We want you to get some juicy sneak peeks into our super sexy box set and we’re hoping you’ll share these snippets with your friends. In fact, we’re so excited about it and you guys have been so supportive of us…we want to give away more prizes!
To enter, SHARE and COMMENT on the author’s excerpts every day from 9/18-9/20. Each share and comment increases your odds of winning. You’ll be entered to win the grand prize– a $100 Gift Card! Not only that, we’ve got 10 eBooks up for grabs too.
See our FB page: https://www.facebook.com/events/514036032064445/
Thank you so much everyone for your support! This big box set is still only #99cents
for all 10 books. Offer ends soon.
Jolie Gardener, personal chef by day, aspiring romance writer by night, likes to talk and does it a lot. She has to because if she stops, all the pain, disillusionment, and abandonment of her AWOL mother, question-mark father, and foster-care childhood will rise up like a chocolate soufflé on steroids, sweeping away the fragile infrastructure of her life.
But she’s fine. Really. She is.
Or so she thinks.
Todd Best isn’t fine. He knows it. And doesn’t care.
After his wife died—the woman who believed in him when he was a struggling artist—he put painting aside, moved from their home, and lost himself in the minutiae of daily life.
Alone. Private. The way he likes it.
The last thing he needs is some chatty cook seeping into the perfectly bland canvas of his life.
Or so he thinks.
So when Jonathan, a guardian-angel-in-training, turns himself into a kitten to help these two lonely souls find a happily ever after together, it ought to be a piece of cake.
Or so he thinks…
There was just something about a man in an apron in the kitchen. Especially if the man was only in an apron in the kitchen, which, okay, he wasn’t, but she had seen him in only the kitchen and nothing else and, boy, was that a sight to remember. So she tripped down sensory lane while he reached and stretched and bent as he measured out the ingredients. Who’d have thought baking was so much exercise?
“You know,” Todd said when the mixer went silent, “this is fun.”
He had no idea.
“Let’s see if you’re still saying that three hours from now.” Jolie maneuvered the mixing bowl to the table and scooped batch number one into another bowl, ready to start again. The mouthwatering aroma of brown sugar and vanilla surrounded her and she couldn’t resist a dip into the dough with a spoon.
“I saw that.” Todd’s mock self-righteousness was hysterical.
“Want some?” She grabbed another spoon and another spoonful, and offered it to him.
With him holding a measuring cup in one hand and a five pound bag of sugar in the other, she had no other option when he said, “Sure,” than to hold the spoon to his mouth.
Really. No other option.
His lips closed around the spoon, just a hint of his tongue before it closed, and she could almost feel the heat travel up the stainless steel into her fingers.
There was a little tug as he sucked the dough off and she felt a little tug of her own. Right in her nether regions.
She slid the spoon out and he licked his upper lip. “You’re good,” he said and there went her mind right to a bed with a roaring fire at the foot of it, a bottle of champagne, maybe some rose petals, and, of course, whipped cream.
“I am?” She pulled her gaze from his mouth, now drawn to his eyes. Warm and intense—just like her.
He put the flour and measuring cup down in one fluid motion and took a step toward her, his gaze holding hers. Her heart started hammering as he reached out, and she stifled a moan as she waited for his embrace.
She closed her eyes as he neared. There was just too much rioting through her body as his chest brushed her arm. She waited for the feel of his lips on hers, completely willing to overlook what surely was complete insanity since they worked—and lived—together, yet it was his hair she felt brushing her shoulder.
Not exactly the image she had going.
She opened her eyes—
And wanted to die.
He had his finger in the batter bowl behind her, scooping out the remains of batch number one.
Thank God no one else was around to witness her humiliation. What was she thinking? As if someone like him would be interested in kissing someone like her; someone without a real name or family to call her own. Just because she came with no baggage whatsoever—no relatives, no nasty in-laws, no history, just her—didn’t mean his “you’re good” had anything to do with something other than cookies.
“Want some?” said Cookie Monster, now back in her line of sight and holding out a finger full of cookie dough.
She did want some. She really, really did. And she wanted it right off that finger he was waving in her face. Wanted it so badly she had to say no because if she gave in to the impulse of licking his finger, she’d rip apart at the seams.
“Ah, come on. It’s good.” Wag, wag went the tempting digit.
She was amazed at her inner strength, as he’d called it. Truly.
She shook her head again and stepped back. “If we do this for every batch we are going to be some sick puppies.” She prayed the bravado hid the quaking of her knees. He didn’t need to know his chef was reading all sorts of innuendos into his words.
Cookie dough. Imagine that.