Text Appeal by Kylie Scott is now
live!
Love
enters the chat in this hilarious, heartfelt rom com by New York Times
bestselling and Audie award-winning author Kylie Scott.
Romance
author Riley Cooper always dreamed of living by the water. But within a day of
landing in the charming seaside town of Port Stewart to work on her latest
book, she's getting calls and texts for some dude on her new number. Weird
ones. Sad ones. Sexy ones. Ones that make her want to meet him. For curiosity's
sake...if nothing else.
After years
of being on-again, off-again with his high school sweetheart, all Connor wants
is to move on with his life. If only everyone in Port Stewart would let him.
What he needs is to be seen with someone else. So when fate puts him in the
path of the new girl in town who got his old number, faking it together seems
like the perfect solution.
Spending
time with the gorgeous former prom king might be great research for Riley’s
romance writing…if only she can keep her feelings in check. But the more she
gets to know him, the harder she’s falling. Can their serendipitous meeting
turn into something real and true?
Download today
on Amazon, Apple Books, Barnes &
Noble, Google Play, and Kobo!
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Narrated by: Andi Arndt
Meet Kylie
Kylie is a New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today best-selling, Audie Award winning author. She has sold over 2,000,000 books and was voted Australian Romance Writer of the year four times by the Australian Romance Reader's Association. Her books have been translated into fifteen different languages and she is based in Queensland, Australia.
Connect with Kylie
Website: www.kyliescott.com
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From New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Kylie Scott comes a new story in her Stage Dive series…
When the Stage Dive crew decides to help, they do it in a big way.
Nanny and housekeeper Jude has been going through a dry patch. Getting ready to dip her toes back into the dating pool is a little nerve racking. And the offers of assistance from her boss, David Ferris, and his band are not helping. Right up until music producer Dean Jennings arrives to work on the band's latest album.
But Dean is more than a little wary of dating anyone with anything to do with the Stage Dive crew after losing Lena to lead singer Jimmy Ferris all those years ago. Can Jude a) Convince the crew to stay out of her business and b) Woo the man of her dreams?
**Every 1001 Dark Nights novella is a standalone story. For new readers, it’s an introduction to an author’s world. And for fans, it’s a bonus book in the author’s series. We hope you'll enjoy each one as much as we do.**
I smile. I have a lot to smile about. He likes me. We’re doing this. How exciting.
He leans forward. “Can I kiss you, Jude?” he whispers.
I feel those words in every part of me. “Yeah.” I lick my lips. “You can.”
As pretty as he was at a distance, he’s even more handsome close up. All of the shadows and lines of his face. It blows my mind how Lena left him for another. What a fool. Though I am kind of deeply grateful that she did. His lips are divine. No other word will do. And the thought of him pressing them against mine is making my stomach do a weird flip-flop thing. His lips are neither thin nor plump, but somewhere in between and perfect. I stare at them as he comes closer until he’s pressing his mouth softly against mine.
A sweet kiss, as if he’s testing his welcome. The man needn’t have bothered. I balance on the balls of my feet and join our lips once more, kissing him more insistently. I mean, we might as well figure out here and now if we have no chemistry. If he has no expertise. Because I kissed this male model once who was a tongue-wrangling disaster. Just a whole lot of wet-faced yuck. Sad, but true. It’s not like I have kissed anyone in ages. Maybe I’ve forgotten how it all works. Perhaps I’ll be the disaster.
Dean’s hands grip my hips, and his tongue slips into my mouth and oh, yeah. Very nice. A lack of chemistry is obviously not going to be a problem between us. He kisses me deep and wet in a way that goes straight to my head. My fingers slide over the smooth warm skin of his shoulders before holding on tight. He is so solid and strong. One of his hands is now cupping the back of my head, holding me to him. As if I had any intention of leaving. Heck no. We kiss until my lips are numb and swollen and my mind is far away. Nothing else matters but this moment.
He leans his forehead against mine, and we both take a moment to catch our breath. As first kisses go, it was stellar. My empty stomach, however, shows no cool and rumbles loudly. Talk about keeping it real.
An unpauseable new romance from New York Times bestselling, Audie Award winning author Kylie Scott!
When Anna wakes up from a coma after a car crash, she discovers life has gone on without her. Her husband has been unfaithful—with her best friend—and she’s been long since replaced at work. While her old life is a distant memory, her new life feels like an empty shell. Then she meets the stranger who saved her life during the crash, and he changes everything.
Leif Larsen—tattooist, joker, and player—has his own scars thanks to the crash that put Anna in a coma. Helping her move on from her failed marriage, and create a new life, sounds like a perfect distraction. So when he needs a new roommate, he invites Anna to begin her new life with him.
Although their lives may have been put on pause, together they just might find a way to heal.
Leif Larsen lives in a big old brown brick building with a sprawling dogwood out front in a cool urban neighborhood. No one answers when I press the buzzer. But according to the details on the scrap of paper the nurse gave me, I’ve got the right place.
What to do?
The rational response would be to give up and go home. Because hiding out in my childhood bedroom has worked out great so far (and this would be sarcasm). It’s been months since I left the house for anything other than a medical appointment. Weeks since I’ve heard from any friends. Right on cue, my cell buzzes inside my tan Coach purse. I don’t bother to look. Mom requests proof of life every hour on the hour. Not even dinner at the country club can distract her, apparently. Her parental concern for me is well past claustrophobic.
My hand clenches the iron railing against a gust of unseasonably warm evening wind. It’s been a while since I stopped using a mobility aid, but things can still feel tricky. The whole damn world does, if I’m being honest. So many things I took for granted have now been turned upside down.
This is the problem with living the supposed dream. With having an airtight plan for your life. Meet Prince Charming and marry him. Find the perfect job. Only problem is, if something goes wrong, when reality smacks you upside the head and sends you reeling, then there’s no system for putting the pieces back together. There’s no Plan B because it never occurred to you that you’d need one. A lack of imagination on my part, perhaps.
A motorcycle pulls up to the curb and it’s like everything happens in slow motion. Something about this long, lean man just makes time want to stand still. A denim-clad leg is swung over the back of the iron beast. A helmet is removed and shoulder-length hair tumbles free. High cheekbones and perfect lips are framed by stubble and all I can do is stare.
I don’t know if I’m intimidated or turned on or what.
“Can I help y . . .” he begins. There’s the faintest spark of recognition in his eyes.
I continue to stand there frozen.
“Fuck me,” he mutters, stalking closer. His gaze slides over me from top to toe, lingering on the small scars on my left cheek from the glass. There’s no attempt made to hide his curiosity. “It’s really you.”
Nichelle the nurse described him as being a nice young man. Nothing more. Certainly nothing that would prepare me for this. And I dispute “nice.” Ripped denim, battered leather, and a Harley-Davidson motorbike are not nice.
“Never seen you conscious before,” he says, getting even closer.
I just blink.
From beneath the collar and cuffs of his leather jacket emerge colorful tattoos. Lots of them. Blue waves and black letters. Red flames and white flowers. The man is a walking, talking piece of art. My parents would be horrified. Ryan too, for that matter. Not that any of their opinions matter. I need to forge my own path. Go my own way.
“How did you find me?” he asks with a faint frown.
“Oh. Ah.” I smooth down the front of my pale blue midi-length linen summer dress. My dark hair is slicked back in a low ponytail and my makeup is simple but perfect. It’s nice having some things I can control. “One of the nurses from the ICU told me about you and I wanted to come say thank you. But maybe an apology would be more in order?”
For a moment he pauses, then he asks, “Do you want to come in?”
Good question. The fact is, I don’t know. Nor do I know how to do this. Something made obvious when my mouth opens, but nothing comes out. So much nothing for such a length of time that it’s beyond embarrassing. Dammit. Whatever it is I came here looking for, it wasn’t this. Him. Whatever.
“We’ve never properly met, have we?” He holds out his big hand. “Hi, I’m Leif.”
“Anna.”
While I’m tentative, he shows no such reserve. Strong, warm fingers enfold my own stiff and cold ones. There’s no attempt at a dominating handshake or groping. He gives my hand a squeeze, just the one gentle squeeze, before setting me free.
“I’d say it’s nice to meet you, but that would be weird.” He grins conspiratorially and oh my God. Everything low in my stomach wakes up and takes notice. Shame on my lady parts, but the chemical pull of the man is ridiculous. It takes me a minute to remember that I’m a married woman. Mostly. Well, somewhat anyway. I certainly have no business smiling at him like I am. My life is messed up enough without adding a crush. Perhaps it’s in reaction to me, I don’t know, but the mirth disappears and his gaze becomes serious. A little bleak even. “I still have nightmares about that day, you know?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault.”
“I shouldn’t have come.”
“Don’t, Anna. Don’t look like that. I didn’t tell you to hurt you or make you uncomfortable. I was just . . . sharing.” His expression changes again, a more subdued smile taking the place of the brief hint of trauma. Then he suddenly winks at me all flirty like. I don’t know how to react. I can barely keep up. The man is a whirlwind. “Want to come in and have a beer with me?”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“I just . . . I don’t want to remind you of things you’d rather—”
“I want you to come inside. I wouldn’t have asked otherwise.”
A drink with a pretty wild man that I have a strange sort of history with or a swift return to safety and boredom? I don’t overthink it. I don’t even hesitate. “Then yes, Leif. I’d love to.”
--Monica Murphy, New York Times bestselling author
He walks the red carpet. She’s more familiar with vacuuming one.
When a scandal tarnishes the reputation of hot as hell A-lister, Patrick Walsh, he needs a reputation rescue, pronto.
Enter waitress Norah Peers–a nobody who’s average with a capital A. She’s available, dependable, and has sworn off men for the rest of her natural born life. In other words: the perfect match for a no-strings fake romance.
For the right amount of money, she can avoid waitressing and play the part of his dependable down-to-earth girlfriend. What she can’t avoid–dammit–is the growing steam between them.
But being hounded by the paparazzi and having her life dissected on social media is a panic attack in the making. And while Patrick might be a charming rogue on screen, in real life he’s a six-foot-two confusing, gorgeous, brooding grump, who keeps her at a distance . . . but also makes her feel like this bond between them might be more than just an act.
Being dumped on cue should be no big deal. Except being fake with Patrick is the realist relationship Norah has ever had. What’s a girl to do, but flip the script, and ask for a re-match made in Hollywood?
CHAPTER ONE
He slunk into the restaurant mid-afternoon wearing his usual scowl. Ignoring the closed sign, he took a booth near the back. No one else was allowed to do this. Just him. Today’s wardrobe consisted of black jeans, Converse, and a button-down shirt. Doubtless designer. And the way those sleeves hugged his biceps . . . why, they should have been ashamed of themselves. I was this close to yelling “get a room.”
Instead, I asked, “The usual?”
Slumped down in the corner of the booth, he tipped his chin in reply. For such a tall guy, he sure went out of his way to try to hide.
I said no more. Words were neither welcomed nor wanted. Which was fine since (A) I was tired and (B) he tipped well for the peace and quiet.
Out back, Vinnie the cook was busy prepping for tonight, his knife making quick work of an onion.
“He’s here,” I said.
A smile split Vinnie’s face. He was a huge fan of the man’s action films. The ones he’d made before hitting it big time and taking on more serious dramatic roles. Him choosing to visit the restaurant every month or so made Vinnie’s life complete. Especially since the restaurant, Little Italy, was the very definition of a hole in the wall. Not somewhere generally frequented by the Hollywood elite. Meanwhile, I was less of a fan, but still a fan. You know.
“Get him his beer,” Vinnie ordered.
Like I didn’t know my job. Sheesh.
He was busy with his cell by the time I placed the Peroni in front of him. No glass. He drank straight from the bottle like an animal. Just then, a woman in a red sweater dress and tan five-inch-heel booties strode in through the front door.
“I’m sorry, we’re closed,” I said.
“I’m with him.” She headed straight for his booth and slid into the other side, giving the man a dour look. “You can’t just walk out, Patrick. You’re going to have to choose one of them.”
“Nope.” He took a pull from his beer. “They all sucked.”
“There had to be at least one that would do.”
“Not even a little.”
She sighed. “Keep this up and you’ll be obsolete by next week. Beyond help. Forgotten.”
“Go away, Angie.”
“Just another talented but trash male in Hollywood. That’s what they’re saying on social media.”
“I don’t give a shit.”
“Liar,” she drawled.
I wasn’t quite sure what to do. Obviously they knew each other, but he did not seem to want her here. And she really wasn’t supposed to be here. Vinnie had okayed after-hours entry to only one person. On the other hand, if I asked her to leave, she’d probably sic her lawyers on me. She looked the type.
The woman spied me hovering. “Get me a glass of red.”
“She’s not staying,” countermanded Patrick.
Angie didn’t move an inch. “They were all viable options. Pliant. Young. Pretty. Discreet. Nothing weird or kinky in their backgrounds.”
“That might have made them more interesting.”
“Interesting women is what got you into this mess.” The woman frowned, taking me in. Still hovering. One perfectly shaped brow rose in question. “Yes? Is there a problem?”
Now it was Patrick’s turn to sigh and give me a nod. He was so dreamy with his jaw and cheekbones and his everything. Real classic Hollywood handsome. Especially with his short light brown hair in artful disarray and a hint of stubble. Sometimes it was hard not to stare. Which is probably why his personality tended to scream “leave me alone.”
I headed for the small bar area at the back of the restaurant to fetch the wine like a good little waitress.
“We shouldn’t be discussing this here,” said Angie, giving the room a disdainful sniff. Talk about judgy. I thought the raw brick walls and chunky wood tables were cool. Give or take Vinnie’s collection of old black-and-white photos of Los Angeles freeways. Who knew what that was about?
Patrick slumped down even further. “I’m not going back there. I’m done with it.”
“This isn’t safe.” Angie looked around nervously. “Let’s—”
“We’re fine. I’ve been coming here for years.”
“You just got dropped from a big-budget film, Patrick,” she said, exasperation in her tone. “The industry may not find you bankable right now, but I’m sure gossip about you is still selling just fine. This week at least.”
Fake, an all new sexy fake relationship standalone romance from New York Times bestselling author Kylie Scott is coming May 18th and we have the amazing cover!
Model: Norbi Novak
Photographer: Marq Mendez
He walks the red carpet. She’s more familiar with vacuuming one.
When a scandal tarnishes the reputation of hot as hell A-lister, Patrick Walsh, he needs a reputation rescue, pronto.
Enter waitress Norah Peers–a nobody who’s average with a capital A. She’s available, dependable, and has sworn off men for the rest of her natural born life. In other words: the perfect match for a no-strings fake romance.
For the right amount of money, she can avoid waitressing and play the part of his dependable down-to-earth girlfriend. What she can’t avoid–dammit–is the growing steam between them.
But being hounded by the paparazzi and having her life dissected on social media is a panic attack in the making. And while Patrick might be a charming rogue on screen, in real life he’s a six-foot-two confusing, gorgeous, brooding grump, who keeps her at a distance . . . but also makes her feel like this bond between them might be more than just an act.
Being dumped on cue should be no big deal. Except being fake with Patrick is the realist relationship Norah has ever had. What’s a girl to do, but flip the script, and ask for a re-match made in Hollywood?
"Nobody writes inked-up, sexy-as-sin rockers like Kylie Scott!!"
–Emma Chase, New York Times bestselling author
Love Song, an all-new 1001 Dark Nights novella from the sexy as sin Stage Dive series by New York Times bestselling author Kylie Scott is available now!
From New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Kylie Scott comes a new story in her Stage Dive series…
There’s always the one that got away. Or kicked you out...
The new darling of rock n’ roll, Adam Dillon, is ready to show his ex-girlfriend, Jill Schwartz, what a mistake she made kicking him to the curb. So maybe he wasn’t the best of boyfriends. Writing great songs and climbing to the top of the charts isn’t easy. Only problem is, he's fast finding out that success isn't everything.
**Every 1001 Dark Nights novella is a standalone story. For new readers, it’s an introduction to an author’s world. And for fans, it’s a bonus book in the author’s series. We hope you'll enjoy each one as much as we do.**
Download your copy today
exclusively on Amazon!
🎸 US 🎸 Worldwide 🎸 Paperback 🎸
Excerpt
“No,” said the bodyguard.
“But—”
“Miss, do you have any idea how many people try to get backstage by claiming they have some sort of relationship with Mr. Dillon?” Face a careful blank, the man in the slick black suit stared down at me. He had a point. I’d pushed through a crush of fans, getting my toes stomped on several times, along with taking an elbow to the kidney, just to talk to this guy. God only knew what it took to get near the star of the show.
“I’d imagine a lot,” I yelled back at him. Necessary given the volume of the music filling the space. “The difference here is I’m not lying.”
“But since everyone says that, you can see from my perspective how that’s not actually a point of difference.”
Adam Dillon, rock star extraordinaire, gyrated his slim denim-clad hips like an Alt-Rock Elvis on the nearby stage. He pouted and crooned about the woman who’d done him wrong. Me. That’s right, I was the big bad ex who’d broken him and woke him to the dangers of love. Or so the song said.
The song lied and then some.
According to the lyrics he was currently wailing, I’d ground his heart beneath my five-inch heels before blowing him a kiss goodbye. From memory, there’d been a lot of shouting, but no blowing of kisses. And having just kicked off the flats I wore for work, I’d been barefoot, my legs and back aching. No way had I been strutting around in stilettos. Home from a hard day at the hair salon, I’d returned to find Adam on the couch. The same place he’d been when I’d left for work approximately eleven hours earlier. The same place he’d been for what felt like months as I worked my ass off to pay the rent. That’s when all hell broke loose. However, it wasn’t the only issue that had caused our relationship to bomb. Nothing’s ever simple.
But back to the here and now. I grabbed the slip of paper out of my front pocket, holding it up for his perusal. “My name is Jill Schwartz. How many of those people claiming to know him have one of these?”
His eyes widened as he scanned the name on the check, before widening again at the amount. And fair enough too. I’d had a mild panic attack myself when it had first arrived. When Adam decided to make a statement, he didn’t bother with subtle. If only I could figure out what it all meant. If it meant anything at all, of course. And that question was what had brought me here tonight.
About Kylie Scott
Kylie is a New York Times and USA Today best-selling author. She was voted Australian Romance Writer of the year, 2013, 2014 & 2018, by the Australian Romance Writer’s Association and her books have been translated into eleven different languages. She is a long time fan of romance, rock music, and B-grade horror films. Based in Queensland, Australia with her two children and husband, she reads, writes and never dithers around on the internet.
Connect with Kylie
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Kylie is a New York Times and USA Today best-selling author. She was voted Australian Romance Writer of the year, 2013, 2014 & 2018, by the Australian Romance Writer’s Association and her books have been translated into eleven different languages. She is a long time fan of romance, rock music, and B-grade horror films. Based in Queensland, Australia with her two children and husband, she reads, writes and never dithers around on the internet.
About Audrey Carlan
Audrey Carlan is a #1 New York Times and International bestselling author. Her titles have appeared on USA Today and the Wall Street Journal. Audrey writes wicked hot love stories that have been translated in over thirty different languages across the globe. She is best known for the world-wide bestselling series Calendar Girl and Trinity.
