Excerpt of Beautiful Fall

When resort heiress Elizabeth Rivers is forced to work with her nemesis, Brett freaking Carmichael, sparks fly and she learns he’s a force to be reckoned with.

Read an excerpt of chapter 10 of my steamy contemporary romance, Beautiful Fall.

Title: Beautiful Fall

The second standalone in the Beautiful Rivers Series

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Chapter Ten

Three days later, I’m in the kitchen of cottage five, leaning on the center island and making notes about a possible addition to our marketing campaign. I had a brainstorm during my quick meeting with Rod, which just ended, and wanted to capture my ideas before I lost them.

Cottage five is next in line to get stripped on the inside, and work is set to start sometime today, but for the moment I’m in here alone. It’s quiet and peaceful, and the sound of the nearby ocean is drifting in through the open front door. The only other sound is the scratching of my pen on the cream-colored paper in my Moleskine notebook, which is nearly full already.

I’m almost finished with my notes when I hear the sound of heavy boots coming through the front door—a worker finally arriving to begin demolition, no doubt—and hurry to finish my thought so I can get out of the way. Too late, I realize who else it might be and, sure enough, I raise my head to find Brett Carmichael coming around the corner and into the kitchen.

He stops when he sees me and I straighten, pen still in hand.

Crap. We’ll be working together on this project for months, and yet here it is only a few days since the last time I saw him and already I’m alone with him again. Even though he’s clear across the room, my senses heighten at the sight of him.

I try to maintain my cool. “Mr. Carmichael.”

“Elizabeth.”

Lizzy.

“I think I owe you an apology,” he says, slowly starting to come around the island.

Matching his pace, I begin circling the island as well, in the opposite direction. Because he needs to stay over there. Because all he has on is slacks and a collared shirt, nothing fancy, but god, he looks delectable. His broad chest fills out his shirt nicely and the hard knots of his biceps look perfectly squeezable. Plus those eyes. I really love those eyes.

So, yeah, over there.

“You already apologized.”

He stops and I stop too. I realize I’ve left my notebook and bag on the countertop. They’re now closer to him. Over there.

“It wasn’t appropriate. I didn’t mean to… attack you like that.”

I furrow my brows. Attack me? God, it’s not like I didn’t want him to kiss me. You know, in that moment.

Okay, maybe a little in this moment too. But, no, no, no. I just have to keep him over there so the energy that’s already passing between us doesn’t become unbearable. If he gets too close, I’m afraid I won’t be able to resist him. And I do want to resist him. I’ve already decided that.

“You didn’t,” I say, as he takes a step, this time going in the other direction. I also take a step in the other direction, maintaining the distance between us.

He stops and I stop too.

He cocks his head and holds my eyes. “What are you doing?” he asks, his voice sounding both curious and amused, as if he’s suddenly realized what I’m doing. And why.

“Hmm?” I say, because my muddled brain can’t seem to come up with a better response then, I’m keeping you and your dangerous body the fuck over there.

His gaze gets more intense. Without him moving the slightest bit closer to me, the space between us heats up and shrinks. Oh, shit. I’m in trouble now.

He takes another step toward me, then another, holding my eyes. I only manage half a step back, toward the counter behind me.

“Are you afraid of me?”

“No.”

The honest answer, in case you’re having trouble following along, is yes.

“Then why,” he asks, coming yet closer, rounding the corner of the island, “are you once again backing away from me?” There’s nothing between us now and the air is starting to crackle.

“I’m not.” My rear hits the counter behind me and I grab it with both hands, the pen clicking against the surface, my eyes locked on his.

“Elizabeth.”

“Lizzy.”

He stops his advance, cocking his head again. “Lizzy?”

Oh shit. I did not mean to say that. But it’s hard to think with my blood pounding the way it is. “People close to me call me Lizzy,” I offer, as if that’s some sort of explanation.

Well, that didn’t help matters at all.

His eyes sharpen with heat and oh, here he comes again. “You want me to get close to you?”

“No, I…” God, he’s right here. “I don’t know why I said that.”

“I think you do,” he says quietly. He’s stopped moving, but he’s just in front of me now, mere inches separating us. My eyes dart from his eyes to his lips.

“I don’t…” my voice is barely audible.

His eyes hold mine and my whole body is pulsing. This electricity between us is so overpowering. It’s taking over everything. I had decided I didn’t want this and yet once again my gaze falls—dammit—from his eyes to his lips.

I realize mine are parted slightly. I lick them and press them closed determinedly. He watches me do it. “I don’t…” I try again. I don’t like feeling so out of control. I gather what little scraps of willpower I have left. “…like you.”

I said it to try to push him away, but the words out of my mouth feel terrible. In fact, they feel like a wicked little lie.

He doesn’t move one whit. In fact, his only reaction is to blink, twice.

I want to take it back. But I don’t. Because then he’ll kiss me, I know he will. And I had decided I don’t want him to kiss me. This is so not going according to plan.

He straightens slightly, looking me in the eye with such intensity I forget all about his lips. “Is that so?” he asks quietly.

I stand there frozen, hands still gripping the counter behind me, as he slowly lifts his hand toward my face. I don’t move at all. I don’t take my eyes off his. His fingertips touch my skin—like a crack of lightning in a stormy sky—and he runs them down my cheek, leaving fire in their wake. My entire body weakens, and my arms slowly go slack.

My eyes still held by his, his fingers move to my neck. My vein pulses hard against him and my breath catches in my chest. His fingers continue their downward path, his sharp eyes observing my every reaction. When he rests the tip of his fingers at the tender base of my neck, I exhale shakily.

“I think you like me fine.”

At last his eyes drop from mine and he follows the track his fingers are burning along my exposed collar bone. His fingers trace the curve of my shoulder, tucking underneath my long hair. My pulse is reverberating thickly through my entire body. I’m barely breathing.

I want him to kiss me. I want him to kiss me like the fucking devil I know he is.

“I think you don’t want to like me.” He lightly plays with my hair, still watching his hand, sending waves of shivers over me. “If you want to know the truth, I don’t want to like you either,” but his voice is full of heat, and when he looks back at my eyes I’m gripped in the thunderstorm. “At least… not like this.”

Fuck. I would lean in and kiss him myself, but I’m caught in the intensity of his gaze and can’t move. Can’t think. Can’t breathe.

His hand lifts to the base of my neck and his fingers curl into my hair. His other hand runs along my hip then curls around my lower back. Our chests touch lightly at first, then more firmly. My arms have circled around him too, but his mouth still hovers just over mine.

***

“Beautiful Fall is a wonderful story full of desire, angst, and so much passion! A definite one-click buy!” – Rachel at Behind Closed Doors

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Excerpt of Midnight Heat

After being nearly left at the altar, Chloe rebounds in one perfect, mind-numbing night of passion. But Grayson is way too much, way too soon. Panicked, Chloe takes off without a word, then regrets it for months.

Then Grayson storms back into her life, but this time he’s not alone. Chloe soon learns there’s only one word for watching your soul mate hook up with one of your best friends: Hell.

Scroll down to read an exclusive excerpt of chapter 8 of my steamy new adult romance, Midnight Heat.

Title: Midnight Heat

The second standalone in the Firework Girls Series

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Chapter Eight

The waiter has cleared away our platters, but we’re in no hurry to leave. The girls and I are chatting happily when I get a text from my brother.

Bobby: Almost there.

Me: Okay. We’re in the Sandbar finishing up appetizers and cocktails. You’re welcome to join us if you like.

I don’t get an answer back and take to checking the open patio doors that lead toward the lobby.

A minute later someone I know does walk through the doors. But it isn’t Bobby.

Walking smoothly onto the patio, his eyes sweep the area like he’s looking for someone. His eyes land for a moment on Sam. There’s a brief flicker of recognition, but then he sees me and instantly stops short.

Grayson.

I don’t think my heart is beating anymore. I know I’m not breathing. I’m confronted with such a confusing array of emotions I feel physically slapped.

I can’t move at all. He looks as shocked as I feel. There’s a sudden sharpness in his eyes. Anger. And it’s directed right at me. Oh god.

There’s this moment when I’m torn between wanting to run away in horror after what I did to him, and wanting to launch myself into his arms and beg him to forgive me.

This is what happens in the next moment.

Sam glances toward the door and says, “Oh, there he is!”

It happens in slow motion and is as confusing and disorienting as a dream. Sam hops out of her chair. His eyes go to her and his expression changes. He looks like he’s still trying to recover from his shock, but he does a fair job of it. Better than me. I’m watching it all unfold with my mouth hanging open. He’s smiling. At Sam. I don’t understand why until she goes up to him and puts her arms around him and kisses him right on the lips.

That’s when my heart stops again and I look away. I can’t breathe. My heart hurts. It really hurts and I don’t think it’s beating.

Oh god, can a person die from shock?

She leads him back to our table and I hitch my mouth into a smile, trying to look normal. Do I look normal?

“Girls, this is Grayson,” Sam says. “Grayson these are my girlfriends, Ashley, Chloe—” his eyes flit to mine and I try to look normal, am I still smiling?—“and the lovely bride, Isabella.”

Then I remember. He’s met them before. Everyone but Sam. He and Mr. Greek God came right up to our table there in the Perched Owl.

The girls apparently don’t remember because they say some variation of the whole “nice to meet you” routine.

“Where’s your stuff?” Sam asks him.

His eyes flick away from mine and he looks at her. My Grayson is looking at My Sam and her arm is still around his waist. I can’t feel my body.

“I left my suitcase in the car,” he says. “I figured I’d find out where our room is first.”

Our room??

Oh my holy fucking god, if you have any mercy, strike me down right now.

“I’ll take you,” she says, leading him away. She glances back over her shoulders and gives us a wink.

I watch them go. He doesn’t turn back. They just disappear, on their way to get his suitcase and take it to their room where Sam’s going to do god knows what to him.

I take a sip of my water with trembling hands. I really can’t breathe.

“He’s cute,” Isabella says.

“He looks kind of familiar,” Ashley says.

I look at her in alarm.

She catches my expression and gives me a look of concern.

Oh, did I forget to keep the fake smile plastered on my face?

I pull my lips into a smile but it feels funny. Am I smiling?

“You okay?”

I stand and give a fake laugh. I even bat my hand at her like an idiot and say, “Of course, of course. Yes, I’m fine I just have to… go to my room for… something.”

I’m walking away from the table on unsteady legs.

“Uh… okay,” Ashley says. “See you at dinner.”

I raise one arm in acknowledgement but keep walking.

I exit the patio and make it to the sprawling lobby. It’s when I’m stuck waiting for the elevator that I realize I might see him.

Them.

I glance around but they’re nowhere in sight. At his car maybe? Has she been to his house? Has she been all over his house the way I was?

I punch the button again. I don’t want them to come in and see me standing here but I don’t know where else to go. I just have to get to my room.

The elevator dings and I squeeze through as soon as the gap is big enough to admit me. I’m punching the round “7” button before the doors even finish opening.

I punch it again. “7.” Then the “Close door” button. Why do those never, ever work? What’s even the point of them? I glance at the lobby again, which I have a clear view of because the doors are still all the way open. I still don’t see them. As I’m pummeling the “7” button, the doors finally close and I’m on my way.

As I clear the lobby level, the glass back of the compartment opens up to provide a view of the grounds and, as the car goes higher, the coast. I was enjoying this view earlier, when I’d checked in and brought my suitcase up to the room, but I keep my back to it now. I’m gripping the brass hand rail and bending part way over.

I can hardly think. All I can see in my mind is Grayson and Sam kissing each other hello then walking off together. My Grayson and my Sam.

The car dumps me out on the seventh floor and I rush down the hallway to my room. I fumble with the key card—red light, red light, green—and swing the door open. When I shut it behind me, I collapse against it and slide all the way down to the floor.

Grayson is here. He’s here at Isabella’s wedding with Sam and I think I’m going to just have to stay here in my room forever or else catch a plane to Bermuda or something. What in the hell just happened?

I sit there stunned, my heart pounding soundly in my ears, when there’s a sharp rap at the door.

I jump and let out an audible gasp.

I freeze, my heart falling down on the job again as it stops beating.

What if it’s Grayson? What if it’s Sam?

I sit there frozen another few seconds. There’s another knock, this time followed by Ashley’s voice, “Chloe? You okay?”

I scramble to my feet and open the door enough to peek out and verify it’s really her and that she’s alone.

“What’s going on?” she asks.

I open the door all the way and gesture her in. She comes in, giving me a questioning look, and I close the door behind her. Still hanging on to the door knob, I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to steel myself.

“Chloe—” she begins.

“It’s him.” I grasp my hands together and hold them to my chest. “He’s the guy.”

“Who? What guy?”

“Grayson.” I don’t know that I’ve ever said his name aloud. Not since I was with him. “Sam’s guy.”

“Yeah, who is that guy?” Ashley asks. “He looks so familiar. Did he go to Hartman with us?”

I shake my head impatiently. “We met him and another guy at the Perched Owl, remember? On the night of my—”

“—Not Wedding!” she says, her eyes lighting up as the mystery is solved. “That’s right!” Her expression falls again, trying to figure out what that has to do with my distraught state.

“He’s the guy.

A look of dawning falls over Ashley’s face, followed by a look of horror. “Oh my god.”

I put my hands over my face. “What am I going to do?”

“He’s the guy?”

I nod, my hands still over my face.

“The guy you slept with?”

I groan. “What am I going to do?”

“Okay,” Ashley says firmly. I slowly lower my hands to look at her. “Okay,” she says again, “let’s just… think for a minute.”

She leads me over to the bed and we sit down.

We both take a deep breath.

“So…” Ashley begins, then stops. “Um…” she says, then nothing.

I nod. What in the hell can either one of us say?

***

Like an addictive TV show where you feel like you’re friends with the characters and are glued to every development, Midnight Heat is just that enveloping.” – Self Publishing Review

Finish reading Midnight Heat, second standalone in the Firework Girls Series today:

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Excerpt of Beautiful Mine

When Whitney meets fellow Californian, Connor Rivers, in the most unlikely of places—on the Camino pilgrimage in Spain—they fall into a brief, impassioned love affair. But she’s on her way back to her career, and he’s a world traveler whose restless spirit refuses to be tamed by anyone. Maybe even her.

Scroll down to read chapter 10, a website exclusive.

Title: Beautiful Mine

The first standalone in the Beautiful Rivers Series

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Chapter Ten

It’s six in the morning. Whitney’s already scheduled a cab pick-up and is in the bathroom, getting ready to take her shower. I’ve gotten dressed—I’ll shower after she goes—and am sitting on the edge of the bed. Whitney’s impending departure is pulsing through my veins.

I hear the shower water turn on, and something inside me starts to sink and grow still. I listen to it for a few minutes, not moving. When I do move, it’s to pull out my phone and dial my sister. I just need to hear her voice. She answers after the second ring.

“Hey!” Lizzy says, always so happy to hear from me.

“Hey sis.” I try to make my voice sound normal.

“You okay?”

“Fine,” I say, trying harder. “I saw a stork yesterday and it made me think of you. You’ll have to tell Rayce.” It’s an old joke. It’s not really funny at the moment.

She laughs. “I will.”

I’ve successfully diverted her, but it does me no good. “I met someone.”

I didn’t mean to say those words, even though they’re true. The full and weighty implications of them are all true.

There’s silence on the line. Maybe because I said it like it’s something I’m already regretting. “What does that mean exactly?”

“Nothing. Just that I met someone.”

“You’re seeing her?”

I grip the side of the bed. “Not exactly.”

There’s more silence. Only the sound of the shower water. My heart’s pounding painfully. “Okay Mr. Elusive,” Lizzy says. “What exactly is it then? You’re the one who brought it up, you know.”

“I know. Her name’s Whitney. I met her outside of Arca.”

“There in Spain?”

“That’s right.”

“Is she Spanish?”

“No. She lives in San Francisco.” I don’t know why I’m telling Lizzy any of this. I really don’t.

“So, you like her?”

I nod but I don’t say anything. I’m just listening to the shower. I wish Lizzy were here. Or I was there. These are the times when I feel too far away and too alone.

“God, Connor. Why’d you even say anything if you didn’t want to talk about it?”

“Sorry. I don’t know. I just… thought you’d like to know.”

“I don’t even know what I know,” she says lightly, accepting my ways for what they are, like she always has. “But I’m happy if you’re happy. Does she make you happy?”

Irrelevant. All irrelevant. “She leaves for San Francisco today. She lives there.”

“Yeah,” she says slowly, responding to my tone, which hasn’t changed one wit since I said I met someone. “You mentioned that.”

She’s right here, I want to say. She’s on my boat, in my shower, in my head, in my veins.

“What’s this about, Connor?” Lizzy says quietly. “Do you want to follow her to San Francisco? You could, you know.”

“I know, but…” I take a deep breath and lean my elbow on my knee, closing my eyes and pinching the bridge of my nose between two fingers.

“But what?”

“How long would that last?” I say, not moving. “I don’t want to hurt her.”

Lizzy sighs. “Well. That’s something to think about,” she says gently.

I let my arm drop and fall back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

Lizzy sighs again. “I don’t know if you want advice or if you just need me to listen or what.” One of the great things about Lizzy is she’s careful not to give unsolicited advice. “I wouldn’t know what to tell you anyway because I don’t know enough.”

“I know,” I say. “I wasn’t looking for advice, I guess. Just telling you. Like telling you I saw a stork yesterday. It’s not a big deal.”

“Uh huh.” She doesn’t believe me. Nor should she. “You’re full of shit, you know.”

“That’s what I hear.” I sigh. We sit on the line in silence for a moment.

“Are you okay?”

The shower water shuts off and I sit up. “Yeah. Look, I’d better go. Give everyone my love.”

“I will. But you know you’re in my dog house now.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because now I’m going to be wondering about this Whitney person until we talk again and I get to find out if she’s still in your life or not.”

The pang of that truth pinches my heart. I understand what she’s saying. People don’t stay in my life. Because people are kind of like plants and tend to want to pick a spot of ground to grow in, while I don’t stay in one place long enough to grow any roots that matter. I can’t seem to do it. Not even for the people I love.

Evie’s words come back to haunt me: “It’s not fair to be with someone when all you want to do is leave.” And she was right. It’s not fair. I imagine Whitney one day looking at me the way Evie did that day, brows pulled down, arms crossed, anger and resentment all over her face.

I don’t want Whitney to ever have to hate me like that.

“I love you,” I say.

“I love you too, kiddo.”

“Don’t call me kiddo,” I say automatically, like she knew I would.

She laughs and we hang up.

By the time Whitney comes out of the bathroom, fresh-faced and clean, I’m resolved we’ll say goodbye as we should, with a smile on her face and a smile on mine.

No matter how much it hurts.

***

“As always JL White tells a fabulously romantic, erotic, heartwarming, hilarious story.” – Janae, Amazon reviewer

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Excerpt of Forbidden Heat

How does a straight-laced biology major and a by-the-books philosophy professor make a love connection? Read chapter three of my steamy new adult romance, Forbidden Heat, to find out.

Title: Forbidden Heat

The first standalone in the Firework Girls Series

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Chapter Three

I’d almost rather miss the first class than show up late, but with both Ms. Mason expecting me to go and Dean Jennings most likely overhearing her telling me as much, I decide to hustle across the green anyway.

It’s been a few years since I’ve been in Old Main, one of the oldest buildings on campus, and where several of the humanities classes are held.

I glance at the schedule. “Introduction to Philosophy. Professor Brooks. OM – Room 205.”

I’m not familiar with this professor and hope he’s not too fussy about punctuality. I check the time on my phone. Class started a minute ago. By the time I’ve crossed the green, climbed the stairs, and located the proper room, the class started some seven minutes before I walk in the door.

Approximately 25 heads swing up as I make my entrance. Everyone is either already taking a quiz or, more likely, filling out some pointless beginning-of-the-year questionnaire for the professor.

Said professor is standing behind the podium at the front of the class. Or… he would have been standing had he not been bending over to remove something from the podium’s lower shelf.

Nice ass.

Two words, I guarantee you, I have never used when describing any of my professors’ rears. I consider the likelihood of thinking “nice ass” when Old Professor Baggy Pants bends over and nearly burst out laughing right then.

The man by the podium straightens and my breath catches in my throat. No wonder I was checking out his ass. He’s fucking gorgeous and isn’t old enough to be the professor.

At least, I don’t think he is. Is he a student?

We stare at one another for a moment and I at least have the wherewithal to realize my mouth is hanging open. I close it.

He blinks at me, apparently taken aback by the sudden intrusion into the class. “May I help you?”

A student assistant probably. That has to be it. Hartman College is known for small classes taught by actual professors, not underlings like a lot of the bigger universities. But there are a few of the larger undergrad science classes that are exceptions. Freshman year, my biology class had a hundred and fifty students. The professor gave the lectures, but if you had questions afterward, that’s what his student assistant was for.

My brain is trying to work out the possibility of an Intro to Philosophy class with only twenty-five students requiring a student assistant, but I’m really rather distracted by Student Assistant What’s-His-Face.

His gorgeous, gorgeous face.

And I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone rock a blazer the way this guy’s doing. Aside from his age, he looks the part of a professor. The only thing his blazer is missing are the elbow patches.

“Miss?” he says again.

“Oh, uh, sorry I’m late. I just got put in this class.”

“Ah,” he says. He looks at me a second longer and I wish I could stand here and stare at him all day. With some popcorn. Sitting in a comfy chair. While he strips off his shirt and—

Apparently recovering from the surprise of my untimely interruption, he grabs the top sheets from a couple stacks of paper on the podium and holds them out to me. I start to move toward him and manage to trip on nothing, but catch myself and cross the room with burning cheeks.

He gives me an amused smile.

Wow, that smile.

I snatch the pieces of paper and retreat to a seat near the back. I’m usually a front-of-the-room girl, but I’ll make an exception in this case. I’ve drawn quite enough attention to myself.

I take a deep breath and try to get myself under control.

“Introduction to Philosophy” the heading on the top paper reads.

Right. This is why I’m here. Get it together, Isabella.

I glance back at the man at the front of the room. Our eyes meet immediately and I look back down, bending over my papers for good measure. My heart is racing and I can’t tell if it’s because he caught me looking at him or if it’s because of the way he looks.

Because he looks So. Freaking. Gorgeous.

I decide not to look at Distracting Sexy Student Assistant so I can concentrate on what’s in front of me. A syllabus and a questionnaire. I can only assume everyone’s busy working on the latter.

I’d dropped my bag on the floor next to me. I now bend over so I can spend, apparently, several minutes fumbling around for my pen. My bag is working against me, I swear it. I have to keep pulling my long hair out of my face with one hand so I can see what the hell I’m doing.

At last I manage to free a pen from the bowels of my traitorous bag and sit up only to find myself face-to-face with Mr. Distracting Sexy Student Assistant. I startle and put my hand on my chest.

“Sorry,” he says quietly, trying not to disturb the class. As if every girl in the room isn’t watching him. I know they have to be.

He’s kneeling by my desk, an open folder on his leg and a pen in the other hand.

He’s even sexier up close. There’s just a hint of stubble coming out on his strong jaw bones. His eyes, which I thought were blue at first glance, are actually an intriguing mix of blue and green. His dark hair looks soft and touchable and my holy god, is that his smell?

Would it be inappropriate for me to lean over and sniff him? Would he report me to the professor?

He gives me another smile and, I’m embarrassed to admit this, I think I’m melting into a puddle right here at the back of the class.

“What’s your name?” he asks.

Anything you want, baby, what’s yours?

I think I’m channeling Sam’s spirit or something.

“Isabella,” I say. “Nikas.” It’s actually Isabella Procopio Caivano Nikas Maddox, but I don’t have enough functioning brain cells to go into all that. I don’t use the Maddox name on campus anyway.

Before I have a chance to spell the last name for him, he says, “Greek, right?” I blink at him. “N-i-k-a-s?”

I nod. “Are you Greek?” I ask stupidly.

He smiles and my heart does a little flutter. “No.”

I watch him write my name on the class roster in neat print. “Thank you, Miss Nikas.” He heads back to the front of the class without looking at me again.

Miss Nikas? What the hell?

Maybe I’ll try to sort out why he just called me by my last name after I’m done checking out his ass. It looks perfectly squeezable in his soft, black slacks.

He sets the folder on the teacher’s desk in the corner with a smack, then turns to face the class. Our eyes meet again. I look back at the papers in front of me.

What am I supposed to be doing again? I look around and notice everyone’s pretty much done and waiting for the next step. The class is on the young side, mostly freshmen from the looks of it. I’m probably the only senior in the room.

“Alright, let’s get started,” he says. “Welcome to Introduction to Philosophy. I’m Professor Shane Brooks.”

Professor? Did he say professor?

Oh, help me. I fumble for my schedule. There it is at the top of the page: Professor Brooks.

“I have a Bachelor’s Degree in Philosophy from right here at Hartman,” he continues, “a Master’s in Philosophy from Tufts University in Massachusetts, and somehow managed to survive the snow. This is my first year teaching at Hartman and I’ll be working on my PhD here as well.”

My god, but he’s pretty.

“I’ll go over your syllabus in a moment, but first we’re going to take a few minutes to introduce ourselves. This class will be heavy with discussion, so I’d like us to start to get to know one another.”

Don’t think about how you’d like to get to know him, I chant to myself. Don’t think about how you’d like to get to know him.

“To begin, tell us your name, your year, your major if you know it, and why you decided to take this class.”

He circles the front table and most of him disappears behind the podium. Okay, that’s better. I can breathe a lot easier now that I don’t have to take in the full package.

Pull yourself together, Isabella!

I look back at the papers in front of me, pretending to read them, though I have no idea what they say. My hands are clasped tightly in front of me.

I’m supposed to look at this professor all year and actually concentrate? Maybe I should’ve taken that education class. I wonder if it’s too late to change.

I glance back up at him. Then again, a little eye candy could fall into the Major Bonus category. Once I get over the initial shock of his looks, I should be able handle his class okay.

Right?

I realize everyone’s looking at me. Professor Brooks’ arms are crossed and he’s watching me with a bemused expression.

Shit. It’s my turn. “I’m Isabella. I’m a senior with a double major in Biology and Chemistry.”

Professor Brooks nods. Damn. He’s so hot I’m actually starting to get wet. I hope I’m not blushing. Get it together, girl!

“And?” he says. He’s giving me that bemused smile again. Who knew a professor in a blazer giving me a bemused smile could be so hot?

I blink. “And? Oh. Right. I’m short some humanities credits for graduation, so here I am.”

“An endearing reason,” he says with a smile, before looking to the next student and indicating it’s her turn.

I’m glad he’s not looking at me anymore because I can’t seem to peel my eyes off him.

Now I know for sure. Taking this class was a horrible, horrible idea.

***

“Forbidden Heat was an amazing story of forbidden love, the chemistry between Isabella and Shane was off the charts and the side characters had me cracking a laugh.” – Stormy Day Reading Books

Finish reading Forbidden Heat, first standalone in the Firework Girls Series today:

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Beautiful Dark is LIVE!

Who is Mason Reeves?

Corrine Rivers and her cousins desperately need to find out. Evidence suggests he’s the illegitimate child of her beloved Uncle Grant. The truth is just as hard to bear.

What’s also hard is Mason himself. All over. From his broad, muscular chest and massive biceps to his “screw you” attitude. Because Mason Reeves wants nothing to do with his inheritance or the wealthy Rivers clan, and isn’t afraid to say so.

As Mason’s tragic connections to Corrine’s family emerge, the facts are reason enough for her to stay away. But she can’t seem to resist him, and what’s worse, he feels the same way about her. To everyone’s surprise, Corrine and Mason get in deep, in more ways than one. But it turns out the biggest obstacle to their happiness isn’t Mason’s past.

It’s hers.

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Riv 3 Teaser #7

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Red Hot and Romantic Giveaway

First, some news. The next book, Beautiful Dark, is done and the first beta reads are starting to come in with big thumbs up! I’m super excited!

You finally get to find out who Mason Reeves is! I’ll do a super, duper official blog post about it later, but until then, check it out here:

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(¸.•´ (¸.•` PREORDER¸.•*´¨) ¸.•*¨)   http://amzn.to/2l2OoPs

Beautiful Dark Rivers 3 - Web medium

Second, I’m part of a multi-author giveaway with lots of awesome prizes, including some from yours truly.

Go check it out babes!

 
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Turning Up the Heat Takeover and Giveaway

Turning up the heat banner

Hey! Just a quick post to let everyone know that there’s a big author takeover event on my Facebook page TODAY, from 12:30 to 7:30 p.m. EST.

Click here to see the event: Turning Up the Heat for Valentine’s Day

LOTS of authors. LOTS of giveaways. In addition to the big, J.L. White Grand Prize Giveaway below, I’m doing several flash giveaways directly in the event. Other authors will be bringing their own giveaways to the table.

Plus, there’s going to be games and I’m going to be there live the entire time. So come over and hang with us! 🙂

Be sure to enter the J.L. White Grand Prize Giveaway below. It’s a good one!

Good luck and I hope to see you at the party.

 

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Beautiful Fall (Beautiful Rivers Book 2)

When Elizabeth Rivers purchases a row of historical beach cottages to renovate for the family’s luxury resort, she’s worried her new project won’t live up to the high standards of the Rivers family name. Little does she know, that’s not the thing she needs to worry about. Not at all.

Because along with the cottages comes a little problem called Brett Carmichael. Brett freaking Carmichael, historical contractor and son of Lizzy’s nemesis, a woman who mere weeks ago brutally smeared her name through the papers over a property dispute. The last thing Lizzy wants is to deal with that woman’s spawn.

But one reckless moment ignites the downright dangerous chemistry between them, and Lizzy soon learns that Brett Carmichael is a force to be reckoned with. She seems helpless to stop him from claiming her, body and heart, but she’s not so sure she’s able to do the same to him. It turns out, there’s plenty more in his family history to worry about. The reality is, his heart may not really be hers for the taking.

Beautiful Fall FB Teaser

 

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