Who’s an Angel?

I, Angel Genres:
(Angels in L.A., #1)
by Julie Light
Adult, Urban Fantasy
Publication date: October 19th 2020

I never asked to be an angel. Truthfully, being an angel kinda sucks.

But some angels don’t get harps. We hunt demons.

I might be a social weirdo. And okay, I black out whenever I fly and wake up naked in random places. I can only sleep in windowless rooms. I have that gun problem. Oh, and I can’t drink alcohol, since I randomly start fires.

But I, Dags Jourdain, do good. Sort of. I mean, I try.

When I’m not hunting demons, I work as a P.I. in Hollywood, California.

One night, I get in a demon fight in an alley, and accidentally save the life of a movie star, and everything changes for me.

Meanwhile, someone opened a hell portal under the Hollywood sign, a dead guy left me his dog, and a homicide detective who hates me from high school is trying to decide if I’m a serial killer.

Did I mention being an angel kinda sucks?

I, ANGEL is the first book in the Angels in L.A. series, a gritty angel urban fantasy, ideal for fans of K.F. Breene, Shayne Silvers, Patricia Briggs, C.N. Crawford, Linsey Hall


A dog’s wet, slobbery, warm tongue ran up the side of his face.

Dogs liked him. They liked him a lot.

Depending on the day, it was either a blessing or a curse.

In this particular instance, it probably saved his life.

“Pick up the gun, asshole!” the woman yelled. “I threw it right at you!”

Dags stared dazedly at the weapon as it swam into focus.

It lay on the asphalt, not far from the brick alley wall he now vaguely remembered slamming into, some unclear amount of time ago. He even remembered the specific gun.

Looking at it, he recoiled, grimacing involuntarily. His head felt like someone had taken a machete and tried to split his skull open like a cantaloupe, but he still had no desire to pick up the damned gun, much less point it at anyone.

Was that cannon really hers? Had she been lugging that thing around in her purse all this time? Did she have a permit for that thing? And if it was hers, why did she expect him, Dags, to be the one to shoot someone with it? Why didn’t she shoot them herself?

And where did the damned dog come from?

Even as he thought it, some other subset of his mind catalogued the gun in rote:

Desert Eagle. Gas-operated, rotating bolt. Semi-automatic. Designed by Magnum Research Inc. This particular edition was a Mark VII .357 Magnum with a fourteen-inch barrel, stainless steel, accessory mount with a laser scope.

That thing could do some serious damage.

All the more reason to leave it the hell alone.

“I don’t do guns,” he slurred, shoving it away.

It skittered across the alley floor, sliding under a dumpster about ten yards away.

Pushing aside the dog’s cold, wet nose, he scratched its ears out of habit even as he fought to push himself up with his hands.

“Are you crazy?” The woman stared at Dags like he’d just slapped her. Or maybe like he’d just told her he was a unicorn who only ate chocolate-covered strawberries and farted rainbows. “You’re a pacifist? Are you kidding me right now?”

Dags could sympathize.

Not enough to want to go after the gun, but yeah, he got it.

He only made it about halfway to his knees, when a heavy, booted foot connected, hard, with the small of his back. The same part of his mind that catalogued the gun did the same to the weight, shape, and relative precision of that booted foot––even as the blow knocked him forward, nearly face-planting him into the asphalt.

Male. Roughly six feet, two inches.

Two hundred and forty pounds.

Fighting ability: expert. At least one black belt in some martial art or another. Probably some military-style training. Weaknesses: Drops right arm when he pulls back from jabs. Telegraphs kicks with grunts and/or heavy breaths. Has a weird habit of grinning right before a lunge. Conclusion: well-trained, but a bizarrely sloppy fighter. Too used to winning maybe, or maybe it had been too long since he fought someone good enough to challenge him.

But all that was just details. The real issue with this guy wasn’t his fighting ability, or lack thereof, and Dags knew it. Hell, that’s why he was here, instead of calling 911 and letting the police handle it.

The guy wasn’t human. Well, he wasn’t only human.

He was something else.

The boot came down again, too hard for a human of that weight and strength.

Dags caught himself with his hands.

He remembered how he got himself into this situation now.

Unlike Dags’ usual m.o., where he followed people for weeks, making sure he knew exactly who they were, what they were, researching them, studying their habits, getting a feel for them, the likelihood they’d hurt someone, this guy, Dags had more or less caught in the act. He’d seen him drag the woman into a dark alley, like something out of an old detective movie.

He saw the guy’s aura.

He knew there was something wrong with it.

By then, the not-human attacker had a hand over the woman’s mouth.

Dags didn’t have time to involve the police, even if he’d wanted to.

He also didn’t have time to game this one out.

To make matters worse, the woman stuck around, even after he gave her an opening. Even after Dagstold her to run.

She wouldn’t leave.

Why the hell wouldn’t she leave?

The guy got the jump on him, which didn’t help. Truthfully, that really threw Dags in the beginning of the fight, but somehow it didn’t bother him as much as the woman just standing there, watching him get his ass kicked.

Anyway, the other thing was Dags’ own fault.

He had the same weakness as the guy currently kicking him in the ribs. He’d gotten too cocky, too used to fighting people who were painfully easy to beat. He’d followed the guy into the alley without the slightest attempt to scope out the scene from a safer angle.

“Get up!” the woman yelled. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Dags looked up at her in disbelief.

Seeing her standing there, against the opposite wall, which was covered, funnily enough, in an enormous pair of spray-painted angel wings, he scowled.

He waved a hand at her towards the mouth of the alley.

“Get out of here!” he snapped.

“Get off the ground!” she shot back. “Are you stupid?”

“Why are you yelling at me?” He motioned again with a jerk of his hand. “And why are you still here? RUN! Don’t just stand there like it’s reality t.v. Get your ass out of here! NOW.”

Hands on her hips, she frowned.

Under other circumstances, he might have laughed.

She looked like she was about to ask to speak to his manager.


I write quirky, smart, conflicted, and unforgettable characters who live in realistically fantastical worlds. Many of those characters want redemption. A lot more want tacos, a margarita, and a beachy vacation with lots of sex. They all kind of hate me for never giving them enough of those things.

I write mostly in urban fantasy, paranormal romance, paranormal mystery, and supernatural suspense, and my books are chock full of love and magic, light versus dark, angsty, steamy romances, sharp dialogue, gritty worlds, and metaphysical and paranormal whatsits.

I’ve traveled a lot, lived in various funky places, but currently live and write full time in Los Angeles, California.

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By definition – a Rogue is naughty..

The Taming of a Wicked Rogue
(The Lords of Scandal Row, #1)
by Samantha Holt
Genres: Adult, Historical Romance
Publication date: November 10th 2020


Forced to leave friends, family, and a life of privilege and fun, Rebecca Fortescue’s world changed overnight nearly ten years ago. Now, with the tightening of a noose, it’s changed again, but she needs to make amends for what her father did.

Which means returning, secretly, to the place where he did the most damage.

And to the residence of one Lord Leonard Moncrieff—the only man she’s ever loved.

She’s certain she won’t see him again, though. Nicknamed a Lord of Scandal Row, it’s clear to her, he’s no longer the boy she knew, and never returns home. The last thing she needs it to be distracted by a man deemed one of the most attractive men in London.

Unfortunately for Rebecca, Leo has been practically banished from London under the orders of his mother thanks to a scandal that, for once, had nothing to do with him. Now he has to spend his days playing the country gent and trying to avoid the female of the species.

It will be harder than he expected, given a sudden influx of young ladies to the area. He might be a rogue, but he has no desire to upset his delicate mother and will, albeit begrudgingly, play the dutiful son. He can avoid a few pretty faces, surely?

At least, until he discovers the beautiful Rebecca hiding in the stables. She’s in need of help, and he cannot resist, despite the fact she once shattered his young heart. The pull between them is as strong as ever but anything between them is impossible.

Or is it?

Excerpt One

WHY WAS LEO here? Rebecca had followed his pursuits in the newspapers. He never came to Langmere. Ever.

She pushed her back against the wall of the stables. A little brick dust rained down upon her. She wrinkled her nose and held her breath. The lamplight only offered her a hint of his features as he ducked into the building that was shrouded in darkness by the late hour.

He still made her heart skip. Even after all these years. It shouldn’t have surprised her that it did. He always did that to her, and the years had been kind to him, hardening his jaw and filling out his shoulders.

He wore a shirt, slightly untucked and rolled up at the sleeves, revealing muscular forearms dusted with hair. He murmured something to the horse, and her stomach did a tumble. If she closed her eyes, she would be six and ten again, listening to him speak to his horses whilst perched on a milking stool and watching him with such admiration. Their love of animals had brought them together but that had swiftly turned into something else.

Sometimes, she suspected Leonard Moncrieff would be the only man she ever loved.

However, just because he was still kind to animals did not mean he was the same man. It pained her to read every column devoted to him and his dalliances, yet she could not help herself. They had not spoken in nearly ten years and she could not help but want to know every element to his life, even while it stabbed at her heart to read of the rake he had become.

He stilled and turned, the golden light dappling over his face. She sucked in a breath. No wonder women swarmed to him. The attractive young man she had known had grown into the most handsome man she had ever seen.

She clapped a hand over her mouth when his brow furrowed. He lifted the lamp and peered at the shadows. She waited, her heart pounding against her chest so loudly that she feared he would hear it.

Then he shook his head, returned the lamp to the plinth and turned back to the horse, smoothing strong hands down the animal’s flanks.

Rebecca inhaled a shaky breath through her nostrils. And regretted it. Instantly. The brick dust and hay combined made her nose tickle and her eyes water. She pressed a finger under her nose but to no avail. A sneeze burst from her, cracking through the stillness.

She jolted away from the wall with the intention of escaping but too late. Leo descended upon her and grabbed her arm. “Who are you?” he demanded.

She tried to wriggle free of his strong grip, but he grabbed her other arm. When she went to push past him, he shoved back, and she lost her footing and tumbled onto a pile of hay. He fell with her, the sudden tumble dragging him down. The breath left her lungs at the impact of his body atop hers, his strength and height utterly apparent.

“Get off me,” she grunted, struggling against his hold.

“What are you doing here, boy?”

She stilled at the word. He hadn’t recognized her. She supposed the shadows were too dark. And that meant her disguise had worked. With any luck, she could make her excuses, leave, and he would be none the wiser of her presence here.

“Just seeking shelter,” she murmured, keeping her voice low.

He kept her pinned, fingers curled around both wrists. The awareness of his hard body atop hers sizzled through her despite herself. She squirmed once more and he cocked his head, releasing her arms suddenly. “You’re no boy.”

Excerpt Two

“You do not have to stay,” she murmured between forkfuls of lukewarm but beautifully spiced duck.

“I told Alexander I was taking a stroll about the parkland.” He lingered by the window, his hands clasped behind his back, despite there being nothing for him to view from such a position.

She sighed and gestured to the chair opposite. “You had better sit then. It feels mightily odd eating with you towering over me.”

He lowered himself onto the chair, his frame seeming too big for a piece of furniture that had likely been designed for a woman.

She forced her attention to the food. Tomorrow she had intended to hunt down a woman with whom her father had been connected, and it would likely involve walking into Grasmere so she would need her strength.

“How are your brothers?” she finally asked when the silence stretched too long.

Not that it was uncomfortable, at least not in the traditional manner. It left her feeling oddly achy and desperate for the days when they had been able to talk and touch freely.

“Well enough, though I cannot say they would confide in me were they not.”

She frowned, gesturing with her fork. “But you used to be so close, especially to Adam.”

“We are all busy these days.” He lifted both shoulders. “Alexander is forever hunting out his next adventure, probably determined to kill himself so he does not have to worry about siring an heir, and Adam still enjoys cards.”

“And you, what do you do?”

“I thought you knew all about me.” He smirked. “You have read all about me in the gossip columns after all.”

“Well, yes.” Warmth spread into her face, and she eyed the glossy table top until she could get the heat under control. “But only briefly,” she lied.

Leo leaned back and laced his hands behind his head. “Then I am sure you know it all.”

“The horses,” she blurted, motioning so fast with her fork that a few remnants of meat flung off it and splattered against the curtains. She grimaced and gently lowered the fork.

His lips curved but he said nothing of her disastrous manners.

“What I was trying to say was there are so many horses. Are they yours?”

He nodded. “We are so seldom here that Alexander does not mind me using the park land for the horses.”

“For racing?”

“No. They are too old. I purchase those who are at the end of their racing or working careers and they live out their retirement here.”

“Of course you do.”

Rebecca should not have been surprised really, but she almost wished there was some selfish reason. It would make it all the easier to ignore this pull toward him as though he had lassoed a rope around her and was slowly hauling her in with his every word and action.

He lifted both brows. “You sound almost disappointed.”

“Well, it does rather ruin your image as the seductive rake.”

“And that disappoints you?” His gaze clashed with hers, making her chest feel tight.

“No, it is just—”

“You want to know why I bedded all those women over the years?”


“Because of you, Rebecca.” His jaw twitched. “To forget you.” He shoved a hand through his hair, leaving it in disarray. “I needed to get you out from under my skin, but I’ll be damned if I succeeded.”

She inhaled a sharp breath that seemed to sear her lungs. It all could be a lie, she supposed, but she did not think so. His confession had the loop tightening, drawing her closer still until she could fight him no longer.

Perhaps, just for now, she did not want to fight him.

“I never forgot you either,” she confessed.

The words escaped without thought and she should have regretted them, but when his gaze darkened and she knew precisely what his next move would be, she could not bring herself to.

She held herself still and waited.


USA Today Bestselling author Samantha Holt lives in a small village in England with her twin girls and a dachshund called Duke. If you’re not sure where to start why not try…

▶ Amelia and the Viscount (Bluestocking Brides #1) for a fun, slightly hot shorter length read. Meet the Chadwick sisters and follow their adventures in each of their standalone stories.

▶ You’re the Rogue That I Want (Rogues of Redmere #1) is a longer read with heat, witty dialogue, a feisty heroine and adventure. All books in the series are standalone.

▶ Sinful Confessions is the first in the Cynfell Brothers Series. These are all novella length and standalone–ideal for a quick dip into the world of the sexy Cynfell brothers.

▶ Wake Me With a Kiss is a sweet, fairytale romance. Twists on Beauty and the Beast and Cinderella are also available if you love a clean, fun read.

▶ To Steal a Highlander’s Heart is a full length dive into the world of sexy highlanders. For those who love braw Scots, some steamy scenes, and medieval romance, this series is a perfect escape.

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Foxed or what?

Outfoxed Book Cover Outfoxed
R.J. Blain
(The Fox Witch, #1)
Genres: Adult, Paranormal, Urban Fantasy
Publication date: November 3rd 2020

Death is a way of life outside of the safety of Inner Tulsa, and Jade means to keep flipping Mother Nature off until old age claims her. With one eye always on the sky, the last thing she needs is a pack of bounty hunters out for her living head. With no idea of why anyone would want her, her wits might keep her free, assuming she can resist the charming lures of Sandro, one of the men out to claim her as his own. Left with the choice of being the evening snack of a tornado or taking shelter with the bounty hunter, she does what she does best: she lives on the edge. Striking a bargain with the handsome bounty hunter buys her another day of life, but it also dumps her into the heart of a sinister plot, one meant to enslave the residents of the storm-tossed city—and the others brave and foolish enough to call the Alley home.  

Little Fox. Cute animal clipart watercolor woodland forest | Etsy in 2020 |  Watercolor fox, Fox illustration, Baby clip art

Guest Post

How long do you think about a topic before deciding to write about it? Do you have a set of notes or a note book where you write down topics that appeal before making a decision as to which topic this time?

Hi! Thanks so much for having me today.

I can’t even lie about this. This is one of my favorite parts of writing. I love planning a book or doing research on it based on a topic or socio-political question. Often, I come up with an entire series based on a single question. For example, for Outfoxed, I wanted to know what would happen if slavery hadn’t been abolished but instead generally embraced and who was targeted was based on a variety of different factors.

I also wanted to fiddle with that society if magic heavily segmented the continent. So, I split the United States into four magic zones, called them quadrants, assigned each type of magic to its quadrant, did my best to make certain the magic system I used was balanced, and determined how the boundaries (or the zones where quadrants collide) worked.

The stories ultimately become about the lives of characters doing the best they can in a world that isn’t precisely easy to survive in.

Building the magic system took about ten pages in a notebook before I could begin addressing the socio-political issues surrounding a society that had embraced slavery in various forms.

Rather than the worker-central system of Colonial enslavement, I opted to flip the script, maintaining some elements of historic slavery and serfdom systems but adding some significant changes. (hint: the slaves are not slaves for cheap or free labor, and labor laws are alive and well in most quadrants.) For example of a change I made, acquiring freedom is legally feasible for anyone enslaved in the system. Around half of the population of owned individuals signed into the system willingly, and those who weren’t signed into the system willingly were either sold into the system by a parent or were coerced into joining the system. Those who were sold into the system by a parent are the ones who are truly screwed over, because the system is rigged against them, as once a status is changed, it can only be reversed in specific fashions.

Let’s just say things will become rather complicated for the heroine of the story.

This is a heavily simplified breakdown of the problem and how it works in the book, but the whole system is ultimately brought under fire throughout the ‘world’ series. (The Fox Witch World is an interconnected series of trilogies and quartets, which will eventually lead to a main 10 or so book series.)

But, yes. I have notebook upon notebook of ideas I haven’t yet pursued, and I wrote down just enough I could revisit them as time allows. I cherry pick which ideas I actually turn into novels, as there’s only one of me but hundreds of pages of ideas and concepts I could write if only I had a little more time.

But I do try to jot as many of them down as possible, as they sometimes grow to become one of my favorite books. At the end of the day, however, I cherry pick the ideas that excite me the most, as that helps me get through the entire process of writing the book.

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RJ Blain suffers from a Moleskine journal obsession, a pen fixation, and a terrible tendency to pun without warning.

In her spare time, she daydreams about being a spy. Her contingency plan involves tying her best of enemies to spinning wheels and quoting James Bond villains until satisfied.

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And now the spirit flows…

The Christmas Spirit
Alexandrea Weis
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance
Published by: Rosewind Books
Publication date: October 27th 2020


Courtney Winston is a writer on a deadline. Eager to finish her book and get over a recent break-up, she ditches Christmas with her family and retreats to a secluded cabin in the mountains.

Appliances rarely work, and cell service is spotty, but Courtney senses there is more to her rustic rental—something dark and haunting.

Then Peter, the attractive Stone Mountain Lodge owner, and a meddling cook, Mrs. Finn, keep coming around, shattering her peace and offering advice on how to fix her heavy heart.

Courtney grows closer to Peter, but Mrs. Finn warns her of his troubled past. Undaunted, Courtney sets out to win him over. But being with the brooding stranger may end up costing her more than she ever imagined.

Alexandrea answers my question.

Why do you think it is different and your approach is unique?

The Christmas Spirit came as a mixture of my agent telling me I needed to write a Christmas romance with snow in it, and my fascination with Christmas lore from around the world. I blended both concepts and came up with a modern woman, Courtney Winston, thrown into a world where witches and ghosts are real.

I am known for my dark characters and ghostly tales, and I did not stray too far from those themes in this adventure set in the Smokey Mountains of Tennessee. What appealed to me about the story was bringing legends from Sweden and Germany and weaving them into a modern American tale. There are even Norwegian Forest cats, which were my favorite.

I wanted to give a fresh perspective of Christmas lore by incorporating some legends people may know about. The blending of so many Old-World ideas gave this romance its unique flavor. The added scary bits where dark forest creatures and supernatural elements play a part, provide an unexpected twist.

In my hometown of New Orleans, Christmas has always had a ghoulish edge, and I wanted to share that tradition in this book. Fortunately, I was able to find a lot of European legends with a darker and sinister feel to weave into this story. Many of the older Christmas myths usually involve children being eaten by some goblin or witch, like Halloween. It was that vibe I wanted to bring to The Christmas Spirit.

Our heroine is a rational and no-nonsense person, and sticking her in a forest where all is not what it seems intrigued me because of the offbeat characters and situations I could create. But the ghoulish creatures do more than set Courtney on edge; they teach her to appreciate her life, and no matter how heartbroken and down on her luck she may feel, life and love matter more than anything.

It was the lesson about never giving up on life that I wanted to impart with this story.

Like any good Christmas tale, Courtney should end the book a little wiser and a little more grateful than when she began. All the things she held dear, all the desires she wanted to achieve, didn’t matter. Only love of family and friends meant anything. And it will take a brief battle with spirits to teach Courtney a life lesson about the wishes we want versus the wishes we need.   


Alexandrea Weis, RN-CS, PhD, is a multi-award-winning author, screenwriter, advanced practice registered nurse, and historian who was born and raised in the French Quarter of New Orleans. Having grown up in the motion picture industry as the daughter of a director, she learned to tell stories from a different perspective. Infusing the rich tapestry of her hometown into her novels, she believes that creating vivid characters makes a story moving and memorable.

Weis writes romance, mystery, suspense, thrillers, supernatural, and young adult fiction and has sold approximately one million books. She lives with her husband and pets in New Orleans where she is a permitted/certified wildlife rehabber with the Louisiana Wildlife and Fisheries and rescues orphaned and injured animals.

She is a member of both the International Thriller Writers Association and the Horror Writers Association.




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Can you shop for a baby?

Shopping For A CEO’s Baby Book Cover Shopping For A CEO’s Baby
(Shopping for a Billionaire, #16)
Julia Kent
Genres: Adult, Comedy, Contemporary, Romance
Independently Published
Publication date: October 27th 2020

It’s Andrew and Amanda’s turn… in duplicate We’re having twins. Twins. Which means my shooters are stronger than my brother’s. I win. Yeah, yeah, everyone can say it’s not a competition, but it is. And we all know it. Two babies at once means double the fun, and double the misery for my poor wife, Amanda. While I’m growing a Fortune 500 company, she’s growing two entire human beings out of nothing but orange cheese snacks and ice cream. Do you have any idea how hard I’ve worked during this pregnancy, tracking down orange smoothies for her? Not to mention being forced to Facetime into a childbirth class on perineal massage, rescuing Chuckles the cat from being shaved bald by my two-year-old niece, and fighting with a wife who has named the twins Lefty and Righty. By the time we hit the ninth month, my entire world revolves around pleasing — and protecting — her. Even if it means humiliating myself in the name of love. Wait a minute. Wait a minute, now. Hold on. Is she the one who’s winning? Andrew and Amanda are BACK in the newest New York Times bestselling Shopping series book as they “beat” Declan and Shannon in the baby competition, but at what cost? As their future awaits them in the form of twins, Amanda and Andrew face ghosts from the past with wit, humor, and most of all — plenty of love.  

Andrew and Amanda are BACK in the newest New York Times bestselling Shopping series book as they “beat” Declan and Shannon in the baby competition, but at what cost? As their future awaits them in the form of twins, Amanda and Andrew face ghosts from the past with wit, humor, and most of all — plenty of love.

Excerpts and Teasers:


I look at my phone. Andrew.

I’ll be home for dinner. What do you want?

For the last few weeks, we’ve ordered takeout every single night, because I never know what my stomach will or won’t be able to handle. I close my eyes and ask myself what I want, and reply:

Grilled salmon with paprika. Cantaloupe. Sautéed carrots in honey and cumin.

He texts back: I see you’re sticking with the orange theme.

I send an emoji of someone an orange sticking out its tongue.

Will do, he replies. I’ll have Consuela make it and bring it home after the gym.

Then I get a heart.

Consuela owns a private restaurant in the Seaport District, the kind that you can’t know about unless you know someone who knows someone. It’s our special place, and since morning sickness has ravaged me, Consuela’s been gracious enough to meet my weirdo dietary needs.

She also takes it as a challenge. My palate has expanded considerably as a result of her driving mission to find new orange foods.

I reply with: You mean you’ll have Gina contact Consuela to do it all, and have Gerald pick it up and bring it to the house.

Same thing, he texts back.

“I love how you smile when you think about Andrew,” Mom says, making me look up from my phone.


“You two are so in love.”

My smile broadens. “We are.”

She looks at my belly. “Those babies are very, very fortunate.”

“Billionaire’s kids,” I mutter.

“No. You could be penniless and they’d be so, so blessed. You and Andrew are going to be wonderful parents.”

“How do you know?”

Tenderness floods her face as she reaches for me. I stand and bend before her, her hand on my shoulder, eyes shining with something close to tears.

“Because you have such a good heart. You always did. You’re smart and sweet and you care about people and want to help them. And Andrew loves you deeply. I may not understand his ambition, but I do see that he’s a loving man.”



My wife is orange.

She is caked with orange dust, on her fingers, in her cuticles, and her lips are the color of a traffic cone. She’s in the kitchen, standing in front of the blender, drinking something–

You guessed it.


Mmmmm,” she moans as she drinks straight from the blender itself. “Isss izz soooooo goooo.”

“What are you drinking?”



A swallow later and she says, “Cheeto-cini.” When my sister-in-law, Shannon, was pregnant with my niece, Amanda created a special orange smoothie for her out of Cheetos, marshmallow cream, and orange sherbet.

My wife has modified it to remove the sherbet and replace it with coocnut milk, which does nothing to change the fact that it’s vile to the core.

It’s just slightly less gross now.

“Another one?”

“It’s the only thing that stays down.”

“And the doctor really says this is okay?” I say, staying far away from the blender, knowing how territorial she is about her food. She’s pregnant and still stuck deep in morning sickness.

For the last few weeks, all she’s eaten is this.

Cheeto smoothie.

And nothing else.

“It’s full-fat coconut milk. One big leaf of kale.” She makes a gagging sound. “Apple juice. One banana. And Cheetos. I freeze the fruit and it tastes like a milkshake.”

“Our babies are made up of that.” At least she added the kale, banana, and apple juice this time.

“I choke down a prenatal vitamin, too, Andrew.” Her eyes tear up and her chin quivers.


“It’s fine. Good. I’m so glad you can eat something. Really. Not judging you. I know you are doing everything possible for our babies.” I rub the spot between her shoulder blades, hoping I can calm her down before a full-blown meltdown kicks in.

“I am! Everything,” she says before gobbling down more of that candy corn-colored monstrosity. “I’ve lost two pounds. The doctor said the placenta looks fine and the babies are growing within range, but this morning sickness is horrible. If I drink water, I puke! If I drink this–” she points at the blender, “–I don’t.”

“Then by all means, drink that.” I hold back a shudder. My trainer, Vince, would have an unexpected coronary if he saw Cheetos in a Vitamix.

“I–I know I’m not doing this the way another wife would. A better wife. A wife who is stronger and who…” Her lower lip begins to quiver.

Here we go again.



I open my eyes, the words running through my head before I’m fully awake.

Twenty-three weeks, three days.

That’s my first thought.

The second is: I need to hump my husband.

Some impulse centers itself between my legs, turning me into a rocking nerve ending, my entire body so horny, it’s like some gene in me got flipped and my entire purpose in life is to orgasm in a continuous loop.

“Help,” I whisper to Andrew as I slide my bare thigh against his hair-covered one, his body gloriously nude, which only ratchets up my sex-crazed fever.

“What’s wrong?”

“I need you to let me have sex with you again.”

One eye narrows, the other holding steady as I reach for him, finding him halfway to where I need him.

“Excuse me?”

“Can I please have sex with you again? I know we just did it–” I look at the clock, squinting to read the numbers, “–seven hours ago, but I–”

The kiss answers me.

“You don’t have to ask.”

“Of course I do! Consent is very important.”

His erection twitches in my hand, jumping slightly.

“There’s my consent.”

This isn’t slow sex. It’s fast and hard, the kisses hot, my legs parted and my body centered over him in seconds. The grinding need to have him touch the deep ache inside and unclench it is too furious, too intense to ignore.

I’m bent over him, hips rolling up, belly hardening with each curl as I ride, ride, ride to climax. My thighs pull him in deeper, knees pressing against his tight ass, my hands on his chest, his head bobbing up to suck one breast at the perfect moment of ecstasy, making me moan into eternity.

And then–snap. I’m done.

I climb off and kiss his cheek.

“Thank you!”



Vince grabs my hand before I can touch the forties I’m about to do curls with.

“What the hell is that?” He points to my orange cuticles.

“Cheeto stains.”

“You’re eating Cheetos?” He sounds like I just told him I cooked my father’s liver and ate it on a buttered croissant. Not sure whether he’d be more outraged at the patricide or the carb count.

“Not me. My wife.”

“Yeah, yeah. All my clients blame their partner. You’re on a strict program, Andrew. No chemicals, no grains, no–”

“Flavor,” Declan mutters under his breath as Gerald smirks. We’re working out at this shithole gym Vince likes, only this time is different.

Because I bought the place.

Declan’s not the only McCormick who can go out on his own and buy a company. No one, other than Amanda, knows I did this.

And don’t ask me why I did it.


New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Julia Kent writes romantic comedy with an edge. From billionaires to BBWs to new adult rock stars, Julia finds a sensual, goofy joy in every contemporary romance she writes. Unlike Shannon from Shopping for a Billionaire, she did not meet her husband after dropping her phone in a men’s room toilet (and he isn’t a billionaire). She lives in New England with her husband and three children in a household where the toilet seat is never, ever, down.

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