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Excerpt

 

“I can’t tonight. I have a date,” I blurt out, remembering David. The dating app. The
asshole who isn’t an asshole.

Yet. I haven’t met him, so that judgment remains withheld.

“A date?” Will asks, intrigued.

“Yes. A date. You know, that thing where you go out with someone who has no intentionof really getting to know you and you spend the entire time eating bread that
doesn’t taste as good as your date claims and trying to decide whether to
initiate rescue-text sequences with your mom.”

“That’s your idea of a date?”

“That is my actual experience of every date I’ve had since college.”

“You’re dating the wrong guys.” He holds my gaze for just a little too long. I look
away.

“I have to keep fishing in the pond if I ever want to catch a different one.”

“If that’s the way you talk to your dates, I am beginning to understand why they all turn out so badly.”

“Hey!”

“What?”

“Don’t accuse me of being a bad date. I’m a great date! I Google the guy in advance and read his LinkedIn profile. I make sure I don’t wear super-tall heels in case he lied about his height on his dating profile. I pretend to care about all his hobbies and don’t reveal that I’m secretly tallying all the micro-aggressions he’s sending my way during appetizers and wine. And if he makes it to dessert, well–” I falter.

“You never make it to dessert, do you?” Will asks, eyebrows up. He drops them quickly, wincing.

“I–well–it’s not that I don’t. He doesn’t!”

“He ditches you?”

“No! No! It’s just that he always has a thing.”

“A thing?”

“A work emergency. Or a dog with a twisted bowel. Or a grandma in the ER.”

“How many guys used the twisted-canine-intestine thing?”

“Three.” I sit down and sag against his teenage desk, elbows sliding forward, fingers deep in my hair. “I looked it up. There’s an entire subreddit devoted to inventive ways to get out of a bad date.”

“And yet here you are.” He leans against the edge of his desk. “Trying again.”

“I’m a masochist.”

His eyes gleam. “Maybe you should start your dates with that line. ‘Hi. I’m Mallory
Monahan. I’m a masochist.’ You’d definitely make it to dessert.”

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“What are you doing in here?” he asks.
I rise from the bed and slide my hands in the back pockets of my cutoff shorts. “I just needed a minute to myself.”
He studies me.
“There are just so many people … everywhere …” I continue.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
I shrug. “I … don’t know how to answer that.”
“I’m sorry.” He lifts a hand. “That’s a horrible question and I shouldn’t have asked. Obviously you’re not okay. I mean. You’re okay. But you’ve been through a lot. And … I’m going to shut up now.”
He smiles his perfect, straight, bright white smile and it instantly makes me reciprocate, almost like I have no control over my facial expressions. But it doesn’t stick for long.
“How did you know I was here?” I ask.
“I saw you heading west after breakfast this morning. There’s really nothing on this side of the island except this cottage.”
“Oh. So you came looking for me? Like on purpose?”
He laughs under his breath, an easy, relaxed sort of chuff, like he finds my question adorable.
“I guess so,” he says. “Yeah. Guess I wanted to make sure you didn’t get lost or anything.”
“Appreciate it.” I don’t buy it for one second. “I should probably get back. It’s almost time to prep lunch.”
I squeeze through the doorway and make my way down the hall when I hear him say my name. Nothing else. Just … Lila. Turning back, I see he’s standing still, feet planted, in no rush to go anywhere.
“Yes?” I ask.
“If you ever want to talk …” he clears his throat. “I’m sure you miss your friends. And I know you’re going through a lot right now …”
There’s a gentleness about him, an easiness that I didn’t anticipate. It’s in the smoothness of his voice, the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles. He never talks about himself—even during meals. He’s always asking everyone else what they’re doing or what’s going on in their lives. And it’s plain to see he’s the clear favorite among the three grandchildren. He’s the apple of Howard Bertram’s eye.
And I get it.
So far … he seems like a nice guy—a good person.
I almost wish he wasn’t.
I almost wish he fulfilled every stereotype I conjured up about someone with his name and his background and his family and his privileges.
But now all I feel is guilt and an onset of extreme self-awareness, suddenly second-guessing the placement of my hands or the puffiness of my eyes.
“Does this house have a name?” I ask, changing the subject because I feel another wave of emotions about to wash over me when I think too hard about his unexpected kindness.
“What?”
“You know. Like your house is The Ainsworth,” I say. “And Grandma and Grandpa’s house is The Hilliard. What do you call this one?”
Thayer shrugs before shaking his head. “Nothing. I guess we mostly pretend it doesn’t exist.”
“That’s kind of … sad. Is it weird that I feel sorry for this place?” I half-laugh.
He smirks. “Yeah.”
His on-the-spot honesty makes me respect him that much more.
“Back home, my mom had this friend, and she was always talking about how everything had a soul. People, animals, plants, even inanimate objects. Mom said even if that isn’t true, it doesn’t hurt to treat everything with respect, like it has feelings. I thought they were out of their minds, but I guess a little bit of them rubbed off on me.”
“You think the house’s feelings are hurt?” He scratches at his temple.
“Maybe. Sort of. So what if I do?” I bite my lower lip for a flash of a second. I’m teasing, flirting, and I shouldn’t be.
He doesn’t say anything, which makes this moment as awkward and nerve-wracking as possible. I swear I hear my heart beating in my ears—that, or it’s the whoosh and crash of the ocean outside. I’m too distracted right now to differentiate.
My mom’s crazy friend always talked about auras. I never saw them, never believed in them, but she claimed mine was dark red, which meant I was self-sufficient and able to persevere anything.
She also told me that at my mother’s funeral, so she might have simply been trying to comfort me.
If Thayer had an aura, I bet it would be light blue. The color of the sky. Serene and calm.
“You want to name the house?” he asks.
“What?”
“This cottage.” He glances up at the ceiling. “Give it a name. It can be your house. What’s your last name?”
“Hilliard.” My mother gave me her last name on account of my father abandoning us early into her pregnancy. I never knew his name. Never saw a picture. Only heard a few details, like he was smart and charismatic and successful, but also self-centered and narcissistic. “So obviously there can’t be two Hilliard Cottages.”
“All right. Then we’ll just call it The Lila Cottage.”
I snicker. “That doesn’t quite have the same ring to it as The Ainsworth or The Caldecott.”
“You think?” he asks. “Nah. It sounds fine to me.”
“Would your grandfather be okay with you naming this place without his permission? I’m getting major control-freak vibes from him.”
Shit.
I need to shut my mouth before I get myself in trouble.
Sure, Thayer’s easy to talk to and he seems like a reasonable person, but I literally just insulted his grandfather—my boss.
My cheeks flush with a burning warmth and I glance down for a moment.
“He is absolutely a control freak, and we don’t have to tell him. It can just be our thing.”
Our thing.
So now we have a thing.
“I used to hide out in here when I was a kid,” he says, looking around. “Westley was always so clingy. Like a shadow. And Whitley was always whining about this or that. And sometimes I just needed space.”
“This is quite the hideaway for a kid. A whole house.”
“Yeah,” he says. “Anyway, if you need a hideaway of your own, you’ve found a good one. But I can’t say I won’t be using it too.”
“We should probably come up with a custody agreement of some kind.” I’m flirting. Again. But I can’t help myself. He’s so damn cute. “Maybe I get weekends? You can have holidays because I’ll likely be working those, so …”
He laughs at me and our gazes lock until our respective smiles fade. There’s a glimmer of something in his eyes … fascination maybe? Curiosity? I don’t know him well enough to tell, but he looks at me in a way that no one else ever has before.
Perhaps I’m a novelty to him.
Or maybe this is what he does. Charms you. Works you until you’re putty in his hands so he can use you until you’re all used up, and then he moves on to the next girl.
“I should probably get back to The Bertram,” I say. “I’m sure Grandma’s wondering where I am.”
“We’re going to watch a movie tonight,” he says. “At Westley and Whitley’s.”
AKA The Caldecott.
“You should come by,” he says.
Yesterday it was the bonfire.
Tonight it’s a movie.
I head to the door, the wood floorboards creaking beneath my quick, soft steps, but before I leave, I turn back to him. “You should probably stop inviting me to hang out.”

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ABOUT THE BOOK:

The first in a new series, a journalist focused on her career and a sexy Scottish comedian turn a one night stand into forever.

Cassie Crow leaves for vacation with two goals: fill up her empty charm bracelet and have a one night stand. For once, she wants to have fun instead of obsessively checking her work email. And kissing a man in a castle who’s dressed as a Scottish Highlander is the perfect solution.

Except when that man turns out to be Logan Reid, the host of a popular sketch show—and Cassie has just been roped into his latest prank. She wants nothing to do with his antics, but that was a really great kiss, and one night together couldn’t hurt.

It’s clear that one night isn’t enough and when Logan’s show brings him closer to Cassie, they decide to give dating a try. Can the woman who’s focused solely on her career and the man who refuses to take life seriously make it work?

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https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250193094

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

A Star Wars junkie and Shakespeare groupie who quotes both Yoda and the Bard with equal aplomb, award-winning author Melonie Johnson—aka #thewritinglush—is a two-time RWA Golden Heart® finalist who loves dark coffee, cheap wine, and expensive beer. And margaritas. And mimosas. And mules. Basically any cocktail that starts with the letter m. She met her future husband in that most romantic of places—the mall—when they were teenagers working in stores across the hall from each other. They went on to live happily ever after in the suburbs of Chicago with two redhead daughters, a dog that’s more like a small horse, and a trio of hermit crabs. After earning her Bachelor of Arts magna cum laude from Loyola University Chicago, Melonie taught high school English and Theatre in the northern Chicago suburbs for several years. Now she writes smart and funny contemporary romance and moonlights as an audiobook narrator under the pseudonym, Evelyn Eibhlin.

Author Links

Author website: https://meloniejohnson.com/

Author Twitter: https://www.twitter.com/meloniejohnson

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Author Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/MelonieWrites/

 My Review…

Wow! What a fun, flirty and fantastic introduction to a new series!

This is the story of Logan and Cassie, and what a sweet story it was.

Now I will admit, at first I felt a little overwhelmed by the introduction to all the secondary characters. I am sure they will play their own parts in their own stories later, but as this story continues on, it became less overwhelming and more just a thorough introduction to all the characters.

I loved the setting for this story, between Scotland, England and Chicago. Ms. Johnson was able to bring us to each and every setting and country. Holding the readers hand and saying “Come on, I have so much to show you!”.

The chemistry between Cassie and Logan was fabulous! I liked that Cassie took charge in what she wanted and had no apologies for it! Well done!

I also loved the element of smart people read romance, it was just kind of pat on the back us romance readers need sometime! We can be smart, educated, classy people that happen to love a hot Scot in kilt or any romance for that matter!

The bit of angst was perfectly played and not over done, it was just the right amount to keep me turning the pages! The flow between each main characters POV was smooth and easy transition to pick up on throughout the pages!

I cannot wait to read the next story in this series! Well done Ms. Johnson, you have a new fan in me!

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Imperfect Match, a sexy friends to lovers standalone romance, from New York Times bestselling Corinne Michaels & USA Today bestselling Melanie Harlow, is available now!

Rule number one for a professional matchmaker?

Don’t fall in love with your client.

I screwed that up when I fell for my best friend, Reid Fortino. He’s gorgeous, successful, and sexy as hell. I figured it would be easy to find him a match—and save the family business at the same time.

But the more time I spend attempting to find the perfect girl, the more I realize how much I want him for my own. What’s the harm if we give in for just one night?

I should have known that would never be enough.

Now I’m on the verge of losing my job and my heart.

We were an imperfect match from the start, but I don’t know how to let him go.

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Excerpt:

What would it be like to have her that way? Skin to skin? Breathless and begging? My body inside hers?

I want answers, I think as I open the door to our building.

No, I need them.

I take the elevator up to our floor and go right to her apartment. Using the key she gave me, I unlock her door, smiling that she still hasn’t changed the lock, and head inside.

“Reid?” She jumps off the couch and I freeze.

Jesus, she’s fucking beautiful. I’ve seen her a million times like this, but I don’t know what it is—I can’t breathe.

Her hair is piled up on top of her head in some sort of nest, the glasses that she swears she doesn’t need are on, and her legs … God, her legs. Long, sweet, slender … they would look perfect around my neck.

“What are you doing here? If this is about …” She stops talking and looks at me, her eyes full of confusion as I watch her chest rise and fall.

I walk toward her, unable to stand still. My hands grip her cheeks, and I pull her mouth to mine. Her gasp is swallowed by the searing kiss. Her fingers wrap around my wrists and I don’t know if she’s trying to stop me, but I’m going to keep going until she does.

Yet she never does. Instead of pushing me away, her hands move to my hips.

Willow kisses me back.

She kisses me like this is the only option.

She kisses me harder and more passionately than the last time.

She gives as much as she takes and I fucking revel in it.

This is crazy, but I don’t care. It’s right. It’s everything that finally makes sense. I wondered what it would be like and now I know—it’s fucking perfect.

“Reid.” She says my name and then pulls my mouth back to hers.

I kiss her, loving how our mouths fit and the way her tongue feels against mine.

“Tell me to stop.” I give her an out that I pray she won’t take.

“What?”

“Tell me now, Wills.”

I’m desperate for her. Seeing her tonight, knowing she was spying on me, did something to my heart that I can’t explain. It was the answer to the question that neither of us was willing to face.

There’s something here.

Maybe it’s new. Maybe it’s always been there but we didn’t see it. Maybe Willow and I needed to be pushed. Whatever the reason, the outcome is this.

She touches my face. Her fingertips are soft, and she moves her thumb to my lip. “I can’t. I don’t know what’s happening, but I don’t want it to stop.”

“Good, because I don’t think I could.”

My mouth is back to hers the second the words are out.

She giggles against my lips and I drink it in. Everything about Willow is sweet. Her mouth, her laughter, her heart. They all make her irresistible. I don’t know how I never saw it.

I break the kiss and scoop her into my arms, bringing her back to the bedroom. She doesn’t say anything, and I’m glad for it.

We’re both always in our heads and I’m very much ready to be in her instead.

I lay her down and crawl over her, loving how she looks at me with lust-filled eyes. “Tell me what you want, Wills.” She shakes her head and I know what she’s doing, but I’m not having it. “Don’t think, baby, just tell me.”

Her lids fall, closing me off to what she doesn’t want me to see, and I take a beat to really look at her. Lips swollen, shirt falling off her shoulder, hair fanning out on the bed. She looks like an angel.

“I want you to kiss me,” she whispers.

About the authors:

New York Times, USA Today, and Wall Street Journal Bestseller Corinne Michaels is the author of nine romance novels. She’s an emotional, witty, sarcastic, and fun loving mom of two beautiful children. Corinne is happily married to the man of her dreams and is a former Navy wife.

After spending months away from her husband while he was deployed, reading and writing was her escape from the loneliness. She enjoys putting her characters through intense heartbreak and finding a way to heal them through their struggles. Her stories are chock full of emotion, humor, and unrelenting love.

USA Today Bestselling Author Melanie Harlow likes her martinis dry, her heels high, and her history with the naughty bits left in. When she’s not writing or reading, she gets her kicks from TV series like VEEP, Game of Thrones, House of Cards, and Homeland. She occasionally runs three miles, but only so she can have more gin and steak.

Melanie is the author of the AFTER WE FALL series, the HAPPY CRAZY LOVE series, the FRENCHED series, and the sexy historical SPEAK EASY duet, set in the 1920s. She lifts her glass to romance readers and writers from her home near Detroit, MI, where she lives with her husband, two daughters, and pet rabbit.

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