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Ari
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The Boudoir (BanG Love Affair Boudoir)
January 17, 6 – 10 pm EST
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EXCERPT:
I take a moment to add up the facts, only the facts.
Lulu is here.
She’s living in New York.
I’m living in New York.
I’m about to add in one more fact, but I can’t in good conscience go there.
Besides, my heart is pounding too fast.
It’s from the incident, I tell myself.
It’s from the adrenaline rush.
It’s not from feelings.
I don’t feel a thing.
I leave the men’s room, take a drink from the water fountain, and wipe my hand across my mouth.
When I look up, she’s there.
With outstretched arms, she spins in a circle, waiting for an appraisal of her new outfit.
Her new, jaw-dropping, sexy-as-sin, might-as-well-throw-in-the-towel-and-raise-the-white-flag-of-surrender outfit.
What the hell was I thinking?
I clearly wasn’t using my brain at all. Because she’s even more alluring in this garb.
She’s only wearing the chef jacket and heels.
“Are you…?” I gesture to the outfit, the end of my words making my meaning clear? Are you naked under that?
She rolls her eyes. “Please. I have on my alpaca panties.”
“Alpaca panties?”
Her eyes twinkle. “I couldn’t resist. There was a sale on cute animal print undies with faces, you know, right here.” She gestures to her pelvis. “A six pack of giraffes, zebras, dolphins, and llamas too.” She casts her eyes down. “Wait. I have on the llama ones. I always get them confused.”
“Alpacas have shorter ears. Llama ears are banana length.”
She snaps her fingers. “Yes. Exactly. I’m wearing the big-eared animal undies, so it’s totally fine.”
Great. Now I’m thinking of her in underwear. In fucking llama underwear. Precisely the visual I’ve assembled way too many times without help, thank you very much. Minus the llamas, of course.
She tugs at the hem of the jacket, revealing the bare flesh of her thigh.
“Lulu.” It comes out like a warning.
She laughs at me. “Relax. I’m tiny; this jacket is huge. It’s like a short dress on me.”
“A very short dress.”
“I can handle a short dress. I’ve worn shorter.”
“Shorter as in ass-cheek length, Lulu?”
Her eyebrows wiggle. Her eyes—green and not so green—sparkle. “Yes. I’ve worn ass-cheek length, Leo. But I’m still decent. And you’re still my hero.”
She leans closer, rises on tippy toes, and moves her lips close, closer, closest. She dusts those lips across my cheek, and it’s like she’s an arsonist.
In one swift move, I’m on fire.

About Lauren Blakely:
About Lauren Blakely:
A #1 New York Times Bestselling and #1 Wall Street Journal Bestselling author, Lauren Blakely is known for her contemporary romance style that’s sweet, sexy and witty. Her heroines are strong and smart and her heroes have hearts of gold and fantastic funny bones. She lives in California with her family, including her smoking hot and hilarious husband and her two brilliant and kind children. She has plotted entire novels while walking her dogs — she might have four dogs, or maybe five. If she’s lucky, she’ll soon have six dogs. With fourteen New York Times bestsellers, her titles have appeared on the New York Times, USA Today, and Wall Street Journal Bestseller Lists more than 100 times, and she’s sold more than 3 million books. In January she’ll release BIRTHDAY SUIT, in March BEST LAID PLANS and in April THE FEEL-GOOD FACTOR. To receive an email when Lauren releases a new book, sign up for her newsletter! laurenblakely.com/newsletter


Zane Phillips mistook me for his dog walker. It shouldn’t surprise me that the man with a suit more expensive than my rent would assume that I was there to serve him. The positive? I put him in his place. The negative? I missed my job interview because of it. Now I find out he’s a rich Australian entrepreneur, and he wants to make up for tanking my interview.
Yes, he’s impossibly hot – but he’s also an arrogant jackass – so…no thanks.
But after a little white lie I tell spirals out of control, I’m somehow offered the chance to play Zane’s girlfriend to help promote his new dating website – and the best part? He can’t say no because he’ll get caught in his lie, too.
Little did I know this would entail sharing a tour bus with him for the next few months. The fact that the bus has just one bed isn’t the most ideal of circumstances, but this spokesperson gig might be the kick in the pants my career needs, so why not take a chance?
Famous last words.
Now I’m crisscrossing the country – and sharing that bed – with the one guy I can’t stand. And even worse, my traitorous body is wondering at every turn what it’s like to be down under the gorgeous Australian. But as the miles unfurl, so does our passion…and if I’m not careful, I might end up believing that fairy tales really do come true.

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New York Times Bestselling author K. Bromberg writes contemporary novels that contain a mixture of sweet, emotional, a whole lot of sexy, and a little bit of real. She likes to write strong heroines, and damaged heroes who we love to hate and hate to love.
A mom of three, she plots her novels in between school runs and soccer practices, more often than not with her laptop in tow.
Since publishing her first book in 2013, Kristy has sold over one million copies of her books across sixteen different countries and has landed on the New York Times, USA Today, and Wall Street Journal Bestsellers lists over twenty-five times. Her Driven trilogy (Driven, Fueled, and Crashed) is currently being adapted for film by Passionflix with the first movie slated to release in the summer of 2018.
She is currently working on her Everyday Heroes trilogy. This series consists of three complete standalone novels—Cuffed, Combust, and Cockpit (late spring 2018)—and is about three brothers who are emergency responders, the jobs that call to them, and the women who challenge them.
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Blurb:
From the time I was a kid, I knew I wanted a job helping people. After serving in the Rifles regiment of the British Army, I focused my civilian career on becoming a bodyguard to the rich and famous. For a Cockney Brit, I never imagined a twist of fate landing me a position in the United States Secret Service and protecting the President’s son. But then my boss made an unexpected request: leave my current placement to move in with his only daughter to give an added layer of protection against the threats she had been receiving. I’d never lived with a woman who was off-limits to me. It wasn’t just that Caroline had a boyfriend. She was my best friend’s sister, and my boss’s daughter. But the longer we’re in such close quarters together, the greater the temptation grows, but I know I’ll lose everything if I pursue her.
Growing up as the only girl and with two overbearing older brothers, I’m no stranger to being overprotected. Just as I finished up college and prepared to truly dip my toes into the adult world, my father was elected President of the United States, which added a whole new level of protection with the Secret Service team attached to me. Just when I thought I couldn’t possibly be more smothered, I began receiving threats, and my family decided it wasn’t enough to just have an agent living down the hall from me. Nope, I was to have one move in with me, and not just any agent, but Ty Frasier—my brother, Barrett’s best friend, and my brother, Ty’s, head agent. While most women would enjoy living with a sexy, buff Brit, having a roommate threw a wrench into all my plans. Especially when I began noticing Ty was so much more than a hot guy.

After we spent a considerable amount of time perusing the aisles of the Piggly Wiggly, Caroline was finally finished, and we made our way to the checkout. In true small town fashion, she struck up a conversation with the middle-aged cashier. While she appeared utterly charming, I probably came off as an ass because I kept looking around and narrowing my eyes at anyone who might look suspicious. Especially the male middle-aged cashier who seemed utterly enthralled by Caroline.
At the sight of us coming out the mechanized doors, Stuart began easing the SUV closer to our place on the curb. After popping the hatch, Caroline wheeled the cart over to the back of the SUV. Just as I was about to start helping her with the bags, I heard a shout behind me. “Hey! Come back here.”
Whirling around, I saw a man waving wildly at Caroline. “Fuck! Assailant!” Stuart shouted.
I shoved myself between the man and Caroline, shielding her from him. Grabbing her by the waist, I hoisted her up and threw her in the back of the SUV. “Omph!” she cried as her body bounced on the carpeting of the hatch. After slamming the door, I stepped back just as Stuart screeched away from the curb.
Now that I knew Caroline was safe, I turned my attention back to the man. Hurling myself at him, I took him down to the curb. “What are you doing?” he demanded.
“Stay down. I’m calling the police.”
“The police? But what did I do?”
“You’ve been harassing the President’s daughter.”
“I just came out to give her the coupons she forgot.”
“What?”
He nodded. “Look in my right hand.”
After rocking back on my knees, I grabbed his arm and pried the contents out of his hand. Once I unraveled it, I grimaced. “Son of a bitch.”
I had completely and utterly misread the situation. Speaking into my microphone, I said, “Stuart, it’s a false alarm.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” he blared into my ear.
“No, I’m not.”
“We’re headed back.”
“Roger.”
I figured then it was past time for me to get off the man. I rose to my feet before reaching down to help him up. I brushed off his white shirt I had accidentally dirtied when I knocked him to the ground. Upon closer inspection, I saw the nametag on his shirt. “Sheldon, I’m terribly sorry for my actions.”
He narrowed his brown eyes at me. “I think it’s me who needs to be calling the police.”
“That won’t be necessary.” Reaching into my pocket, I fished out my badge. As I flashed it at him, I said, “Agent Fraser with the U.S. Secret Service.”
His eyes bulged before he gasped. “Wait, that was President Callahan’s daughter?”
“Yes, sir, it was. I hope you can understand that we take the safety of the president’s children very seriously, and upon first reflection, it appeared you might’ve been preparing to harm Ms. Callahan.”
“Oh, no. I would never want to do that. I voted for her dad. Never thought I’d vote for an Independent, but he won me over.”
“I’m happy to hear that, sir. I certainly hope this unfortunate incident won’t in anyway skew your views on him.”
He waved a hand dismissively at me. “No, no. I understand. More than that, I can’t wait to go home and tell my wife that Caroline Callahan came into my store today.”
For my sake, I hoped he left out the part where a Secret Service agent mowed him down because he thought Piggly Wiggly coupons were a weapon. Once the other agents found out about this, I was going to catch hell in the form of their constant ribbing. At least Stuart would be going down with me. He’d made the assumption to start with.
After Stuart drove up, he made quick work of putting the SUV in park and opening the hatch. I hopped off the curb and went over to the back. Caroline sat with her knees pulled against her chest. When she pursed her lips at me, I held up my hands. “I’m sorry. It was a false alarm.”
“That’s what Stuart said.”
“We can never be too careful.”
An amused look twinkled in her blue eyes. “Apparently not when we find grocery cashiers a threat to my safety.”
“He appeared to have a weapon in his hand, and he was shouting at you,” I argued.
“I believe the weapon turned out to be coupons.”
Man, she was really on my dick about this one. Shit. I should never think of Caroline on my dick in any form or fashion. It was just too wrong. “Yes, the weapon turned out to be your coupons.”
“Right.”
I extended my hand to her. “Come on and get out, so we can load the groceries up and get the hell out of here.”
After I helped Caroline slide out of the back, she started helping me load the bags. “Should I go inside and offer an autograph to smooth things over? This is the closest grocery store to the apartment, so I’d hate to not ever be able to come here again because you clothes-lined a guy.”
“I didn’t clothes-line him. I merely took him down as part of protocol.”
“I’d say you lost your calling in football, that’s for sure.”


Katie Ashley is a New York Times, USA Today, and Amazon Best-Selling author of both Indie and Traditionally published books. She lives outside of Atlanta, Georgia with her daughter, Olivia, and her spoiled mutt, Duke. She has a slight obsession with Pinterest, The Golden Girls, Shakespeare, Harry Potter, Star Wars, and Scooby-Doo.
With a BA in English, a BS in Secondary English Education, and a Masters in Adolescent English Education, she spent eleven years teaching both middle and high school English, as well as a few adjunct college English classes. As of January 2013, she hung up her red pen and expo markers to become a full-time writer. Each and every day she counts her blessings to be able to do her dream job.
Although her roots are firmly planted in the red Georgia clay, she loves traveling the country and world to meet readers and hang out with fellow authors. When she’s not writing or chasing down her toddler, you might find her watching reruns of The Golden Girls, reading historical biographies, along with romance novels, or spending way too much time on Facebook.

Dear Mister…**strike out** no, too formal.
Hey there sweet cheeks *strike out* no, too forward.
To whom it may concern,
Full disclosure; before we move forward with this email, I would like it to be known that I have consumed an adequate amount of alcoholic beverages to intoxicate myself tonight. Three margaritas, two shots, and one beer—because it was free.
I think it’s important to be open and honest with your co-workers, don’t you?
So here I am, being honest. Drunk but honest. Or just drunk with lust? You decide.
I like you so much it’s clouding my judgment and making me do things I never would sober. Like write this letter.
I have a hopeless, foolish, schoolgirl crush on you when you are the last person on earth I should be falling for. Did you know people around the office call you a sadist? An egomaniac. An insensitive, arrogant prick. Your bark is worse then your bite, and you don’t scare me. The fact is, I’d love that bite of yours to nip at my bare skin while we’re both wearing nothing but sheets.
For once I want you to look at me as more than one of your employees.
And as long as we’re being honest, that navy blue suit you wear? With the crisp white shirt? It really makes me want to loosen your tie and show you who’s boss.
Love,
Sincerely,
Yours.

Like a goddamn ray of sunshine, light streaming behind her from the window, a halo shining above her pretty head.
Her lying, beautiful head.
Dark hair, wavy and glossy, down around her shoulders, the rich color picking up red from the sun.
She’s holding a glass—it’s poised at her lips and she’s about to take a sip—when our eyes meet. She lowers it, her mouth parts, and her smile spreads.
Until I scowl. Then, her face morphs from happy to concerned in a second. Damn right she should be concerned.
I nod.
She nods.
My eyes trail down the front of her and I note her dress—it’s baby blue, wrapped and tied at the waist, and shows off her curves while highlighting her legs in those sexy-as-shit heels.
Stop thinking about her curves and legs. You’re not here to admire her.
The pile of gifts in the corner pisses me off, bringing me back into the present, back to my rage, and has me lifting my arm; crooking my finger.
Peyton’s brows go up at the same time her head cocks and she pokes a finger into her own chest. “Me?”
“Yeah. You.” I know she can’t hear me, but I say it anyway—and if she’s any good at reading lips, she’ll haul her ass over here right quick.
Her cup is passed. Skirt gets smoothed out. Chin tilts high.
She heads over.
Good girl.
“Follow me,” I order her when we’re on the outskirts of the room. When we’re clear across the office common area, I pivot to face her.
She’s shorter, even in heels, so I have to dip my head to glare at her. “Want to tell me exactly what the fuck is going on in there?”

Tracey’s Review
A self-made man, Rome Blackburn definitely needs to lighten up. I mean, all work and no play, well, we know how that ends up, and Rome is in definite need of an attitude adjustment. Enter Rome’s employee Peyton, and her hidden unrequited lust. With the help of lots of alcohol and a tech-savvy friend, her secret’s out, except…not exactly.
Oh, my goodness, this book. I’m going to be honest, I wasn’t quite sure what to expect from LOVE, SINCERELY YOURS, but I absolutely loved it! From start to finish, authors Meghan Quinn and Sara Ney had me laughing out loud as I followed the goings-on of Rome and Peyton and their unconventional office romance. The back and forth between them, the slow steamy build-up, made for one of the most enjoyable rom-coms I’ve come across lately.
I think that one of things that really worked for me was the way that Rome, a guy that you really just wanted to punch in the throat at the beginning of the story, changes and evolves. Peyton is full of sass and isn’t afraid to use it, along with her business smarts, to help Rome see what he’s missing, both in the office and out.
LOVE, SINCERELY, YOURS will have you snickering, smiling, doing all of the laughing, and should most certainly be on your TBR. As an addendum, I will say that I listened to the audiobook, and narrators Ava Erickson and Alexander Cendese nailed these characters, making the story that much more fun. Grab this 4-5 star gem now, and thank me later.

Sara Ney is the USA Today Bestselling Author of the How to Date a Douchebag series, and is best known for her sexy, laugh-out-loud New Adult romances. Among her favorite vices, she includes: iced latte’s, historical architecture and well-placed sarcasm. She lives colorfully, collects vintage books, art, loves flea markets, and fancies herself British.
She lives with her husband, children, and her ridiculously large dog.
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Born in New York and raised in Southern California, Meghan has grown into a sassy, peanut butter eating, blonde haired swearing, animal hoarding lady. She is known to bust out and dance if “It’s Raining Men” starts beating through the air and heaven forbid you get a margarita in her, protect your legs because they may be humped.
Once she started commuting for an hour and twenty minutes every day to work for three years, she began to have conversations play in her head, real life, deep male voices and dainty lady coos kind of conversations. Perturbed and confused, she decided to either see a therapist about the hot and steamy voices running through her head or start writing them down. She decided to go with the cheaper option and started writing… enter her first novel, Caught Looking.
Now you can find the spicy, most definitely on the border of lunacy, kind of crazy lady residing in Colorado with the love of her life and her five, furry four legged children, hiking a trail or hiding behind shelves at grocery stores, wondering what kind of lube the nervous stranger will bring home to his wife. Oh and she loves a good boob squeeze!
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EXCERPT:
As I peruse the scenes, the opening notes of a song filter from the front of my townhome. What the hell? Did I leave the streaming app open on my phone? I step away from the counter and head to the front door, looking for my phone, even though I swear I had it with me in the kitchen.
The song grows louder, and it’s not coming from my cell at all. It’s coming from outside. I peer through the peephole.
I jerk back.
Rub my eyes.
What the hell?
Am I really seeing what I’m seeing? I don’t think I had that much wine. I had one sip.
Fine, fine. One large sip. One very large, very hearty sip. All right, it was a gulp.
But I can’t possibly be hallucinating, can I?
I peek again, and holy smokes.
There’s a guy on my front lawn going full Lloyd Dobler.
The hair on the back of my neck stands on end, and my paranoid brain leaps three thousand steps ahead. Did he escape from Alcatraz? Is he going to bang down my door? Attack me?
I pivot and grab the baseball bat I keep handy. As the youngest sister of two older brothers, I’ve learned a few valuable lessons: boys are trouble, pizza is good cold, and always keep a baseball bat near the door and/or bed.
With my bat in hand, I scurry to the kitchen to grab my phone, then fly upstairs to the bedroom, taking the steps two by two.
I race into the bedroom, set the bat at my feet, and keep my phone clutched in my hand, ready to call 911 if need be. I pull back the white curtain a smidge.
And I nearly die laughing.
The song has stopped, and the Dobler wannabe is now kneeling on the ground, furiously hitting buttons on the boom box.
I peer around the curtain’s edge, and it’s like watching a sideshow act auditioning for my circus.
He hoists the boom box up above him again. A new tune plays. I cock my head, listening, and I cringe when I recognize the tune.
For real? Is he truly playing “Unzipped”? I could never stand that song when it was popular eight years ago. The music sounds like a can opener mating with a trombone. I wish he were playing Peter Gabriel’s “In Your Eyes,” like Dobler did in the film.
But as I study the bizarre suburban male mating ritual, I decide to award him points for sheer balls. He also deserves bonus points because he chose to go without the super cheesy trench coat that Dobler wore. It worked for Cusack, but on anyone else that attire screams serial killer.
This guy seems harmless.
And admittedly, from my vantage point two stories above, he’s kind of handsome with the glasses, the thick, floppy hair, and the jeans that fit nicely. Strong jaw too.
Fine, fine. He’s more than kind of handsome. He’s 100 percent good-looking, in that hot nerd kind of way.

Tracey’s Review
Let me begin by saying that I adore any and everything written by Lauren Blakely. But, oh, my gosh, I am in TOTAL LOVE with UNZIPPED. This story stole my heart, from the first chapter to the last, and it has to be one of my favorite LB stories EVER.
Who would think that one mistake would lead to the adventure of a lifetime, and true love with lots of fun along the way? Lauren continues to amaze me with her ability to create stories and characters that charm the ever-loving heck out of me, and make me laugh, swoon, and sizzle, often at the same time. Kyler and Finley may seem like an unlikely couple, but Lauren’s magical touch makes it easy to believe that they were meant to be all along. The fact that these two bring out both the sane and zany, the serious and the fun-loving in each other, cemented them as another favorite couple, and made their story one I’ll happily revisit again and again. Five happy stars for UNZIPPED – I literally could not get enough of this story, and recommend it as a must-read to fans of rom-com, 80’s movies, road trips, and soulmates.




About Lauren Blakely:
A #1 New York Times Bestselling author, and #1 Wall Street Journal Bestselling author, Lauren Blakely is known for her contemporary romance style that’s hot, sweet and sexy. She lives in California with her family, including her smoking hot and funny husband and her two brilliant and kind children. She has plotted entire novels while walking her dogs — she might have four dogs, or maybe five. If she’s lucky, she’ll soon have six dogs. With fourteen New York Times bestsellers, her titles have appeared on the New York Times, USA Today, and Wall Street Journal Bestseller Lists more than 100 times, and she’s sold more than 2.5 million books. In December she’ll release UNZIPPED, in January BIRTHDAY SUIT, and in March BEST LAID PLANS. To receive an email when Lauren releases a new book, sign up for her newsletter! laurenblakely.com/newsletter


Ghosts are real.
Well, technically speaking, maybe not. But the ones that haunt a man’s soul? Those are very real. So real, in fact, that there are times when Castiel would rather silence them forever in the worst way possible than to go on living with them haunting his every step.
All it took was one single second in time for his attention to drift, and everything changed.
Life as he once knew it, is over.
Now he’s struggling to make sense of the pieces that are left, and he’s fairly sure at least half of them are missing.
He’s living for three things now.
His club—the Bear Bottom Guardians.
His work as a police officer for Bear Bottom Police Department.
And the occasional glimpse of a girl that makes his spirit feel free.
Despite the ghosts that haunt him, he’s not willing to present them with another target. Which is why he has to stay away from her. He can’t touch her. He can’t talk to her. He can’t get anywhere near her.
Not and live with himself afterward.
The only problem is, Turner doesn’t care what Castiel wants. She also has a solution for his ghosts.
You may call her Ms. Ghostbuster.
iTunes and Nook: Coming soon

Lani Lynn Vale is a USA Today Bestselling Author of over thirty titles. She is married with three children, two dogs, two cats, a donkey, and a couple (a couple also meaning over twenty) chickens.
When she’s not writing, you can find her curled up in her favorite chair reading.
Lani is married with three children and lives in the Great State of Texas.
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“Sometimes love happens when you least expect it.” That was what my husband’s mistress told me the day I found out about their affair.I didn’t believe it until five minutes later when mouth-watering celebrity chef Tanner Reese walked up, tossed his arm around my shoulders, and told my cheating husband to take a hike.
Tanner and I couldn’t have been more different. He spent his weekends at clubs, rubbing elbows with fellow A-listers. I spent mine in yoga pants with cheese boards and a glass of wine—or six.
Our relationship shouldn’t have worked, but it did. That is until Tanner proved to me that even though love happens when you least expect it…
So does heartbreak.

EXCERPT:
I shifted the phone to my other ear and asked her, “Did you just get in bed?”
“If, by bed, you mean carrying a glass of wine out back to swing in the hammock, maybe.”
I bit my bottom lip, my head falling back against the headrest. For most men, this would have been an innocuous statement. But for a hammock connoisseur like myself, this was the normal guy equivalent of her saying that she liked to give blowjobs during halftime.
“You have a hammock out back?”
There was a delay in her response, which was followed by a subtle kiss of her lips on what I assumed was a wine glass. “Don’t knock it until you try it. It’s one of the most underrated luxuries in outdoor furniture.”
“Oh, I’m not knocking anything. Rope or quilted?”
“Mayan, actually.”
“Oh, sweet heavenly baby Jesus, she’s beautiful and knows her hammocks. I’ve never been so turned on in my life.”
She giggled, pausing for another sip. “You know, if you leaked this hammock fetish to the press, you could probably increase demand by five million percent and singlehandedly lower the country’s unemployment rate.”
Okay, so at some point during the day, she’d figured out who I was.
But! Even with this knowledge, she was trying to avoid a date with me and was not elbow-deep in planning our televised wedding. This was a definite plus in my book.
“Yeah, but then, when I talked to beautiful women like yourself, I’d have no idea if the hammock was your idea or a ploy to impress me.”
“Jeez, that’s sad, Tanner,” she said, her sweet Southern accent like a wave rolling over my name.
I’d meant it as a joke, but it was the absolute truth when it came to dating. Early on in my career, I’d done a rapid-fire interview about my personal life. One of the questions had been: What would your ideal woman order on the first date? Truth be told, the only thing I hoped my ideal woman would order was something she wanted. I didn’t factor into that. But I’d been on my last question in my last interview of the last day of a month-long press tour. My face had hurt from fake smiling, I’d been in desperate need of a shower, a smoke, and sleep, and my mind had been mush, so I’d prattled off the first thing that had come to mind: shrimp and grits.
That one little answer somehow made it onto my Wiki page, and after that, every woman I’d taken out ordered shrimp and grits. One of them even had a shellfish allergy and nearly ended up in the hospital. And this insanity was not limited to women outside of the spotlight.
I’d once gone on a date with America’s princess of pop, Levee Williams. We’d hit it off at a charity event. For one of the most famous women in the world, she was a surprisingly nice girl, gorgeous, and funny as all get out. But the first time I took her out? One guess what she ordered.
I was at the end of my rope with dating and lost my freaking mind before storming out like an asshole. That night, as I was reporting shrimp and fucking grits as an error to Wiki, I noticed that her page listed it as her favorite food. I’d never had the balls to contact her again, and I once hid behind a palm tree on Rodeo Drive when I heard the clamoring of paparazzi calling her name. But that’s neither here nor there.
In short, while finding a woman was all too easy, dating was hard.
But that wasn’t about to stop me from trying with Rita.

Tracey’s Review
I’m going to be honest, I generally associate an Aly Martinez book with angst and heartache, but, let me tell you, ACROSS THE HORIZON is a whole different animal. A contemporary romance filled with plenty of laugh-out-loud moments and seriously sexy scenes, this book quickly became one of my favorites of 2018.
I’m a picky reader, and an unabashed DNFer, should the situation arise. I’ll give a book my best effort, but, if it’s not doing it for me, well, my TBR is long, and there are deadlines to meet. This book, though, this absolutely delicious book, had me from the first scene. I mean, I couldn’t put it down. The chemistry and just absolute rightness between Tanner and Rita is instantaneous and non-stop. If there are two people that shouldn’t be together, but unquestionably must be, this is the couple. They just work. They get each other, and reading their story put me in a great mood that didn’t let up.
I love angsty reads as much as the next person, and, yes, there are are some somber moments for Tanner and Rita, but I am over the moon to be wrapping up my reading year with a book like ACROSS THE HORIZON. It’s a definite must-read if you’ve read the books in the Darkest Sunrise duet (I have not, but am totally jonesing for more Porter and Charlotte, now that I’ve met them in ACROSS THE HORIZON), or if you’re just looking for a feel-good read that will have you making a fool of yourself for laughing out loud in public. Do yourself a favor and add this one to your reading list, because this 4.5 ‘Can’t Stop Smiling Stars’ treat is not to be missed.

Originally from Savannah, Georgia, USA Today bestselling author Aly Martinez now lives in South Carolina with her four young children.
Never one to take herself too seriously, she enjoys cheap wine, mystery leggings, and baked feta. It should be known, however, that she hates pizza and ice cream, almost as much as writing her bio in the third person.
She passes what little free time she has reading anything and everything she can get her hands on, preferably with a super-sized tumbler of wine by her side.
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It’s not you. It’s me.
No, seriously. It is me. Not only does my name literally mean “unfortunate,” but that’s the story of my life.
Everything I touch turns to cr*p. An apartment fire—that I swear I was not responsible for—means I’m living back at home with my s*x-mad parents. Yay, me!
Which is why I need my new job as personal assistant to Cameron Reid to get back on my feet. Three months in this job and I can move back out and, hopefully, remember to turn off my flat iron once in a while.
Ahem.
On paper, my job is easy. Make coffee. Book appointments. Keep everything in order.
Until I walk in on my boss, half-naked, wearing nothing but the kind of tiny white towel that dreams are made of.
Now, nothing is easy—except our mutual attraction. But he’s my boss, and you know what they say about mixing work and pleasure: unless you do p*rn, it’s just not worth it.
Or is it?

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About Emma Hart
Emma Hart is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of over thirty novels and has been translated into several different languages.
She is a mother, wife, lover of wine, Pink Goddess, and valiant rescuer of wild baby hedgehogs.
Emma prides herself on her realistic, snarky smut, with comebacks that would make a PMS-ing teenage girl proud.
Yes, really. She’s that sarcastic.

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