the buttoned-up librarian. She follows the rules. Stays ʼtil
closing. Her kindness and dedication to her patrons is legendary. But
those patrons have no idea what she’s typing to the mysterious
shut-in who emailed the library needing a library card three months
ago . . .
up, he’s no invalid. A year ago, he was the gleaming, ab-sational
star of the small screen. Then came the accident. Now he’s a
wounded recluse with a pizza habit and fears so unshakable that only
the thought of losing Mary to an online date could lure him out of
into weekends on the couch, watching tearjerkers and driving each
other insane with red-hot makeout sessions. But as the desire grows
and their horizons expand, the life that brought them together might
not be enough for either of them . . .
proud—nerd, prone to ignoring the world around her as she read any
book she could find. Her favorite stories, though, were always
romances. As an adult, she earned an M.A. in American history and
worked in a variety of jobs that required her to hide her bawdy
interior under a demure exterior: Colonial Williamsburg interpreter,
high school teacher, academic tutor, and (of course) librarian.
Finally, though, she realized the call of the hussy could no longer
be denied. So now she writes contemporary romantic comedy with plenty
of sex, banter, and nerdery. When not writing, she cooks alongside
her husband, dabbles in photography, and tries to hide her collection
of throbbing-intensive romances from her curious daughter. Visit her
on the web at oliviadade.com.
for exclusive excerpts, guest posts and giveaways!
To serve and protect…
That’s my job.
That’s who I am, and what I do.
It’s what I’ve always done.
And when she comes back to town,
She’s all I want,
All I need.
But I know better.
I refuse to give into my desire.
I’ll never hurt her,
Never leave her.
And my job alone threatens it all,
I have to stay away,
Otherwise, I’ll break her,
And destroy us.
Betrayed. Destroyed. Shattered.
But, I’m used to it.
After all, I’m a cop, and I’ve seen the worst.
I just never thought it would happen to me.
But it did.
Now, I can’t trust anyone.
Determined. Loyal. Honest.
But she won’t trust me,
Won’t let me in.
Even though I’m a detective,
I can’t solve the mystery.
No matter how hard I try,
She pushes me away.
What she doesn’t realize,
Is I’m the one thing she can count on,
Jameson Bradley is a sweet, sexy, cocky, alpha of a man – and everything I’ve been trying to avoid. Since the death of my husband Brady, less than a year ago, a relationship is the last thing I’m looking for. But apparently the universe doesn’t care what I want…
Aurora Broderick is everything I didn’t know I needed in my life. She’s smart, beautiful, strong… complicated. I had every intention of telling her I was a cop… Until she told me about Brady. Knowing how she feels about dating another law enforcement officer, I couldn’t bring myself to tell her. Losing her before she is actually mine – it isn’t an option.
Secrets. Lies. The ultimate betrayal.
Jameson isn’t the only one with secrets. When everything’s out in the open, what path will Aurora choose?
LB Russell lives in a small-ish town in northwest Georgia. After years spent in retail hell she took some time off to take care of her family. She still resides in that same town she grew up in with her husband, son and the behemoth cat that isn’t really her cat. She sat down with a good friend this past summer and started writing what would be her first work for publishing. With several more titles planned she hopes to do this for a long time.
Author: Lani Lynn Vale
Photographer: Michael Stokes
Cover Model: BT Urella
“Mr. Peters!” Someone called from further down the hallway that led to the field. “Mr. Peters! Wait!”
Hancock looked over his shoulder, agitation clearly written all over his face.
“I’ve already told you I won’t be doing it.” Hancock informed the small man.
And he was small.
Maybe not compared to a normal man, but standing next to Hancock the man looked positively minimal.
“Please,” the man continued as if Hancock hadn’t even spoken. “This is a multi-thousand dollar commercial that we’ve been planning for months. Surely you understand that we’re doing it for…”
“Craig,” Hancock growled. “I am not doing the Harlem Shake. Do I look like a man that does the f***ing Harlem Shake?”
Craig, who I guessed was in control of PR, smiled soothingly.
“Parts,” he held out his hand.
I still wondered why he was called Parts, but I wasn’t ever going to ask him.
It was weird, and it was also a freakin’ secret. Everyone in the entire league wondered and speculated why he was called Parts. Nobody knew, though.
“I’ll be there. But only if I can sit in the back and nobody sees me.” Hancock conceded. “And don’t try to move me, or I’m leaving. Capisce?”
Craig nodded his head urgently.
“How much time do we have until we start?” Hancock asked Craig.
“Oh, about twenty minutes or so. Do you need me to bring you anything to drink?” Craig asked, happy now that he’d gotten his way.
But I knew that Craig hadn’t gotten his way.
Far from it.
If I had my guess, Hancock wouldn’t even be in the commercial.
He’d literally stay on the sidelines and make it a point to stay out of each of every shot, just like he did after games when reporters were hoping to interview him.
Then there were the photos that featured him in them.
None of them were taken with his permission.
Other than the one that the MLB used to show his stats during games, I’d never seen one picture with him looking at the camera.
“No, no drink Craig. Thank you.” Hancock waved Craig off.
The moment Craig was dismissed, he hurried back in the direction of the field, a freakin’ skip in his step.
When he rounded the corner, I turned to face Hancock fully again.
“What?” I asked, wondering what that look on his face was about.
“I’m not doing the Harlem Shake.” He repeated.
I held up my hands in understanding.
“I’m not much of a dancer, either. You and me can hang out in the back like the losers we are.” I teased.
I hadn’t meant that either of us were necessarily real losers or anything, and the moment the words left my lips, I realized how it sounded.
“I’m sorry,” I said, holding up my hand. “In no way, shape, or form am I accusing you of being a loser.”
“It’s okay.” He winked. “I don’t dance. I don’t do pictures. In fact, if I had my way, I wouldn’t even be here right now.”
I smiled at him.
“Sway!” Someone called. “Let’s go! We have to sit together in the front.”
Sinclair, the one man in the entire complex that I didn’t want to see, was standing there sneering at me.
“She’s not sitting in the front, Sinclair. She’s sitting with me in the back. We have to talk about what I expect out of her this season.” Hancock rumbled, stopping me with a large hand on my arm when I went to move around him.