Genre: Contemporary Romance

Release Date: September 15th

Adler Haley writes great sex…just not under her name. And certainly not about her experiences—or lack thereof. There’s no safer place to express herself than behind the obscurity of ghostwriting romance novels. By day, Adler’s perfectly content to blend in at her boring nine-to-five as an executive assistant. At least until she meets Joel—her new boss who has her wondering if love at first sight is more than just fiction.

Joel Lewis is convinced that relationships bring out the bad in people. And marriage? The worst. Ask his parents. His siblings. And his ex-girlfriend. Needing a fresh start, Joel trades the Big Apple to take the helm at a struggling venture capitalist firm in Denver. After meeting his new assistant, he has to work overtime to fight his feelings and adhere to the no-relationships policy he’s instated for his life.

Armed with The F-Buddy Rules for Survival, a clever set of guidelines designed to keep their friendship fun and fun only, Adler and Joel find themselves whisked into the most entertaining ‘situationship’of their lives. But it’s not long before Adler discovers a major issue with the rules—they weren’t meant to protect her from falling in love. They were only ever meant to keep Joel from finding out.

Exclusive Excerpt

“Adler, come on. It’s not like that.” He trails behind me, easily catching me with his long stride. I spin around. My hair fans out before curling around my neck.

“Please don’t patroni—”

He grabs my wrists and yanks me into the hard wall of his chest while pressing his large hand firmly against the small of my back, locking me against him. His cool, smooth lips brush against my ear. “It’s not like that.” His low grumble of a whisper sends a bristly chill down my neck. “I don’t want you to feel upset again.”

“Then what do you want?”

“What I want is to take my shirt back right here, right now, and show you how I really feel about you. I’d erase all that self-doubt bouncing around in your head by worshipping your body all night.”

My mouth falls open and makes an audible pop when I quickly force my lips back together. Did I daydream so hard that it literally came into fruition? I’m going to start dreaming about a gazillion dollars tomorrow. My wishes for this evening are spent.

“Um...”

Be brave, Adler. Follow the feeling.

I rise onto my tippy toes which doesn’t do much in these boots. I’m already as tall as I can be and Joel still towers over me. I wrap my hand around his neck and pause for a moment, giving him a final opportunity to stop me.

He doesn’t take it. Instead, he follows my lead and leans down so his lips meet mine. He smothers my body with his, wrapping me in the delicious smell of his cologne. It’s so familiar, like I recognize it from a dream. His hand flies to the back of my head, weaving in my hair as he holds my face against his. He presses deeper. His tongue unleashes. I eagerly part my lips to let him taste me.

This tug. This pang. This swoop. This singe.

Yes.

Joel’s other hand drifts south from the small of my back to my backside. His hand is as greedy as his tongue. It dips even lower and he plays with the tail of his shirt on me, sneaking under it so he can feel the bare skin of my rear. The night air is ice but his hands are on fire. I suspend between the two sensations in perfect balance. I melt right into him.

I want more.

There’s no overanalyzing his lips, his hands, or the feel of his stubble against my cheek. I borrow his breath and then I send it right back as I let a small moan escape my mouth onto his lips. The gears turn in perfect tandem and I click right into place in Joel’s arms, where I think I belong.

“Jokes aside—do you want to come up?” I’m breathless as I reluctantly break our kiss. My heart is racing out of control.

“Adler…” Joel hangs his head. “Believe me, I want to. So bad. But I told you, I’m not looking for a relationship.”

“I just asked if you wanted to come up. I didn’t exactly profess my love to you.” Am I begging? New low, Adler. New low!

Joel grabs the tips of my fingers and squeezes them one by one, tenderly. “Please understand that I mean this as a compliment. I know enough about you by now to say you deserve so much more than what I can give you. Can we just be friends?”

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About the Author

Kay Cove writes contemporary romance novels that are sweet and steamy. She loves strong and witty heroines that aren’t afraid to go toe-to-toe with an alpha hero. Her favorite writing weapon of choice? Banter.

Born in Colorado Springs, but raised all over (thanks military!), Kay Cove loves hiking on snow-capped mountains, blowing raspberries on her sons’ super pudgy baby bellies, and heated debates with her husband about topics such as the difference between turtles and tortoises, Marvel trivia, and most importantly—who misplaced the remote.

Kay, a former HR professional (survivor), startup junkie, and former CEO of the teeniest, tiniest virtual assistant company, has been writing pretty much forever. She finally decided at age thirty to start writing the stories she loves to read and to actually share the novels she poured countless hours, tears, sweat, and coffee into.

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Genre: Contemporary Romance

My second chance at love starts with one spontaneous, harebrained paparazzi stunt.

I’m ready to navigate life after my recent divorce and I’m determined to find a way to give my four-year-old son the stability he deserves. The problem is that the only thing on my resume is ‘artist’ and it’s not paying the bills.

An impromptu paparazzi stunt—the product of wrong place, wrong time—threw me in front of the cameras and right into Hollywood actor Chase Ford. Literally. It's just a ruse but the way he snakes his muscular arm around my waist protectively in front of the flashing bulbs…claiming me as his girlfriend…it doesn’t feel so fake…

Our tabloid photo catches on like wildfire and we decide to strike a deal. Chase desperately needs a PR facelift to save his career and me playing the sweetheart, down-to-earth, F-boy tamer in front of the media should do just the trick. In exchange, Chase is going to help me keep my family home.

It should be simple. Temporary. One summer.

But there’s something so unexpected about him. Who knew a drool-worthy, A-list celebrity, known for his playboy antics, could be this genuine? This deep. This worthy.

It’s only once I’ve warmed up to the idea of something real that our baggage breaks open. The ghosts of Chase’s past and mine work together to challenge us with the painful reality we’re not ready to face: not all love is created equal and sometimes perfect isn’t enough.

If you love heartfelt, humorous, and steamy contemporary romances with a fake dating, single mom, and second chance romance tropes, you’ll love Paint Me Perfect! Book #1 in the Love, Me & the 303 Series.

Exclusive Excerpt

I underestimated Noa. She wasn’t exaggerating when she said she had a knack for this game. I spent the last decade of my life in what felt like a never-ending afterparty, so I thought I’d easily own this game but here I am barefoot, hatless, shirtless, and very close to losing my pants.

“That’s make it, take it. Give the balls back,” Noa says with a competitive edge in her voice. I stand on my side of the table and watch her eyes devour me. This is a new side of Noa. It is clear she doesn’t want to talk. She wants to play with the sexual pull between us and see where it takes us before the clock runs out. “You still owe me one.”

“Fine, what’ll it be?” I pretend like losing wounds me. I haven’t even had a chance to toss a ball yet. But truthfully, I’m loving watching Noa’s sexy ass dominate the game.

“This time—truth.”

I bounce the little white balls back to Noa across the table. “All right, ask your question.”

“How many women have you actually slept with?”

“Three—wait, you mean like at once, right?”

Noa flinches and shortstops on her follow-through. The ball banks off the rim of a cup on the edge of the pyramid and plummets to the floor. She misses for the first time. “What?”

“Kidding. Made you miss.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s a penalty.”

“I’m pretty sure I wrote the house rules and it’s not.”

“Well, I’m still going to need an actual number,” Noa says as she prepares to throw the second ball.

“I told you I don’t keep a running tally. So, what do you want to know?”

“A general ballpark. Like on a scale from virgin to the women’s clinic having a wanted poster of you—where do you fall?”

“Fine. Hmmm. Metaphors. More than a baseball team but less than an NFL roster. Satisfied?”

Noa’s wrist flops as she sloppily flings the second ball, missing again. Smoke is coming from her ears as she wracks her brain trying to remember how many players are on an NFL team.

“Fifty-three is the number you’re looking for.”

She pulls a disgusted face. “I sincerely hope you get tested.”

“Routinely. And I said less than. Anyway—my turn.” I fetch the little white balls that rolled off the table. “You’re not getting these back by the way.”

Noa’s good, but I have a definite height advantage. I have at least seven inches on her and the span of my reach alone gives me the competitive edge. I easily plop two balls, one right after the other, in the same cup on her side of the table.

“That’s worth three,” I say. “And give the balls back.”

Noa sends them back with a pout on her face. Yeah, yeah, honey. You’ve met your match. “What’s your pick?”

“You already know. Strip, strip, and then strip.”

She kicks off her flip flops. She peels off her tank top and pulls her hair free of the tie around it. Her thick dark hair falls across her shoulders covering most of her chest.

“You can’t seriously think I’m going to accept a hair tie as an article of clothing.”

“I accepted your hat.”

“That’s totally different. A hat covers something. A hair tie just holds something.”

“You’re cute when you’re whining, Chase Ford.”

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