I am Caresa Acardi, the Duchessa di Parma. A blue blood of Italy. I was born to marry well. And now the marriage date is set.
I am to marry into House Savona. The family that would have been the royals had Italy not abolished the monarchy in 1946. But to the aristocrats of my home, the abolition means nothing at all.
The Savonas still hold power where it counts most.
In our tight-knit world of money, status and masked balls, they are everything and more.
And I am soon to become one of them.
I am soon to become Prince Zeno Savona’s wife…
… or at least I was, until I met Achille.
And everything changed.
I should’ve never agreed to this arrangement…
Thirty days ago, my boss—Mr. Wolf of Wall Street, came to me with an offer I couldn’t refuse: Sign my name on the dotted line and pretend to be his fiancée for one month. If I agreed, he would let me out of my employment contract with a “very generous” severance package.
The rules were pretty simple: No intimate kissing, no actual sex. Just pretend to love each other for the press, even though I’ve secretly wanted to knock that sexy smirk off his face since the first day we met.
I definitely didn’t need to think twice about this. I signed my name and started counting down the seconds to when I would never have to deal with his special brand of ass-holery again.
I only made it to one minute…
We argued the entire four-hour flight to his hometown, failed to make a convincing impression with the welcoming press, and right when I was about to knock that arrogant look off his face in real life? He purposely dropped his bath towel in front of me, distracting me with his nine-inch cock to “show me who the bigger person was” in our relationship. Then he gave me his trademark smirk once again and asked if I wanted to consummate our marriage.
Tragically, this is only day one.
We still have 29 more days to go…
I married the bad boy from Brooklyn.
The one with the tattoos and the look in his eyes that told me he was bad news.
The look that comes with all sorts of warnings.
I knew what I was doing.
I knew by the way he put his hands on me; how he owned me with his forceful touch.
I couldn’t say no to him, not that I wanted to. That was then, and it seems like forever ago.
Years later, I’ve grown up and moved on. But he’s still the man I married. Dangerous in ways I don’t like to think about. Sexy as sin, he attracts all the wrong kinds of temptations.
The kind that lands a couple like us in the gossip columns.
The kind that’s unforgivable.
The kind that splits up marriages.
I did this to myself. I knew better than to love him.
And now I’m fucked.
I married the bad boy from Brooklyn. And I don’t know how to survive this.