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carolgracebooks.com

carol grace writes romance novels for harlequin/mills&boon and teen novels under the name carol culver for berkley jam (penguin/putnam). she's a member of the fog city divas and the san francisco chapter of romance writers of america.

patriciarice.com

new series - gravesyde priory  [foogallery id="14511"]recent books by

colleengleason.com

Cookie Policy of Colleen Gleason and ColleenGleason.com

crystal-green.com

author of urban fantasy noire mystery novels as well as romance novels for special edition home and hearth, blaze

darlenegardner.com

Santa Baby by Sherryl Woods When Amy Riley's son disappears in the mall, Santa—who is actually police officer Nick DiCaprio—comes to the rescue. Whoever said the Big Red Guy wasn't sexy? Deck the Halls by Holly Jacobs Retail manager Joy O'Connell is fraying at the edges when rheumatologist Ed Hall and his three child-terrors enter her store. Between shopping hell and bah humbug, can Ed uncover the true Joy of the season? Assignment Humbug by Darlene Gardner TV reporter Merry Deluca's "'tis the season to be greedy" story is about to get complicated—her new cameraman is recently ex-fiancé Patrick MacFarland! And he's got a whole new angle for her story .

elenagreene.com

website of elena greene, author of regency romances including lady dearing's masquerade, rt's best regency romance of 2005 and a kindle historical romance bestseller

lauraleeguhrke.com

laura lee guhrke romance author

leigh-greenwood.com

Site will be available soon. Thank you for your patience!

lynnegraham.com

Chrissy leapt off the bus and splashed straight into a puddle. Dirty water spattered the pristine overall she wore beneath her unbuttoned coat. With a groan of exasperation she fled on down the road, frantically checking her watch. She was late for work. As she dived across a narrow side-street, the screech of brakes almost deafened her. Jerking round, she had a brief blurred image of the car bearing down on her before she lost her balance and landed with her behind and her two hands braced on the wet tarmac. Winded and shocked, she just sat there dazedly appreciating that she was still in one piece. The glossy black bonnet of the luxury sports car was less than a foot from her face. A car door slammed. A pair of male feet shod in hand-stitched Italian leather entered her vision. ‘You stupid, crazy little idiot!’ There was something disorientatingly familiar about that clipped well-bred drawl that voiced abuse with lacerating cool. Her wide green eyes climbed up the long straight length of masculine legs sheathed in the mohair blend of bespoke tailoring. ‘Well,’ the same objectionable voice continued, ‘what have you got to say for yourself?’ Chrissy’s dilated gaze swept over a flat, taut stomach and mounted a scarlet silk tie that lent flamboyance to a superbly cut navy suit, and there her head tipped back on her shoulders, impatience spurring her on to confirm her suspicions. ‘Maybe I ran over your tongue...’ Her tongue did have a problem. Disbelief had glued it to the roof of her mouth. Blaze Kenyon. Breathtaking, unforgettable and utterly unmistakable for anyone else. He was incredibly good-looking and soul-destroyingly unattainable unless, Chrissy had once noted, your beauty was on a par with his. Once long ago, in a purely philosophical mood, Chrissy had wondered why beautiful men were invariably attracted only to equally beautiful women. Indeed, until Blaze parted his lips and actually spoke, he was so dazzlingly perfect that you were tempted to pinch h