Have you read the other books in the Priest Series?  I loooove this series BIG TIME!

Genre: Contemporary Romance

There are many rules a priest can’t break.
A priest cannot marry. A priest cannot abandon his flock. A priest cannot forsake his God.

I’ve always been good at following rules.
Until she came.
My name is Tyler Anselm Bell. I’m twenty-nine years old. Six months ago, I broke my vow of celibacy on the altar of my own church, and God help me, I would do it again.
I am a priest and this is my confession.

***Priest is a standalone, full-length novel with an HEA.  For mature audiences only.***

We are told that God will punish the wicked. That sinful men will reap what they sow. We are told to scourge our souls with prayer and pain to become clean once again.

Well, here I am. Wicked and sinful. Desperate to become clean…even though it feels so good to be dirty.

But even I never expected what came next.

Even I never expected my punishment to come so soon.

***Midnight Mass is a novella and a sequel to Priest. It’s intended for mature audiences only.***

Did you read Sean’s Love Note to Zenny?  It’s amazing!

I’m not a good man, and I’ve never pretended to be. I don’t believe in goodness or God or any happy ending that isn’t paid for in advance.

What do I believe in? Money. Sex. Macallan 18.

They have words for men like me—playboy. Womanizer. Skirt chaser.

My brother used to be a priest, and he only has one word for me.

Sinner.

Aiden is seriously too perfect for words…

Keep reading to see the full Love Note!

February 14^th, 2022

Elijah,

A year ago today, I was in a cold Kansas monastery trying not to freeze my dick off while we read our daily prayers.  You’d think with as big as we Catholics are into saints and feast days that we’d be all about St. Valentine on February 14^th, since Valentine is one of the few saints that everyone actually knows….but no.  The Church doesn’t even give him a feast day anymore—something about murky historical documentation—and we celebrate the feast day of Saints Cyril and Methodius instead.  And their day doesn’t even come with cheap teddy bears and tiny, rocklike hearts with words printed on them.  Just homilies about Old Church Slavonic.

But even though that day wasn’t about St. Valentine at all—which I suppose makes sense, because what reason do monks have to care about Valentine’s Day—there was one verse that still felt like an arrow right to the tender places of me that still loved you.  Not a cutesy Cupid arrow, by the way, tipped with sugar and fletched with hearts—but an arrow made for martyrs and saints.  An arrow like the ones that pierced St. Sebastian all over, and it found its mark without error, drilling right into my chest, tearing flesh and breaking bone on its way to my heart.

The pain it left behind had a shape, and that shape was the curve of your smile on a Sunday morning.

Awake, my soul;

awake, lute and harp;

I myself will awaken the dawn.

Awake, my soul.  As if I’d been asleep all this time and living without you had been a dizzy, dangerous dream.

Awake, my soul.  As if I’d forgotten how it felt to be with you, to see the world through your compassionate, too-smart eyes.  To hear your voice whispering wonderfully filthy things in my ear.

Awake, my soul.  As if I’d forgotten how it felt to be wanted by you, chosen by you.  How it felt to love you so much that even looking at you hurt sometimes.

The psalmist is awake to love, and they cannot help themselves, they must sing about it; they must, in the most elemental human sense, worship.  Perhaps their love for God is so strong that it makes the night feel short and easy.

Perhaps their love for God is so strong that it is always dawn where they are.

And in that cold sanctuary, on that even colder day, that sort of love felt so far away from me; it felt like I’d traded the actual dawn for some psalms about dawn instead, and now there would be nothing left to do but endure my choice.  I’d had my reasons for making it, and yes, the reasons had been good ones, and I loved being God’s and God being mine.  But—

But.

I suppose you already know the rest.

And here we are this Valentine’s Day.  You woke me up with sex this morning—deep, toe-curling sex—and after you finished inside me, you coaxed me into the shower, where we made love again.  Tonight, I want my mouth around you, your hands in my hair, and I want you to lock me in my cage and only let me out once I’m panting and miserable.

Right now, you’re in your study doing journalist things over Zoom; I have the day off from Sean’s non-profit.  I’ve indulged in all the tacky treats the grocery store had to offer: heart-shaped boxes of forgettable chocolate, Hershey’s kisses that manage to shed little foil flecks all over the counter, even Valentine’s-themed Peeps, which made you sigh so hard that you blew the foil bits littering the counter every which way.

But even though we’ve exchanged small gifts, big kisses, and messy orgasms, even though we’ve had the kind of Valentine’s Day couples usually have, this one is important.  Important and special because I’m here, with you.  For you.  Because I have somehow awakened the dawn with my love, and because you have done the same, and there is something breathtaking about that.  We’ve made it through the night, you and I, and we kindled the dawn into being.

I now no longer feel those fateful words like an arrow, but like the first rays of morning, soft and golden, reaching into the sky and caressing the earthbound of us with hope.  And all the things that come after the end of our night—love, marriage, an entire life of dawns with each other—start with this one simple, stunning command.

Awake, my soul.

You are my soul, Elijah.

And now I am awake.

Happy Valentine’s Day.  I love you.

– Aiden

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Sierra is a voracious reader of all things including the smuttiest smut, young adult, piles of non-fiction for research, and everything Bill Bryson (especially on audio).
She loves writing the dirtiest things that she can think of, King Arthur, sparkling water, Tarot, coffee, leggings, and learning new words daily.
Her previous jobs have included firing ceramics, teaching living history lessons in one-room school house in full, 1908-approved school marm attire, and working as a librarian for several years—not in that order
She lives in the Kansas City area with her husband, two children, and two giant dogs. (And two cats, but they’re so naughty we don’t talk about them.)
The social media she cares about the most are Spotify and Instagram. Following her in those places is a true love language, indeed.
Sierra is represented by Rebecca Friedman of RF Literary; foreign rights are handled by Bookcase Literary. You can reach her at thesierrasimone@gmail.com, rights inquiries can be directed to Rebecca Friedman at Rebecca@rfliterary.com.

There’s no absolution for the things I’ve done.
But I found a way to control my impulses.
I became a priest.

As Father Magnus Falke, I suppress my cravings. As the headteacher of a Catholic boarding school, I’m never tempted by a student.

Until Tinsley Constantine.

The bratty princess challenges my rules and awakens my dark nature. With each punishment I lash upon her, I want more. In my classroom, private rectory, and bent over my altar, I want all of her.

One touch risks everything I stand for. My faith. My redemption. And even my life.

As if that could stop me. I need her pain, and her heart, and she needs my lessons in sin.

This note is perfection!  I love it too much…

Keep reading to see the full Love Note!

My forbidden angel,

My heaven,

My Tinsley,

Nothing is more meaningful than taking vows of priesthood.
Except falling in love. And falling in love with you could never be less than sweeping, soul-binding, and inextinguishable.
You are life after death, the good after the bad, the everlasting bliss that seizes all imagination and heightens every breath. You’re the reason I rise each morning, the salvation I hold every night. You’re the prayer upon my lips when I kiss you softly and take you roughly, teeth scraping, hands squeezing, legs tangling, hips colliding, grinding, grunting, edging, and claiming.
Are you wet, dirty girl? Wet for your teacher?
They say the best teacher is your last mistake.
I’m the best. Don’t deny it. But what we do together can never be a mistake.
I have another lesson for you. A verse to remember the next time I sin in and out and all over your body.

Isaiah 43:4 – “You are precious in my eyes. I honor you and love you.”

I’m no saint, but on this day of Saint Valentine, I’m sinfully, eternally yours.
Your Valentine,
Your priest,
Your Magnus

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New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today bestselling author, Pam Godwin, lives in the Midwest with her husband, their two children, and a foulmouthed parrot. When she ran away, she traveled fourteen countries across five continents, attended three universities, and married the vocalist of her favorite rock band.
Java, tobacco, and dark romance novels are her favorite indulgences, and might be considered more unhealthy than her aversion to sleeping, eating meat, and dolls with blinking eyes.

Check out the other book in the Vital Signs Series…

Eight weeks of forced proximity is a long time to hate someone you’re trying not to love.

Sebastian Stremmel doesn’t need another headache. He has enough of his own without Sara Shapiro, the noisy new reconstructive surgeon, stomping all around his surgical wing with her chippy, chirpy cheerfulness.

But Sebastian doesn’t usually get what he wants.

No one gets under his skin like Sara – so much so a heated “debate” and an exam room left in shambles later, they land themselves in eight weeks of hospital-mandated conflict resolution counseling. Now they’re forced to fight fair…which quickly leads them to playing dirty when no one’s looking.

They know it’s a mistake.

They promise themselves it will never happen again.

They swear they got it out of their systems.

They didn’t.

Author’s Note: Grumpy/recovering people-pleaser sunshine. Introverts attract. Enemies-to-lovers in the workplace. Banter, bicker, and button-pushing foreplay. Don’t tell the friend group, get jealous when the friend group tries to fix her up.

Heat: rip her clothes off before you get the front door open.

Angst: big laughs, big feels, no ugly crying.

I cannot even begin to contain my love for Cal…

Keep reading to see the full Love Note!

 

Dear Stella,

Valentine’s Day always seems to do this to us. We never catch a break. Either you’re traveling or I’m in the O.R. or something else happens and we just don’t get it together. I thought I had it together for at least a Valentine’s breakfast this year but here it is, 4:45 a.m. and I’m writing you this note because I just got a call from the hospital. I have to head in earlier than expected.

Waking you up after a rocky night with an infant is no way to show you that I love you, especially when you have to get on a flight to New York this afternoon.

And I know that you know I love you, and you don’t need a special day or loud proclamations to make that true. You don’t need much of anything, and if I can be quite honest with you, sweet thing, that’s kind of a pain in my ass. You don’t need jewelry or flowers or anything else that I could box up and tie with a ribbon. It would be real easy for me to order up some sparkly earrings and call it a day, but that’s not who you are, is it?

That shouldn’t come as a surprise to me.

Letting you sleep late. Sending a matcha to your office in the afternoon. Taking the kids to the park while you’re packing for a trip. Hiring someone to handle our Christmas decorations. Scheduling time on your calendar when no one else gets to have you but me.

That’s what you need, even if you don’t ask for it.

I know the ritual of Valentine’s Day means nothing to you but I like these manufactured events that give me a chance to spoil you, even if it’s just with chocolate-covered strawberries for breakfast. On that note, you’ll find those strawberries waiting for you in the fridge. They’re in a takeout container that I’ve labeled “spicy” so you can keep them from the babies. The little one wouldn’t notice but the big one, she knows what’s up.

I’ll see you tomorrow night, Stel.

Love always,

Cal

 

Helena Hunting is the author of The USA Today and NYT bestselling PUCKED Series. She lives on the outskirts of Toronto with her incredibly tolerant family and two moderately intolerant cats. She writes everything from romantic sports comedy to new adult angst.

My new neighbor is a firefighter—and a scorching hot single dad—but I swear I didn’t set off that smoke alarm on purpose.
(And I was beyond mortified when he rushed in and saw me naked.)
Nothing happened, of course—because I, Winnie MacAllister, romance junkie and owner of a constantly broken heart, have sworn off men for one solid year.
Even protective men with chiseled jaws, bulging biceps, and deep brown eyes that make my breath come faster. Even former SEALs with broad chests and strong hands that make my skin sizzle. Even gorgeous, grumpy guys who have their hands full raising two adorable little girls and claim they don’t believe in love.
Until Dex kisses me one night, and I drop all my defenses.
(Also my underwear.)
He says he’s not gentle, and he’s right. He says I should take the dream job I’m offered in another state, and he’s right. He says he’s too old for me and could never be the man I deserve.
He’s wrong.
Dex and I might be twelve years apart, but the fire between us is the kind that will never burn out.
How can I convince him to give happily-ever-after with me a chance?

Check out the other amazing books in the Cloverleigh Farms Series!

I’m a full-time single dad to three daughters and CFO at Cloverleigh Farms. I don’t have time to fall in love—I’m too busy trying to run a business, keep the red socks out of the white laundry, and get the damn pillowcases on without owing a dollar to the swear jar.
Sure, Frannie Sawyer is beautiful and sweet, but she’s twenty-seven, the boss’s daughter, and my new part-time nanny—which means she’s completely off-limits. It’s bad enough I can’t stop fantasizing about her, what kind of jerk would I be if I acted on the impulse to kiss her?
(Exactly the kind of jerk you’re thinking.)
Actually, I’m worse than that—because I didn’t stop with a kiss, and now I can’t stay away. She makes me feel like myself again. She reminds me what it’s like to want something just for me. She’s everything I ever needed, but nothing I ever imagined.
I’m a former Marine. I should have had the strength to resist her from the start.
But I didn’t. And now I have to choose between the life I want and the life she deserves.
Even if it means giving her up.

When we were eleven, Oliver Ford Pemberton dared me to jump off a barn roof. He said you couldn’t break a leg from a 12-foot-jump.
He lied.
(You can also break a collarbone, which served him right as far as I was concerned.)
I wish I could say it was the last dare I ever took from him, the last bet I ever made with him, the last time I ever trusted Oliver Ford Pemberton.
But it wasn’t.
Because he had the nerve to grow up gorgeous, charming, and sexy. And as we got older, the dares only got dirtier—and the betting stakes higher—until finally, he left me in pieces. I swore I’d never talk to him again.
But twenty years after I took that flying leap, he’s back in my life, daring me to risk everything for him: my job, my self-worth, and my heart.
How many chances does love deserve?

Noah wrote Meg a Love Note – have you seen it?

I didn’t mean to see him naked–it was an accident. It had to be, right?
Because Noah McCormick and I have never been anything more than friends. In all the years I’ve known him, he’s never once laid a finger on me. And even though he was a cute lifeguard at 16 and a hotter-than-hell sheriff’s deputy at 34, he’s always been that protective guy I could trust to keep his hands to himself. I never wanted to mess with that. Until I walked in on him getting out of the shower and saw his hard, muscular body totally bare and dripping wet. At that moment I never wanted to mess with anything so badly in my entire life. I should have covered my eyes. Said I was sorry. At the very least, I could have handed him a towel.
After all, I was only in town for a few days, and he was just doing me a favor by escorting me to my sister’s wedding. It wasn’t a real date. But I didn’t apologize. And he didn’t cover up.
(Talk about a hot mess.)
After all those years of being just friends, suddenly we’re insatiable. He’s made it clear he’s not interested in romance. Which is fine with me because I’ve got a plane ticket back to my real life at the end of the week. It’s all in fun…or is it?

In hindsight, I should not have had that fifth mimosa at Breakfast with Santa.
Or the sixth, seventh, and eighth.
But my shame over the public meltdown that resulted was nothing compared to being abandoned by my husband of fifteen years for a much younger woman—and did I mention she’s pregnant?
For the sake of my children and my pride, I pack up and head for my childhood home and the small town where I grew up. Cloverleigh Farms would be the perfect place for a fresh start.
Falling for Henry DeSantis wasn’t part of the plan.
Sure, he’s easy on the eyes and hard in the bedroom (also the hallway, the bathtub, and on top of his desk), but he’s newly divorced too, and things between us are moving so fast I’m afraid neither one of us has had enough time to heal. Not to mention the fact that I’m a single mom now—my kids have to come first.
But Henry makes me feel beautiful and sexy and wanted and strong—things I haven’t felt in years. We understand each other, and when I’m in his arms, I’m tempted to trust again. To love again. To let myself be loved without fear.
But deep down, I’m terrified.
Is this all too much, too soon? Or am I a fool to let a second chance at happily ever after pass me by?

Genre:  Contemporary Romance

 

Back then, I had it all.
Wicked fastball. Killer instinct. Cocky grin. Full package.
(And believe me, I knew how to score.)
My senior year, I was a first round draft pick with a two-million-dollar signing bonus. Before I could even legally buy myself a beer, I made my Major League debut.
Point is, I was invincible.
Until one day I wasn’t.
After tanking my career—during the World Series, no less—the last thing I want to do is return to my hometown, where every jerk in a ball cap has an opinion about what went wrong with my arm.
So when my sister drags me back to town for her wedding, I vow to get in and out of there as quickly as possible.
Then I run into April Sawyer.
In high school we were just friends, but I’d always wanted her, and I’d never forgotten her—the red hair, the incredible smile, the crazy, reckless thing we did in the back of my truck the night we said goodbye.
It’s been eighteen years, but one look at her and I feel like my old self again. I can still make her laugh, she can still take me down a notch, and when the chemistry between us explodes, it’s even hotter this time around—and I don’t want it to end.
But just when I think I’m ready to let go of the past and get back in the game, life throws me a curveball I never saw coming.

 

Title:  Taste (Cloverleigh Farms Series Book #7)

Author:   Melanie Harlow
Release Date:  March 7, 2022

Genre:  Contemporary Romance, Romantic Comedy

 

The last person on earth I want to be stranded with is Gianni Lupo.
But thanks to the blizzard of the century, I’m trapped in a roadside motel room with that cocky bastard for two straight days.
With one small bed.
Some women might thank Mother Nature for delivering a polar vortex that maroons them with six feet of solid muscle, those deep blue eyes, that sexy grin–but not me. I’ve known Gianni Lupo all my life, and he’s never brought me anything but bad luck and trouble.
So when the tension between us explodes with enough fiery heat to melt my icy defenses, I should have known what the disastrous end result would be–
A big fat plus sign.
After the snow melts, I’m left with more than just memories of the night we spent keeping each other warm. And he might be a rising star on the culinary scene, but he’s got no idea how to handle this bun in the oven.
He says he wants to do the right thing, but I’m not about to spend the rest of my life feeling like someone settled for me.
But just when I think I’ve got Gianni Lupo all figured out, he gives me a taste of the man he could be, of the family we could become, of the way he could love me if I let him.
I’m terrified of falling for him.
But one taste might be all it takes.

 

 

I can’t even begin to handle Dex’s Love Note…

Keep reading to see the full Love Note!

 

Dear Winnie,

 

I am sitting here at the table with Luna and Hallie while they make valentines for their classrooms, and they said I had to make one too. Luna’s are cat-themed and Hallie’s are shaped like cupcakes, but they said I was free to make my own, so you are getting this on plain paper. If I do a good job, the girls say they will “make it fancy” because right now “it just looks sad.”

 

Anyway, I have never really been good at writing so I will just tell you that I love you.

 

Love, Dex

 

I have just been told that my valentine needs more words or they will not decorate it. So I’ll try again.

 

Winnie, I’m so happy you’re in my life. You make every day better. Please be my valentine forever.

 

Love, Dex

 

 

Dear Winnie,

 

We are adding some words because Daddy put down the pen and won’t pick it up again. We just wanted to say that we love you too and we are so glad you live next door. You help put Daddy in a good mood all the time and you are a much better cook and we love spending time with you. You are the best.

 

Love, Hallie and Luna

XOXOXO (there is a hug and kiss from Daddy too since he did not add any)

 

PS.  We tried to make Freddie Purrcury put a paw print on this but it did not show up and Daddy said no to putting his foot on the red ink pad. But he loves you too and says you are paw-sitively beautiful.

 

PPS. I know how to spell beautiful because there is a trick. You just remember BE A BEAUTIFUL PERSON INSIDE AND OUT because the first three letters are the same. And you are a beautiful person inside and out. (This is from Luna but we all agree on that!)

 

 

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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 Schitt’s Creek, Homeland, and Fleabag. She occasionally runs three miles, but only so she can have more gin and steak. Melanie is the author of the CLOVERLEIGH FARMS series, the ONE & ONLY series, 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.

 

 

Fox has some beautiful words for his girl…

Keep reading to see the full Love Note!

Happy Valentines Day, Zel

For each day you touch me.

For each moment you forgive me.

For each year you teach me.

I am who I am thanks to you and you gave me a life I could never imagine.

To us and that initial contract between a man who couldn’t stand to be touched and a woman who would do anything for love.

Thank you.

Fox

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Pepper Winters is a multiple New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today International Bestseller. After chasing her dreams to become a full-time writer, Pepper has earned recognition with awards for best Dark Romance, best BDSM Series, and best Hero. She’s an multiple #1 iBooks bestseller, along with #1 in Erotic Romance, Romantic Suspense, Contemporary, and Erotica Thriller. With 20 books currently published, she has hit the bestseller charts twenty-nine times in three years. Pepper is a Hybrid Author of both Traditional and Self-published work. Her Pure Corruption Series was released by Grand Central, Hachette. Her books have garnered foreign interest and are currently being translated into numerous languages, including already released titles in Italian, French, Hebrew, German, and Turkish. Audio Books for her entire back-list will be available in 2018.

They say it takes 21 days to form a habit.
They lie.
For 21 days she held on.
But on Day 22, she would have given anything for the sweet slumber of death.
Because on Day 22, she realizes that her only way out means certain death for one of the two men she loves.

A haunting tale of passion, loss, and redemption, The Paper Swan is a darkly intense yet heartwarming love story, textured with grit, intrigue, and suspense. Please note: This is NOT a love triangle.

A full-length, standalone novel, intended for mature audiences due to violence, sex and language. Subject matter may be disturbing for some readers.

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Marriage has always meant violence. I don’t trust it, but it’s the only thing keeping me afloat in these dark undercurrents. I married for safety but I got the most dangerous thing in the world—Ronan Byrne for a husband.
Now we’re returning to Bishop’s Landing to face our demons. Mine. His. We have real enemies to conquer, but it’s the fear in my heart that beats the loudest. I can’t stop being in love with him. Except the killer with the heart of stone doesn’t love me.
I don’t know whose family I belong in anymore. Or whether I should stay with Ronan when this is over. But I may not live long enough to make the choice.

Did you see Ronan’s Love Note last year?  You gotta read it!

The swoon from Ronan is always amazing…

Keep reading to see the full Love Note!

Poppy – My plane left early and I didn’t want to wake you so I’m leaving this note. Hopefully Declan doesn’t get his wee grubby hands on it before you do. I’ll be back Wednesday and I know it’s only three days but it feels like too long. Every minute away from you and the baby feels too long. Somedays I wish we could go back to the cottage in Ireland. Just the three of us. We go for walks in the hills with Declan and we’d come back and eat something you’d burnt in the oven ( I know, I know, I said I’d stop teasing, but my sweet wife, you keep burning our dinners!) and we’d put Declan down for the night and I’d lay you down on the rug in front of that fire and I’d love you proper. What did you call it? The right kind of mean? Yeah, lass, I’d love you the right kind of mean with my whole damn heart. See you Wednesday.

Molly O’Keefe has always known she wanted to be a writer (except when she wanted to be a florist or a chef and the brief period of time when she considered being a cowgirl). And once she got her hands on some romances, she knew exactly what she wanted to write.

She published her first Harlequin romance at age 25 and hasn’t looked back. She loves exploring every character’s road towards happily ever after.

Originally from a small town outside of Chicago, she went to university in St. Louis where she met and fell in love with the editor of her school newspaper. They followed each other around the world for several years and finally got married and settled down in Toronto, Ontario. They welcomed their son into their family in 2006, and their daughter in 2008. When she’s not at the park or cleaning up the toy room, Molly is working hard on her next novel, trying to exercise, stalking Tina Fey on the internet and dreaming of the day she can finish a cup of coffee without interruption.