Showing results by author "Nicole Snow" in All Categories

His proposal came in a little black envelope with 13 unlucky words: You still owe me that favor, doll, and I'm cashing in. Marry me. In a normal life, I'd never get hitched to Calvin Randolph. Not with his heart-stopping blue eyes, infamous player reputation, and an ego bigger than the part of his anatomy he loves boasting about the most. Been there, done that. All except the last part, which he's left to my shameful imagination for seven years apart. Of course, the fake fiancée contract I just signed is anything but normal.

How did I get here? Oh, right - Daniel "Dust" Grayson. Scariest, sexiest man alive. The only man who's ever stolen my panties, lured me into his bed, and left me begging for more. This isn't what you're thinking. Yes, he's an outlaw. But I'm not in a world of hurt because he's president of the Deadly Pistols MC or because my big brother is his right-hand man. No, Dust tried to save me from myself. I can't let my secrets kill him.

I can still pinpoint the exact second when my life became two truths and a lie. You don't forget delivering a mountain of fresh-baked sweets to a man like Dexter Rory. I never wanted to see his scowling, bossy, brutally godlike face again, no matter how well he tipped. If you told me I'd wind up wearing his ring, I would've died laughing. But here I am, trying to cling to my sanity while I confront the undeniable.

Marshal Howard is a death wish wrapped in mystery. Cold, rude, insanely overprotective single dad. Everyone in our little town warned me to stay far, far away. I didn't listen. I answered the castoff's nanny ad because no one else would. I got too close. I saw through his vicious reputation. He's a man who's turning my heart inside out, making me a fool. If it was just the bad blood with him and my family, maybe we'd work through this. Maybe we'd find paradise. Just me, him, and that adorable little girl. But surprises come in threes. Like the lines on the pregnancy test.

I never knew what hit me. Rex stormed into my little world with two adorable twin boys and no apologies. Bearish. Short-fused. Consuming. Huge. Torturously gorgeous. Leave-your-heart-in-pieces wrong. Did I mention HUGE? He's instant trouble the second he checks into our lodge and my overprotective grandpa hires him. Then I catch him staring with that knowing ache in his eyes. I forget what trouble even means. He also needs a nanny. Sold.

Strange men do funny things when you score the last cinnamon roll. Sometimes he rages about the high crime of jacking his precious pastry. Sometimes he offers you ludicrous bribes to buy it back. And sometimes—after shattering your faith in humanity—you find out he's your new boss. I'm not laughing.

Cora: Never kiss an outlaw, they said. Easy advice, until the day my father's dirty secrets made me property of the Deadly Pistols Motorcycle Club. Easy, until I came face-to-face with the beautiful bastard who makes me burn with every glance - Firefly.

I'm on my last nerve. And I'm supposed to marry him to save my skin. Riker Woods might be God's hottest contradiction. Perfectly damaged. Stubborn soul. Moth to flame gaze. Single dad. Fierce protector. Kind...when he thinks no one's looking. Then along came little old me.

Accidentally married to a human stallion. And I can't even remember our wedding. It's awkward, okay? I didn't plan on waking up hitched to Hubby of the Century. Or one little misadventure erasing every memory of us. No sweet nothings. No ugly cry vows. No flipping honeymoon. But every time I see Flint Calum, I wonder. How did I get so lucky? Let's forget all six-foot-something of his oh-so-bad superdad self. His flashing eyes and SEAL-perfected whip of a body aren't why I'm dizzy.

I wasn't supposed to end up in an outlaw biker's bed. I wasn't supposed to love it. I definitely wasn't supposed to crave his fiery kisses, beg for his touch, or ache to know the man behind the evil-looking ink and scarred smirk. I was the good girl. He was the monster. Then everything changed. I became a prisoner. I prayed for Skin to save me. He did - and he kept me for himself.

Pinch me. I can't believe I'm working under him. Dr. Gray Caldwell. Hottest, swooniest, stormiest bachelor ever. Insanely tall. Unfair perfection. Intimidating abs and X-ray glares. Doc puts the animal back in veterinarian. My dream job should be all puppies and kittens. Turns out, my new boss hates three things: 1. Small town drama. Baby, we've got tons. 2. Pets in distress - and he's their hero every time. 3. Anybody poking around his past. Like me. Oh, crud. But how could I resist the best mystery in Heart's Edge?

Signing on as a company driver for Brandt Ideas felt like a dream. Big-girl salary. Stellar benefits. Glorious people - minus one. Nicholas Brandt was put on Earth to drive me insane. Of course, he's my boss man. He spent the first month mistaking me for a dude. Then he “apologized” with the grace of a drunken moose. A perfect grump with a brutal reputation. A heart-thief sculpted like a fallen angel. A master at making me question all of my life decisions. Why is it always the terrible ones who make a girl tingle?

I loved her like a sister forever ago. Before life served us tragedy with a bitter cherry on top. Before I learned love isn't a damn fairy tale. Before I became a single dad. Protecting my little girl is all I still care about. Kendra is my lifeline if she'll just play along. Her job is easy. Wear my ring. Turn my scowl into a family man's smile. Help save my daughter from a scorched earth custody fight. She gets the Cinderella treatment in return. My money, my mansion, my reputation. Simple. Painless. Mutual.

Eleanor Lark is an upbeat illustrator plagued by headaches and unruly strawberry blonde hair. After a grueling cross-country flight, she blacks out cold. The brooding stranger who sat next to her grumping his way through the flight catches Elle as she falls. Neither expects the sweet chaos that happens next. August Marshall is stonehearted, insanely rich, and a master of corporate cleanups with major baggage of his own. The last man alive who needs a media frenzy after his airport heroics steal headlines. But August has a plan—ask Elle to marry him so their trouble disappears.

My fresh start turned into a dumpster fire. Awesome new job. Small town heaven. Friendly faces galore. Then I strolled into my new home and found the unspeakable. Just when I'm sure it can't get worse, I'm “rescued” by a man who makes me see red for miles. Enter Lucas Graves. A bossy grump with a badge who's sworn to keep me safe. He rocks the scary-hot vibe, he reads too much, and he never misses a chance to give me crap for being a nerdy little cactus who mouths back. Not the type of man I'd go for in my right mind. Definitely not the type I should keep trading bruising kisses with.

There's nothing tiny about Brock Winthrope. He even roars like a lion when he sees me. I scream back. And after narrowly avoiding a murder scene, we've got trouble. He says he'll fix our reservation blunder since he's the manager (he's not). He thinks I'll smack his resort with the rotten-egg review from hell (I might). I've never seen a man so grumpy groveling his heart out to wow me (it's working). Oh, but it gets better. Brock whisks me away on an amazing “date”, and things get heated.

Hell always screams into my life on two wheels, so why the hell does he look like heaven? Rabid's nothing like the other vicious thugs in the Grizzlies Motorcycle Club. When I see the dark ink dancing on his stunning body, I almost believe he's here to save me instead of just seduce me. But I won't be fooled again. All the club brings is ruin, and they're back to give me more.

Waking up next to the world's hottest stranger is my first red flag. The huge rock on my finger? Hint number two I'm head-over-heels in trouble. I'm hair-on-fire freaked by the marriage certificate. Then I sit down with Noah Bernard, my mysterious new "husband." He talks a good game. Easy, when he'd put Hercules to shame. Olympian abs. Defiant growl. Come-to-mama eyes. Mammoth freaking ego. I almost wish I remembered our honeymoon. But I need answers. Not more secrets.

There's a reason he's called Mr. Silver Tongue. Blake Silverton could sweet talk an angel into sin. Fierce small-town fire chief. Rough velvet voice. Drop dead gorgeous. Don't even get me started on the tortured single dad thing. Wintering in Heart's Edge isn't a choice when my van goes kaboom! Neither is gawking at the human bulldozer who keeps charging to my rescue. If only we could stop butting heads. But I'm a healer. What's wrong with offering a grumpasaurus a massage? I'm hardly obsessed.

You know that awkward moment when your lava-hot boss says “marry me”? Not for love. Not for real. Not without a mammoth payoff. Of course, this fortune comes with a ginormous snag - Ward Brandt. Call me bananas. I must be short of a full bushel rejecting Chicago's finest billionaire. Who knew he was my boss when he crashed my worst date ever? Oh, but he found out. He swore I wasn't fit for Brandt Ideas, chewed me up, and spat me back out. I vowed I'd prove him wrong - and sabotage a metric ton of his coffee.