TAMING HOLLYWOOD’S BADDEST BOY, an all-new laugh-out-loud standalone romantic comedy from New York Times bestselling author Max Monroe, is available now!

Do people say they hate someone’s guts so that they can still fall stupidly, head-over-heels in love with the other parts?

Asking for a friend.

Okay, fine. I’m not asking for a friend.

I’m asking for me—and I’m begging you to tell me that the practice of falling in love with your should-be-enemy is common.

Please tell me that I’m not the only person to track down a guy—who used to be Hollywood’s baddest bad boy before he left LA for good—at his off-the-grid cabin in Alaska, show up unannounced, and find him gloriously naked.

This probably happens all the time…right?

Tell me I’m not alone in my stupidity—that I’m not the only woman who would fall for gorgeous blue eyes and a sexy devilish smirk, even if they belong to a broody, mysterious jerk.

Please. Please. Please. Tell me I’m not alone in this.

For the love of everything, I need all the supportive girl power I can get if I’m going to convince Luca Weaver to come back to Hollywood—otherwise known as the place he hates so much that he ghosted Oscar-level success and escaped to no-man’s-land for the last eight years just to avoid it.

Yeah, don’t worry—that smoke you’re smelling isn’t your house catching fire as you read this…it’s just my career and what was previously known as my heart going up in flames.

Gah. Is it just me, or am I totally, completely, and utterly screwed?

——————————————————————————————————————————-

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“…an addictive blend of sweet, sexy romance with plenty of that smiling ear-to-ear humor that I crave from this author.”  ~Danielle, Red Cheeks Reads

Check out Danielle’s 5 SMOOCHES review!

EXCERPT:

Billie

Naked lumberjacks are all the rage. Or is it that they’re full of rage?

I’m not entirely sure, but I think maybe, just maybe, it’s a little bit of both.

Standing beside a hot tub outside of a rustic Alaskan cabin is a bare-chested, handsome-as-hell lumberjack of a man, and he is as naked as the day he was born.

“Who the fuck are you, and what the fuck are you doing here?” the big, burly man with a scruffy beard and piercing blue eyes asks me brusquely.

And holy hell, what a question that is.

I started this journey in a meeting in LA, promising my boss the world, continued it with a plane, a car, a hike and kayaking adventure in a cold, rainy Alaskan setting, and in a highly unanticipated twist, I’m ending it in what must be an issue of Playgirl magazine come to life.

And boy oh boy is the centerfold pissed…

“Hello?” he questions harshly. “I said, who the hell are you?”

As hard as it is, given his clothes-less state, I force myself to take a good, scrutinizing look at the rest of his face. I’m here for a reason, and with nothing more than a ramshackle convenience store owner named Earl’s vague instructions to go on, I can only hope that the here I’m at is the here I’ve spent days in a plane, car, and kayak looking for. In addition to a remarkably carved line on the inside of each hipbone, the angry man standing boldly above me has a strong jaw covered by a beard, a little scar above his right eye, miles of muscular, tanned skin, and messy, light-brown hair. I have to look a little closer to confirm my conclusion through the rolling waves of distrust and hatred coming off him, but when I focus hard enough, the star-quality glimmer in his eyes is undeniable.

For the love of pancakes at a Sunday morning breakfast, it’s really him.

Luca Weaver, Hollywood’s former baddest boy—the man I’ve nearly killed myself to find—is right in front of me, and he is naked.

At my non-answer, his jaw turns to stone. “I asked you a question. Either answer it or get fucking moving.” I jolt at the rumble of his voice, but my feet do nothing to take me in any direction. I am rooted to the spot, utterly awed over the fact that I’ve actually managed something as impossible as finding Luca Weaver and all of my normal functions are rendered useless. He scowls, unimpressed with all the hard work I’ve put in—work that he obviously doesn’t know about. “You have five seconds before I come back out here with my shotgun.”

“Uh…” I fumble, trying like hell to grasp the English language once again. I may be distracted, but on some level, I understand the importance of getting my shit together enough to at least prevent a shotgun from joining our little meet-and-greet.

But my brain is bus-y. And slow.

Because Luca Weaver looks damn good without any clothes.

Eight years older since the last time he graced the covers of Hollywood gossip magazines, Luca is a man to whom time has been seriously kind. Either his genetics are just that good, or there’s some kind of sexy voodoo in the Alaskan water.

I mean…his penis is right in front of me, and I can’t find a single thing wrong with it. It’s straight and veiny and perfectly pink.

“What’s the matter with you? You have a death wish or something?” he spits at the statue formerly known as my body. “This is private property.”

His words are serious and firm, and it seems that maybe I do have a dream that’s reminiscent of the movie Fargo—fingers crossed there are no wood chippers nearby. Because for as much as I try, I can’t stop looking at my new phallic friend, even to form a few simple words.

But, come on. Luca Weaver’s freaking dick is right there!

It’s not hard, but still, it’s…big—so big it’s not even a dick.

It’s a Richard. Sir Richard.

King Richard, really.

Shit, I’m in the presence of penis royalty, and I suddenly have the urge to curtsy.

He is a lumberjack fantasy come to life. Instantly, my brain starts thinking about pine-scented flannel and chopping wood and giving a blow job… Wait…what?

Stop being a moron and speak words!

“Uh…so…you’re…naked.” Oh god, those aren’t the right words!

He glances down, mutters something to himself, snags a towel from a few feet away, and wraps it around his waist. “I didn’t invite you here,” he says, his voice gritty with irritation—and maybe, a little with disuse. Which would make sense. It’s taken me an entire season of Running Wild with Bear Grylls to get here. I can’t imagine he’s having book clubs and dinner parties and gabbing with his pals on the regular.

Towel adjusted and glorious goods hidden from view, he studies me with frigid blue eyes and a glare worthy of a scorned woman. I shiver.

“I’m only going to ask you one more time. What in the hell are you doing here?”

I fiddle with the edges of my shirt as I finally find my vocal cords. “I’m Billie…Billie Harris.”

And I am in way over my head.

About Max Monroe:

A duo of romance authors team up under the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling pseudonym Max Monroe to bring you sexy, laugh-out-loud reads.

Max Monroe is the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author of more than ten contemporary romance titles. Favorite writing partners and long time friends, Max and Monroe strive to live and write all the fun, sexy swoon so often missing from their Facebook newsfeed. Sarcastic by nature, their two writing souls feel like they’ve found their other half. This is their most favorite adventure thus far.

Connect with Max Monroe:

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THE TRADE, an all-new baseball romance from USA Today Bestselling Author, Meghan Quinn, is available now! Scroll down for an exclusive excerpt!

THE TRADE by Meghan Quinn
Release Date: March 12th
Genre: Contemporary Romance

Can you pinpoint a time in your life where you realized you are completely and utterly screwed?

I can. I got the dreaded phone call, the one every baseball player hopes and prays never comes.

I was traded. Yeah, that phone call.

Traded from my long time team of over ten years. And not just to any team, but my childhood rivals; the Chicago Rebels.

Completely and utterly screwed, right? Wrong. The trade was the least of my concerns.

I met a girl. Natalie. Man, she’s perfect.

I swore I would never get involved with anyone during the season. Too complicated. But can you believe I have zero restraint when it comes to this girl? I couldn’t get her out of my head and the more I talked to her, the more I realized I needed her in my life.

So what’s the problem? Why am I screwed? Because, Natalie, the girl I can’t stop crushing on, yeah . . . she’s married.

At least, that’s what I was told . . .

—————————————————————————————————————————–

“…Meghan Quinn knocked it out of the park with this heart-tugging romance.”  ~Danielle, Red Cheeks Reads

Check out Danielle’s 5 SMOOCHES review!

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EXCERPT:

CORY

I’m fucked.

I’m sure you hear that all the time, so the term has lost its impact.

I ran out of sugar for my cookie batter . . . I’m fucked.

Forgot my phone in my car . . . I’m fucked.

Saw my neighbor’s old-man balls . . . I’m fucked for life.

I can guarantee you right now, this is nothing compared to old-man balls and cookies.

This is way worse.

This defines the term, I’m fucked.

What is it you ask?

It happened after one of the worst baseball seasons of my life. Traded halfway through the season to the team I’d hated my entire life, I was drowning in the constant media attention, persecuting me for the pass off for my multi-million-dollar contract.

“We want to win,” the Rebels said. “We can do that with Cory Potter wearing black and red.” And just like that, the team I’ve been playing for my entire professional career up and traded me to unload my hefty salary to develop new up-and-comers from the farm system.

The Rebels.

I’m a fucking Chicago Rebel. Words I never thought I’d say, especially growing up as a Chicago Bobcats fan, the rival team to the Rebels. Not just rival, but enemies. The teams themselves don’t get along, the fans hate each other, and Chicago is divided for a good portion of the year when the stadium lights are on.

But here I am, my name attached to the biggest trade in sports history.

A ballsy move.

An upset to Baltimore.

A baseball anomaly: All-American turned Rebel.

I’ve heard it all, I’ve seen it all, and no matter what’s splashed across the headlines, it doesn’t deviate from the fact that my long-time team decided to part ways with me midseason.

Mid-fucking-season.

After fourteen years, I packed up everything and moved back to Chicago.

But even that’s not why I’m fucked; it’s just the start of it.

The beginning of the end.

Dramatic? Maybe.

But if you were in my shoes, you’d be thinking the same thing.

After not even coming close to getting into the playoffs, the season ended, I was booed off the field because that’s how Rebels fans are—you don’t perform, they hate you—and I sequestered myself to my practically empty and cold apartment.

After a week of binge-eating deep-dish pizza and watching every prison documentary on Netflix, my sister finally dragged me out of my apartment, forcing me to attend a Bobbies playoff game with her so we could cheer on my brother-in-law. Her husband.

Seeing a Rebels player cheering on a Bobbies player plastered all over the news went over just as well as a grandma telling her grandson her favorite pastime is cock-tickling.

Not well.

But still . . . not the reason I’m fucked.

This is beyond worse than that.

During that game, I got the talk. Not the birds and bees, but the talk from a concerned sister about my lack of social life.

You really should get out more.
I know some single moms who are really nice.
Maybe a dating app might be fun. Girls would be ecstatic to match with the one and only Cory Potter.
I don’t want you dying alone.

That last one was a real kicker.

Dying alone. I’m fucking thirty-five and she has me with one toe in my grave.

The way I see it is, if you don’t meet your girl in college or high school, you’re sure as shit not going to meet her while playing professional baseball. Not when the schedule is obscenely busy and long, and not when you’re known for one thing in your city: making a shitload of money for playing a sport.

It’s almost impossible to find genuine relationships when you have this level of fame.
So I’ve resolved to waiting until after I retire to fall in love.

That doesn’t mean I’ve been celibate, I’m a man after all—a man with a shitload of adrenaline pumping through him on a daily basis. I’ve had my fair share of one-night stands with women, and a few on a solid repeat with zero expectations. Every woman I’ve bedded I’ve treated with respect, and I’ve been honest with them, because if anything, I’m a genuinely nice guy who doesn’t ever want to make someone feel bad.

Ask anyone who knows me, I’m the nice guy, the dependable guy, the leader with a heart.

I don’t screw women over, ever.

Are you thinking one of those one-night stands turned into an “accident”? Is that the reason I’m fucked? Got a girl I don’t know pregnant?

Nope, not that either.

But the conversation I had with Milly pushed me to a new way of thinking.

I don’t want you dying alone.

She made me fucking paranoid.

Was I really going to die alone?

Were my good years behind me and now I’m old meat on the market?

Should I be trying to find love in the midst of the craziness of my life?

Milly made me think, which then made me open up to the idea of finding someone, of looking at women differently, of allowing the relationship part of my brain to turn on.

So instead of ignoring every woman that has relationship potential I’d possibly look for, I turned off my blinders and started looking for them.

But I didn’t come close to meeting anyone that remotely fit the box of someone I’d consider going out on a date with. That was until I attended a certain charity event.

I saw her from across the room. Her smile was what caught my eye, then it was the way she laughed and held on to her brother’s hand, her brother who had cerebral palsy.

It was the way she’d lean into him, hold him, as if he was the most wonderful human she’d ever met.

The fact that she was absolutely breathtaking with piercing blue eyes had nothing to do with it.

It was her infectious laughter.
Her kind heart.
Her dedication to her family.

In a matter of seconds, I wanted to know her, wanted to find out her name, wanted to be in her orbit. Wanted to be a recipient of her warmth and affection.

I watched her from across the room, how she interacted with every person who came up to her, and when I was finally granted the opportunity to introduce myself, my breath caught in my throat when our hands connected. I felt my heart slam against the cage in my chest. And I knew, in that moment, with our hands mid shake, my life would never be the same.

Her name is Natalie.

Sister to my new teammate Jason Orson and his twin brother Joseph.

Director of Jason’s foundation, The Lineup.

And the reason why I’m utterly fucked.

Because while I started to grow attached to this magnetic and beautiful woman, when I told my sister about her, she informed me there was a ring on Natalie’s finger.

A ring that didn’t belong to me.

Hope plummeted in the matter of seconds as I felt the color from my besotted face drain into a puddle of remorse.

She was married.

She is fucking married.

See? Totally fucked.

I’ve been crushing so hard, because even a month later, I still think about her. I can still hear her laugh, see her smile, feel her hand in mine.

I want her.
Fucking bad.

They say time will heal all wounds, well for me, the more time passes, the more my wound is exposed and tormented.

Cory Potter is crushing on a married woman . . .

That is why I am completely and utterly . . . fucked.

About Meghan Quinn: 

USA Today Bestselling Author, wife, adoptive mother, and peanut butter lover. Author of romantic comedies and contemporary romance, Meghan Quinn brings readers the perfect combination of heart, humor, and heat in every book.

Connect with Meghan:

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TAMING HOLLYWOOD’S BADDEST BOY, an all-new hilarious enemies to lovers standalone from New York Times bestselling author, Max Monroe, is available now!

Do people say they hate someone’s guts so that they can still fall stupidly, head-over-heels in love with the other parts?

Asking for a friend.

Okay, fine. I’m not asking for a friend.

I’m asking for me—and I’m begging you to tell me that the practice of falling in love with your should-be-enemy is common.

Please tell me that I’m not the only person to track down a guy—who used to be Hollywood’s baddest bad boy before he left LA for good—at his off-the-grid cabin in Alaska, show up unannounced, and find him gloriously naked.

This probably happens all the time…right?

Tell me I’m not alone in my stupidity—that I’m not the only woman who would fall for gorgeous blue eyes and a sexy devilish smirk, even if they belong to a broody, mysterious jerk.

Please. Please. Please. Tell me I’m not alone in this.

For the love of everything, I need all the supportive girl power I can get if I’m going to convince Luca Weaver to come back to Hollywood—otherwise known as the place he hates so much that he ghosted Oscar-level success and escaped to no-man’s-land for the last eight years just to avoid it.

Yeah, don’t worry—that smoke you’re smelling isn’t your house catching fire as you read this…it’s just my career and what was previously known as my heart going up in flames.

Gah. Is it just me, or am I totally, completely, and utterly screwed?

———————————————————————————————————————————————–

Download your copy today for only 99¢ or read FREE in Kindle Unlimited!

Amazon US  | Amazon Worldwide

Add TAMING HOLLYWOOD’S BADDEST BOY to Goodreads

About Max Monroe:

A duo of romance authors team up under the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling pseudonym Max Monroe to bring you sexy, laugh-out-loud reads.

Max Monroe is the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author of more than ten contemporary romance titles. Favorite writing partners and long time friends, Max and Monroe strive to live and write all the fun, sexy swoon so often missing from their Facebook newsfeed. Sarcastic by nature, their two writing souls feel like they’ve found their other half. This is their most favorite adventure thus far.

Connect with Max Monroe:

Website  |  Facebook  |  Instagram  |  Amazon  |  BookBub

Stay up to date with Max Monroe by signing up for their mailing list today!

ENTICING LIAM, an all new stand-alone contemporary romance by New York Times bestselling author, Kristen Proby, is now LIVE!

Kristen Proby brings an all new story in her bestselling Big Sky Royal Trilogy series!

Princess Eleanor has had it up to her royal eyeballs. She’s surrounded by suitable men, each more rude and obnoxious than the last. None of them are worthy of her heart—not to mention her virginity. So what’s a girl to do? Flee to Montana to stay with her brother, lay low, and avoid both the media and the men, that’s what.

Liam Cunningham is the head of security in Montana for the royal family. For a man who has seen the worst of human nature in the Army, being in Cunningham Falls is a balm to his tattered soul.

Princess Eleanor, on the other hand, is a royal pain in the butt. She’s proven in the past that she’s a troublemaker. She’s also beautiful, smart, and everything good in life that he doesn’t deserve.

But when Ellie proposes the idea of Liam being her sex coach, how can he resist?

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About Kristen Proby:

Kristen was born and raised in a small resort town in her beloved Montana. In her mid-twenties, she decided to stretch her wings and move to the Pacific Northwest, where she made her home for more than a dozen years.

During that time, Kristen wrote many romance novels and joined organizations such as RWA and other small writing groups. She spent countless hours in workshops, and more mornings than she can count up before the dawn so she could write before going to work. She submitted many manuscripts to agents and editors alike, but was always told no. In the summer of 2012, the self-publishing scene was new and thriving, and Kristen had one goal: to publish just one book. It was something she longed to cross off of her bucket list.

Not only did she publish one book, she’s since published close to thirty titles, many of which have hit the USA Today, New York Times and Wall Street Journal Bestsellers lists. She continues to self publish, best known for her With Me In Seattle and Boudreaux series, and is also proud to work with William Morrow, a division of HarperCollins, with the Fusion Series.

Kristen and her husband, John, make their home in her hometown of Whitefish, Montana with their two pugs and two cats.

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MAYBE SWEARING WILL HELP

By Lani Lynn Vale

Release Date:  March 10, 2020

Ford Spurlock has known Ashe Trammel since they were babies.

He’s also done his level best to stay away from her because every time he gets to within five feet of her, they’re fighting like cats and dogs.

Ashe is the apple of her father’s eye. The motorcycle club princess that was never to be harmed in any way—or touched for that matter. And he’s always resented the fact that she could get away with things that he couldn’t. Things that she then blames on him and he always gets punished for.

Fast forward to adulthood, and Ashe is still off limits. Still driving him insane. Still…beautiful.

She never misses an opportunity to give him hell, either.

That has to be why he agrees to do a photoshoot for KPD SWAT that’ll benefit her charity even when he’d rather shoot himself in the foot with his duty weapon.

* * *

Ashe never thought he’d agree.

Honestly, she thought she’d ask him, he’d say no, and that’d be the end of it.

She never realized that she’d leave his photo up in her cubicle, and it’d be the last thing that she saw every night as she locked her office door.

When they were kids, Ford used to be that boy that threw dirt at her and pulled her hair.

Now, he’s the same Ford Spurlock, only a whole lot sexier. And a lot harder to say no to.

When he challenges her to one date, she has no other recourse but to agree.

What she didn’t agree to was falling in love with Mr. March. Or wanting to give him everything she had to give.

————————————————————————————————————————–

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“…a sexy, sweet, soul-deep love story between two life-long friends…”  ~Danielle, Red Cheeks Reads

Check out Danielle’s 5 SMOOCHES review!

About Lani Lynn Vale:

Lani Lynn Vale is a Wall Street Journal & USA Today Bestselling Author of over thirty titles. She is married with three children, two dogs, two cats, a donkey, and a couple (a couple also meaning over twenty) chickens.

When she’s not writing, you can find her curled up in her favorite chair reading.

Lani is married with three children and lives in the Great State of Texas.

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THE RICH BOY, an all-new slow-burn standalone with white-hot chemistry and witty banter from New York Times Bestselling Author, Kylie Scott, is available now!

“Rich Boy takes you on a literal ride! Funny. Angsty. It’s a definite recommendation from me!
~Tijan, New York Times bestselling author

I’m the type of girl who’s given up on fairy tales. So when Beck – the hot new busboy at work – starts flirting with me, I know better than to get my hopes up. Happily ever afters aren’t for the average. I learned that the hard way.

But how can I be expected to resist a man who can quote Austen, loves making me laugh, and seems to be everything hot and good in this world?

Only there’s so much more to him than that.

Billionaire playboy? Check.
Troubled soul? Check.
The owner of my heart, the man I’ve moved halfway across the country to be with, who’s laying the world at my feet in order to convince me to never leave? Check. Check. Check.

But nobody does complicated like the one percent.

This is not your everyday rags-to-riches, knight-in-shining armor whisking the poor girl off her feet kind of story. No, this is much messier.

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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.

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