GLAMOROUS Harlequin Series Winter Blog Tour Promo Post: Stranded With Her Greek Husband by Michelle Smart

Michelle Smart unravels the mysteries of a Greek marriage in this emotional reunion romance. Keren fled the island of Agon heartbroken, convinced her marriage was over. Now she must return to face her gloriously handsome estranged husband, Yannis, and end things for good. Instead, she finds herself marooned on Agon, and Yannis insists she spends three final days with him first! With nowhere to run from the fierce longing he reawakens, Keren must open her eyes to the whole truth. Not just the tragedy that broke them, but the joy and passion she’s tried—and failed—to forget…

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Would it help if I apologised?

She couldn’t stop her stare darting to him. ‘I’m staying for three days not three weeks, Yannis.’

To her surprise, a grin spread over his face. It was a heartbreaker of a smile, all lopsided and…sexy.

She quickly looked away.

Keren didn’t want to see his smile and remem­ber how it had once been part of the Yannis Filipidis package that had seduced and charmed her from the moment she set eyes on him.

Their first meeting had been at the opening of a new contemporary art gallery at Agon’s palace that Yannis and his brother had helped curate as a favour to the King. The palace had artwork and an­tiquities dating back millennia, but the modern King wanted to bring it more fully into the twenty-first century. Knowing their King wanted to attract a younger, hipper clientele, the PR people behind the launch reached out to Keren and invited her to at­tend and review. That she was no art critic and had only visited and reviewed two art galleries in all her travels—reviewing offbeat bars and restaurants and activities like elephant trekking were more her thing—didn’t matter to them. It was her audience they wanted to connect with. They’d offered to pay for her flights and accommodation and promised no interference with what she published on her blog. As Agon had been on her wish list of countries to visit, she’d been thrilled to accept.

She remembered the funky feel of the gallery. The creative and delicious cocktails and canapés she’d been plied with by the eager PR team. The buzz that had permeated the air.

But mostly she remembered the incredibly tall, in­credibly gorgeous man dressed in a dapper pinstriped suit propped against the wall with a bottle of lager in his hand, oblivious to the lusty stares being thrown his way because his entire focus had been on her.Keren had come to Agon intending to stay for a long weekend. It had ended up being her home for two years.

The man whose attention she’d caught that night and married six months later was still grinning. ‘But you are staying,’ he pointed out smugly.

‘Under duress. And only for three days.’

‘Three days is long enough to convince you to stay.’ Then the smile fell. He tilted his head. ‘Would you believe any apology?’

‘No.’

‘Then I shall save my breath for when you do be­lieve it.’

‘Save it but don’t hold it,’ she advised.

The smile returned. ‘You would give me the kiss of life, surely?’

Before she could respond, he swept past her, his arm brushing hers, and engulfed her in a cloud of the cologne she hadn’t even realised she’d been avoiding inhaling until it was too late.

Grinding her toes into her sandals, Keren closed her eyes and tried her hardest to ride out the wave of longing ripping through her.

They were just echoes of the past. Memories.

Memories she’d locked away on her flight out of Agon.

About Michelle Smart: 

Michelle Smart is a Publishers Weekly bestselling author with a slight-to-severe coffee addiction. A book worm since birth, Michelle can usually be found hiding behind a paperback, or if it’s an author she really loves, a hardback. Michelle lives in rural Northamptonshire in England with her husband and two young Smarties. When not reading or pretending to do the housework she loves nothing more than creating worlds of her own. Preferably with lots of coffee on tap. 

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GLAMOROUS Harlequin Series Fall Blog Tour Promo Post: The Bride He Stole for Christmas by Caitlin Crews

She said yes to one night with a stranger… Now she’s pregnant and that stranger is her boss! Only in this Billionaires of Boston romance from USA TODAY bestselling author Naima Simone.

She told herself it was one night. Nothing more.

But her heart knew the truth…

Finding out her previous one-night fling is her new boss is the shock of Mycah Hill’s lifetime. She can’t say no to being VP for software CEO Achilles Farrell—she’s finally made her career dream come true. But knowing he’s so close… It’s only a matter of time before she’s back in his arms. It can’t end well. Achilles’ tortured family history means he’s not up for sticking around long-term. But Mycah’s surprise pregnancy is about to change everything…

Buy The Bride he Stole for Christmas by Caitlin Crews

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Tell me your name, he had ordered her. And then tell me what it will take to make you mine.

She shuddered at that, here on her frigid bench on this lonely Christmas Eve, her body as alive and greedy as she had been that night.

And Timoney wanted to scream out all the an­guish, all the artless fury that he’d left her with. His betrayal so absolute that it had taken her whole months to fully comprehend exactly what he’d done. Chucked her out. Forgotten her name. Washed his hands of her completely.

Yet tonight, when she should have been revel­ing in exactly how cold and dead inside she’d be­come, it was as if he was here. A ghostly presence in the mist, and it seemed deeply unfair that any ghost could fill a cold garden the way he had al­ways overwhelmed a room.

She blew out a breath and told herself not to be such a fool. For once.

Crete was immovable. A terrible wall of stone and silence, and some part of her had known that from the start.

And still she had run straight for all that brick and smashed herself apart.

“Have you fallen asleep, Timoney?” came the terrible, wonderful, familiar voice.

Timoney wrenched open her eyes, and as she did, the moon came out from behind the clouds.

And it was impossible, but Crete was there. He stood before her looking beautiful and dangerous, as ever. He was sheer male glory in his typical uni­form, one of those dark, bespoke suits that made love to his body in all the ways she longed to do.

It was not possible, and yet every hair on her body seemed to stand on end, so she knew that it was real. That this was no dream.

That somehow, Crete Asgar was stood in the remains of the garden while her uncle and her husband-to-be carried on toasting the wedding up in the manor house.

“Crete…” she whispered.

And all the feelings she’d been holding at bay slammed back into her, and worse, were lit up with hope.

Because he had finished with her because she’d committed the cardinal sin of telling him she loved him. Why would he be here, on the night before her wedding no less, unless he was finally ready to admit what she had always suspected, that he loved her, too? What else could bring him out on Christmas Eve?

“You can’t possibly marry that old man in the morning,” he told her, and he did not sound like a man tortured by love. He did not sound tortured at all. Or in love. If anything, Crete sounded im­patient. “I have standards, Timoney. Obviously any lover after me will be a downgrade. But this verges on an insult.”

About the Author

Photo Credit: Courtney Lindberg

USA Today bestselling, RITA-nominated, and critically-acclaimed author Caitlin Crews has written more than 100 books and counting. She has a Masters and Ph.D. in English Literature thinks everyone should read more category romance and is always available to discuss her beloved alpha heroes. Just ask. She lives in the Pacific Northwest with her comic book artist husband, is always planning her next trip, and will never, ever, read all the books in her to-be-read pile. Thank goodness.

 

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GLAMOROUS Harlequin Series Fall Blog Tour Promo Post: Manhattan’s Most Scandalous Reunion by Dani Collins

He can’t turn her away, and it has nothing to do with the media storm outside his penthouse! Enjoy this sizzling romance from USA TODAY bestselling author Dani Collins.

She left him.

That doesn't mean she's forgotten him.

When paparazzi mistake Nina Menendez for a supermodel, she takes refuge in her ex’s New York penthouse. Big mistake. Guarded Reve Weston is incapable of emotional intimacy—and is intensely seductive…

Reve has had enough of scandal. To keep his name out of the tabloids, he insists Nina stay with him. But as their spark reignites and she shares the mysteries of her past, Reve realizes his cynicism has a downside. If he can’t give Nina the fairy tale she dreams of, he’ll have to let her go…for good!

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Dear God, they were everywhere. She was sur­rounded. Her airway tightened and her wild gaze swerved every direction, seeking a path of escape.

A blue-and-silver awning struck her eyes. She had walked in this direction unconsciously on purpose because, deep down, she was a masochist.

Normally, she would have stayed on this side of the street and glared upward as she walked by, but in her agitation, she darted straight for the entrance, not computing that she was running into traffic.

A car squealed its brakes and stopped on a dime right before it would have struck her. The driver laid on the horn, then honked again as the horde of cam­eramen chased her, all of them batting and bumping into the car in their haste to get around it.

Nina brushed past the startled doorman and ran inside, straight to the security desk where Amir sat today.

“I’m sorry. Please, can I stand here a few minutes while I figure out what to do? They won’t leave me alone.”

She was quivering with reaction, breathless and barely able to speak. She looked back to see the door­man holding out his arms while he ordered the men, “Back off! No entry.”

Amir frowned at her, then at the disruption out­side. One of the men evaded the doorman and pressed his camera lens to the window, clicking and flashing through the glass.

Amir picked up his phone and dialed.

Was he calling the police? Nina’s scrambled brain tried to decide whether she should involve them.

“It’s Amir, sir. Ms. Menendez is here in the lobby.”

“What?” she whispered. “I didn’t come here to see him.”

Her stomach began to churn. She held her breath in dread-filled anticipation.

“Yes, I understand, sir. But she seems upset.”

Her heart stalled out. How humiliating. After se­ducing her and leading her on, Reve had dumped her when she had asked if he wanted to meet her father. Three months later, he didn’t even want to see her.

She covered her face, turning her back to the win­dows so she had a shred of privacy while she tried to think of where she could go or who she might call. The few friends she’d made in New York had fallen away when she’d been fired and moved in with Reve. And the friend who’d gotten her today’s interview lived in London. The one who was loaning her his studio was backpacking in Australia.

She didn’t know what to do. She was upset by more than the fact those men had chased her. It was every­thing that had happened lately. Her ears were rushing with the sound of her galloping pulse. Her life was falling apart at the seams, but she couldn’t crawl home this time. Where was home? Who was she?

“Miss…” Amir’s voice was loud enough to make her jerk her head up. His frown told her he’d had to repeat himself to get her attention. She saw he had opened the doors for Reve’s private elevator.

“Mr. Weston will see you. Would you like me to come with you? You seem unsteady.”

She stared into the elevator, longing to see Reve even though she knew he only pretended to rescue damsels. Deep down, he was more of a dragon who lured them in and ate them.

Still, she could hear the doorman arguing with the men outside. She had to leave the lobby so they would disperse. She desperately needed to be trans­ported out of her entire overturned, mixed-up life, and, God knows, Reve’s world was the furthest thing from her own.

 

About the Author

When Canadian Dani Collins found romance novels in high school she wondered how one trained for such an awesome job. She wrote for over two decades without publishing but remained inspired by the romance message that if you hang in there you'll find a happy ending. In May of 2012, Harlequin Presents bought her manuscript in a two-book deal. She's since published more than thirty books with them and is definitely living happily ever after.

 

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GLAMOROUS Harlequin Series Summer Blog Tour Promo Post: His Billion-Dollar Takeover Temptation by Emmy Grayson

In debut author Emmy Grayson’s sexy workplace romance, will the Spanish CEO be able to resist giving in to desire?

He will claim her company

But can he claim her, too?

Everleigh Bradford won’t simply hand over control of the family vineyard she expected to inherit. She’s lost too much already. If she must confront internationally renowned new owner Adrian Cabrera, she will! Even if she has to fight her red-hot response to the brooding Spaniard.

Bringing Everleigh home to Grenada to prove he’ll protect her heritage is essential to their working relationship—but it’s dangerous. Innocent Everleigh is intoxicating. And she deserves everything that Adrian’s past and his iron self-control won’t let him give her. No matter how tempting it is…

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A skintight orange gown enhanced Jackie’s slender figure, including the gener­ous amount of cleavage that threatened to burst free at any second. Dark curls fell in an artfully arranged waterfall over her shoulder, accentuating sharp cheek­bones and a large, blindingly white smile any model would envy.

But, other than the vaguest stirring of a physical response to her amply displayed breasts, he felt noth­ing. After years of entertaining himself with models, politicians, business leaders and actresses, he was very selective in his choice of bedmate. Married women and overly attentive ladies who wore their greed on their sleeves topped his off-limits list.

“I’d love to know more about your winery.” She smiled again and pressed her breasts flush against him.

The move jostled his arm. Ruby-red wine sloshed out of his glass onto the white cuff of his dress shirt. His mild irritation flared into icy displeasure.

“Oh, no! I’m so sorry…” Her voice trailed off as their eyes met. “Um… I’ll just let you get cleaned up.”

She scuttled down the length of the balcony and hur­ried down the stairs. He watched as she reached the ballroom floor and disappeared into a sea of evening gowns and tuxedos.

A glance down at his shirt made him sigh. He had plenty of dress shirts in his closet upstairs in the Roo­sevelt Penthouse Suite. It would only take ten min­utes to change and rejoin the party. But the deviation to his routine annoyed him. He always spent the first half-hour of a wine release alone, surveying whatever grand room his event planner had booked and savor­ing the success that had brought him to this moment.

From evaluating the mineral levels in the soils of the vineyards to collaborating with his head of mar­keting on the international campaigns that had taken Cabrera Wine to the top of the industry, each wine re­lease marked the end of a long, demanding journey.

As a Cabrera, he could have asked for much more by way of reward. All he wanted was thirty minutes to himself.

She’s gone. Focus on the party. Don’t let her ruin your night.

Tiffany chandeliers cast a sparkle over the golden ceiling as partygoers milled about the ballroom. Wait­ers expertly danced in and out of the guests with sil­ver trays full of culinary treats like brie-stuffed mini burgers and pork chop bites with a tangy orange bar­beque sauce.

Adrian’s blood had curdled when Cabrera Wine’s event planner, Calandra Smythe, had read the menu to him. Did Americans have to put barbeque sauce on everything?

Yesterday’s final tasting had altered his view some­what, when he’d been forced to admit that the unique recipes brought out the velvety flavors of the Merlot. And the surprisingly tasty offerings had been a hit with both his American and international clients.

Down below, he watched Calandra flit through the crowd, her eagle eyes seeking out every tiny imper­fection with laser precision. From relighting candles to adjusting the angle of the tall vases overflowing with Spanish bluebells and white carnations, she had everything under control. As always.

He’d started to turn back to the arched window, to pull the curtain aside and take just a moment longer to enjoy the sight of the skyline, when he caught sight of a woman gliding in and out of the hordes of people. Her confident, graceful movements, coupled with the tumble of blonde hair cascading over her shoulders, piqued his interest. Elegant, yes, but something about her seemed out of place compared to the stiff-necked men and women milling about.

The crowd broke for a moment. He could see her below him, illuminated by the golden light of the chan­deliers and the glow of the hundreds of candles that lit the ballroom. Her head snapped up and their gazes collided, caught and held.

 

About the Author

When Emmy read the best series of her childhood, Nancy Drew, she cheered for her favorite titian-haired detective to solve the mysteries that plagued River Heights while reading the books featuring Nancy's boyfriend Ned Nickerson over and over again. Fast forward a few years later to when Emmy found a copy of A Rose in Winter by Kathleen Woodiwiss, and she was hooked on romance. Thirteen years after she submitted her first novel, and received her first rejection, from Harlequin, Emmy got the call from editors Flo and Charlotte with Harlequin Presents.

When she's not writing, she's working her day job in public relations. At home, she wrangles her adventurous toddler, explores the countryside with her fur babies or enjoys a glass of wine on the front porch of her Midwestern home with her firefighter hubby.

Emmy loves romance (of course). Nora Roberts, Julia Quinn, Sabrina Jeffries, Tessa Dare, Amanda Quick, and Mary Jo Putney are just some of her favorites. She's also a die-hard mystery fan. Her two favorite authors are Agatha Christie and Ellery Queen, writers her father introduced her to and that she rereads at least once a year.

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Harlequin Spring Fling Series Promo Post: Cinderella's Night in Venice by Clare Connelly

This shy Cinderella will go to the ball…but will she end the night in the billionaire’s arms? Harlequin Presents author Clare Connelly enchants with this passionate and uplifting romance.

The most infuriating man she’s ever met.

The only man she’s ever wanted…

When Ares Lykaios insists that Bea Jones accompany him to a gala, she wants to refuse—if just to put the arrogant Greek in his place. Yet Ares is as gorgeous as he is commanding, and she can hardly say no to her PR firm’s biggest client.

Bea is shy, awkward…and breathtaking in a ball gown. And one kiss proves her desire matches Ares’s own. So after the opportunity arises to finish what they started in Venice, resisting becomes the ultimate test of his strict self-control!

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From Harlequin Presents: Escape to exotic locations where passion knows no bounds.

Signed, Sealed…Seduced

Book 1: Ways to Ruin a Royal Reputation by Dani Collins
Book 2: Cinderella’s Night in Venice by Clare Connelly

Heartfelt or thrilling, passionate or uplifting—our romances have it all. Visit TryHarlequin.com to sample FREE books from among 12 different series. It’s just a taste of the new books published each month—every story a journey guaranteed to leave you with That Harlequin Feeling.

‘Oh, my God.’ Bea stared at the fast-spreading blob of coffee with a look of sheer mortification on her dainty features. ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you.’

The man—at least, he looked part-man, yet he was also part-warrior, all broad shoulders, lean muscle and hard-edged face—stared at her with surprise first, and then displeasure. ‘Evidently.’

‘Please, let me—’ She cast an eye around for something—anything—she could use to mop up the man’s shirt, which now bore the marks of her early evening energy boost. ‘I just made it. It must be hot. Does it hurt?’

‘I’ll live.’

She grimaced, looking around the office, but it was past six and almost everyone had left. ‘Let me just grab—’ She plucked a tissue from a box on a nearby desk, lifting it to his shirt and wiping furiously, all the colour draining from her face when she realised she was only making it worse. Little white caterpillars of tissue detritus were sticking to the coffee stain, damaging the obviously expensive shirt even more.

His fingers curled around her wrist, arresting her progress, and warmth enveloped her out of nowhere, shocking her into looking up into his face properly for the first time. At five foot ten she generally found she was almost at eye level with most men but not this guy. He stood a good few inches above her, at least six foot two, she guessed.

There was something familiar about him, though she was sure they’d never met. She’d definitely have remembered him. His face was angular and strong, like his body, a square jaw covered in dark facial hair—not a look that was cultivated or painstakingly trendy so much as a fast-growing five o’clock shadow. His lips were curved and bracketed on either side by a deep groove, like parentheses in his face, his cheekbones were prominent and his brows were thick and dark, framing his grey eyes in a way that turned the already spectacular specimens into works of art.

Her breath caught in her throat and she pulled at her hand on autopilot, a familiar instinct to deny anything approaching closeness marking her actions, her lips twisting in a silent gesture of rejection and simultaneous apology. ‘Naturally the London Connection will cover the dry-cleaning fees,’ she offered, her cheeks growing hot under his continued inspection.

He held up a hand in a gesture of silence.

Bea swallowed, taking a step back. ‘I didn’t see you.’ Quit talking, Captain Obvious, she derided. It was a tendency she’d worked hard to curb—speaking when nervous was a girlhood habit she’d kicked long ago. Or thought she had.

‘Where is Clare?’

‘Clare?’ Bea parroted with a frown, flicking a glance at her wristwatch to be sure she had the time right. Was her friend and founder of the London Connection—a woman who was as well-regarded for her business nous as she was for being notoriously disinterested in romance and relationships—dating this guy? She hadn’t mentioned anything, but something had been different with Clare recently. Perhaps this explained it?

‘Clare Roberts—about this tall, dark brown hair? Given that you work here, I imagine you’ve heard of her?’

Bea’s eyes narrowed at his tone, which was innately condescending. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell the man that not only had she heard of Clare, but they’d gone through almost every major event in their lives, along with Amy Miller, side by side together. The three amigos, from way back.

‘We had a meeting and I do not appreciate having my time wasted.’

‘Oh.’ She grimaced; the oversight was unprofessional and unexpected. ‘She’s not here.’

‘She must be.’ His nostrils flared as he exhaled a deep breath. ‘Please go and find her.’

‘Find her?’ Bea felt like a parrot, but her senses were in overdrive.

‘You know, walk through the office until you discover where exactly she is?’ He spoke slowly, as though Bea was having difficulty comprehending what he was saying when his English was perfect, albeit tinged with a spicy, exotic accent that was doing funny things to her pulse points.

Old feelings of inadequacy were stealing through her, making her stomach swirl with a very familiar sense of unease. She tried to banish it, forcing a tight smile to her face. ‘Clare was called away on urgent business,’ Bea explained, a pinprick of worry at her friend’s inexplicable and urgent departure pulling at her. ‘Is there anything I can help you with, Mr...?’ She let her question hover in the air, allowing him time to offer a name.

His brows knitted together, and every cell in his body exuded impatience. ‘You must be mistaken. This meeting has been scheduled for weeks. I flew in this afternoon for this specific purpose.’

Bea’s eyes opened wide. If that was true, then they’d bungled something—badly—and that ran contrary to every instinct she possessed. ‘Oh.’

‘Yes,’ he clipped, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring—there was really no other way to describe his expression—at her across the space. The air between them seemed to grow thick with a tension that made Bea feel as though she was continually cresting over the high point of a roller coaster. She dug the fingernails of one hand into her palm, forcing her expression to remain neutral with effort.

‘As I said, something urgent came up, otherwise I know Clare wouldn’t have left you in the lurch.’ She waved a hand in the direction of Clare’s office, the lights off, door closed. ‘If you give me a moment, I can try to get in contact with her, or log into her calendar and see if—’

He scowled fiercely. ‘This is completely unacceptable.’

Bea hesitated, unprepared for this man’s obvious frustration. When he was cross, like this, his accent grew thicker, more mysterious and honeyed.

‘I do not have time to be messed around, nor to accept excuses from some secretary or cleaner or what- ever the hell you are. I’ve worked with Clare a long time, but this is—’

Bea felt as though she were drowning. She’d only been with the London Connection for a few months but she knew what this company meant to her friends. Not to mention what it meant to her! This PR firm was important to all of them and, whoever this man was, she didn’t want to have a disgruntled client on her hands.

‘Yes, very disappointing,’ Bea inserted, belatedly remembering that while she was relatively new to the firm she was also the head of the legal department, having been recruited across from her senior partner role in a top tier City firm. She wasn’t accustomed to being spoken to as if she were the dirt on someone’s shoe. Modulating her voice to project an air of calm authority, she met his eyes straight on, her spine jolting at the clarity of their steel-grey pigment. They were like pewter; she wasn’t sure she’d ever seen anything like it before. ‘Unfortunately, standing here firing scorn and derision at me isn’t going to achieve very much, is it?’

His shock was unmistakable. His eyes widened, flashing with an emotion she couldn’t register, and then his jaw moved as though he was grinding his teeth together.

‘I am not—’

She expelled a soft breath as she cut in. ‘Yes, you were, but that’s okay. I understand you’re disappointed. And I am truly sorry that you’ve flown to London from—’

He said nothing.

She waved a hand through the air. ‘Wherever, only to find Clare not here.’ She turned, moving towards her friend’s office. ‘You mentioned that you’ve worked with Clare for a long time, so obviously you’re aware how unusual this is. I hope you’re able to overlook this rare mistake.’

‘I am not generally in the habit of forgiving mistakes, rare or not.’

A shiver ran down her spine at the steel in his words. She didn’t doubt for a second that he meant what he said. There was an air of implacability about the man that she’d felt from the minute he’d arrived.

Bea had, at first, thought his accent was Italian, but as he spoke more, her appraisal changed. She was almost certain he was from Greece—one of her favourite places in the world. She’d spent a summer there during her degree, and had fallen in love with the sun, the water, the history and, most of all, the anonymity. When she travelled abroad, no one knew Bea as Bea- trice Jones, daughter of Rock Legend Ronnie Jones and Supermodel Alice Jones.

‘Then I hope you’ll make an exception just this once,’ she implored as she flicked Clare’s screen to life, typing in her friend’s password quickly. ‘Please, have a seat.’ 

About the Author

Clare Connelly grew up in a small country town in Australia. Surrounded by rainforests, and rickety old timber houses, magic was thick in the air, and stories and storytelling were a huge part of her childhood. From early on in life, Clare realized her favorite books were romance stories, and read voraciously. Anything from Jane Austen to Georgette Heyer, to Mills & Boon, and (more recently) the 50 Shades trilogy, Clare is a romance devotee. She first turned her hand to penning a novel at fifteen (if memory serves, it was something about a glamorous fashion model who fell foul of a high-end designer. Sparks flew, clothes flew faster, and love was born.). ​In 2016, Clare Connelly accepted a book deal with Harlequin and now fulfills a lifelong dream by writing romance that sets your soul on fire for the brand that the world trusts with its heart.

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Blog Tour Promo Post: The Surprise Bollywood Baby by Tara Pammi

"Equal parts sweet and sexy, this is sure to please."—Publishers Weekly

Bollywood is in for a shock when these ex-lovers are bound together by their baby in this emotional pregnancy romance by Tara Pammi.

Falling for a Bollywood superstar…

…leads to the shock of a lifetime!

For actress Zara Khan, a pretend romance with an old flame, director Virat Raawal, is the ideal story to feed the press—and halt her family’s attempts to marry her off. But after sparks reignite one scorching night, she has a very real pregnancy to go with their fake relationship…

Virat is determined to do the right thing and claim Zara as his wife. He offers her everything in the world…save for the heart that he’s locked firmly away. The trouble is, Zara will only wed for love!

From Harlequin Presents: Escape to exotic locations where passion knows no bounds.

Read all the Born into Bollywood books:

Book 1: Claiming His Bollywood Cinderella

Book 2: The Surprise Bollywood Baby

 

Get cozy this winter with romances to move you. That Harlequin Feeling.

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She was up to something.

Zara Khan, actress extraordinaire and astute businesswoman, should be firmly embedded in his distant past but kept shimmering like an enticing beacon in his present. No, strike that. She was more like a niggling thorn lodged in his skin.

And damn it all to hell, but Virat Raawal felt every inch of him practically vibrating with an an­ticipation and excitement he hadn’t tasted in a long time. He ran a hand through his hair, cursing his tunnel focus on his current project for the last eigh­teen months.

From the moment he had stepped into the ban­quet hall and found her watching him with undis­guised attention, Virat had known something was afoot. Tracking his every move from that wide-eyed gaze. Making his skin prickle with awareness.

She couldn’t have been more obvious if she’d thrown herself at him—all grace and curves and self-confidence oozing out of every inch of flaw­less skin she revealed.

No wonder his long-denied libido was now wag­ging its tail like an excited puppy at the sight of a much-coveted fancy treat.

Because that was what Zara was to him. A deli­cious treat that made him act like a man barely out of his teens, riding the roller coaster of horniness and emotional turbulence all over again.

Even after all these years. Even after he’d re­minded himself countless times that she’d made her choice a long time ago. That she’d left no doubt as to whom she preferred, between the famous Vikram Raawal—the uncrowned king of Bollywood who’d slogged night and day for years, to save his family and the prestigious Raawal House of Cinema from dire straits—or him, Virat Raawal, the man whose questionable paternity was always a fan-favorite topic of conversation on the weekly chai-and-chat shows.

In the decade since she’d used him to climb up the ladder of success, Virat had built up a reputation both within the industry and with the critics—a reputa­tion that his grandfather and cinema visionary Vijay Raawal had garnered more than half a century ago. A reputation and a body of work that had every artist in the industry salivating to work with him.

Even though they’d regularly butted heads on the direction of the family’s production house, Virat had always had Vikram’s support. The brothers’ bond had been borne out of their parents’ incapa­bility to provide them with a modicum of emotional and mental stability in their lives. So Virat had ac­tively worked on not letting the bitterness of Zara’s choice or her long-standing relationship with his brother rot the bond between himself and Vikram. And he’d succeeded for the most part.

While he’d never understood their relationship, he’d left it alone. And now, with his brother about to marry the lovely Naina and the resulting nasty rumors about Vikram breaking Zara’s heart, Virat had been thinking a lot more about their purported, decade-long relationship.

Tucking his hands into his trouser pockets, he ab­sently nodded at some comment on his left when the subtle hint of Zara’s scent hit his nostrils. Virat stiff­ened, as if bracing himself against an oncoming at­tack. He didn’t have to turn and look at her to know that she had sidled up to him, closer than a woman he hardly ever talked to in ten years should have done.

Her bare arm rubbed up against his, the warmth of her curvaceous body a teasing caress. Virat scowled and was about to ask her what the hell she was up to when the roaming strobe light focused on them both and a cheer went up around the hall.

An announcement flashed on the huge screen propped at the top corner next to the stage just as a short, bespectacled woman announced his and Zara’s names together as the primary investors in the web mag, calling out giveaways including and not limited to scholarships for female junior college students, a featured monthly charity drive for inno­vative small businesses from around the country’s rural villages, and an opportunity for the chosen SuperWoman of the month to meet Zara and Virat. As their schedules allowed, of course.

“Shall we, darling?” Zara said then, loosely link­ing her arm through his, in that husky voice of hers that he could recognize in his sleep.

He turned his head to look at her then, beyond stunned. And Virat knew that everyone in the hall was watching them, with the same wide-eyed fas­cination that Zara was faking as she looked at him.

As if he was the answer to all her dreams and wishes.

Their gazes met and the world around them seemed to stand still. With her silky hair in a soft cut framing her sharp-angled face, Zara was the con­summate actress. Her eyes shone with some inner resolve he couldn’t read and the smile she offered him was wide and not in the least bit awkward. The lush lower lip painted a soft pink taunted him.

With her palm pressed to his chest, she winked at him and pouted. His blood pressure went up another notch, shock and desire twining into an insepara­ble rope. “I know you don’t like PDAs, sweetie, but you promised to do this with me, remember?” Her thigh bumped against his when she leaned closer and it was a miracle that he didn’t jump away like a scalded cat. Or more like an outraged heroine fending off the caricature villain in one of his brother’s latest box-office hits.

He noted the flare of awareness in her eyes before she pulled back. Reaching for her waist, Virat twirled her out of earshot of the rest of the group, keeping his own expression mildly amused. She came as easily as if she were floating on air, her face barely betraying her shock. He pushed her against the far wall, and the circle of light followed them.

“Now what the hell are you playing at, shahzadi?” he whispered, while she clasped her hands at the nape of his neck. The slide of her soft fingers there sent tension and desire rolling through him in fast waves.

Her breath was a silky caress against his jaw as she whispered, “It’s all for a good cause, Virat. Play along, won’t you?”

“Play along as what? Your latest boy toy?”

She laughed and shrugged. “Something like that, yes.”

Get cozy this winter with romance to move you. Experience That Harlequin Feeling. Try two FREE ebooks at ThatHarlequinFeeling.com!

About the Author

Tara Pammi can't remember a moment when she wasn't lost in a book, especially a romance which, as a teenager, was much more exciting than a mathematics textbook. Years later Tara’s wild imagination and love for the written word revealed what she really wanted to do: write! She lives in Colorado with the most co-operative man on the planet and two daughters. Tara loves to hear from readers and can be reached at tara.pammi@gmail.com or her website www.tarapammi.com.

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Harlequin Series Blog Tour Promo Post: Stolen To Wear His Crown by Marcella Bell

 

The Queen’s Guard, Book 1: Stolen to Wear His Crown

From unworldly scientist… to his fearless queen!

Mina has finally achieved her dream of becoming chief scientific advisor of Cyrano, when she’s stolen from the interview room! She’s taken directly to the palace chapel, where the terms of a secret betrothal mean she must marry the king—immediately. Powerful King Zayn knows all too well monarchs can’t afford dangerous distractions like love. Yet still, he’s appalled to be wed to a complete stranger! Mina is altogether too sensitive, too scholarly, too unpolished to be queen. But that can’t stop the desire that flares each time she looks his way…

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Mina Aldaba smoothed her palms over her hair as she took a deep breath. The motion wouldn’t do anything against the strengsth and determination of her curls to frizz—even if there was enough moisture in her palms to give it some hold—but it felt purposeful. On the other side of the ornately carved door in front of her sat the men and women of Parliament—the people whose de­cision would dictate whether or not she finally kept her promise to her father.

Like her hair, she was determined and untamable. She had done everything she could, with a full heart and to the very best of her ability—and that had carried her to this side of the door, inches away from the chance to achieve everything she had ever wanted.

The rest was up to the men and women inside.

The thought set off a series of stuttering palpitations in her chest—and not the kind that could ever be con­fused with excitement.

This next part was up to fate. The only thing she could do was be herself, trust her knowledge, and hope that that would carry her through. Unfortunately, faith wasn’t one of her stronger virtues. She hadn’t gotten to this side of the door by wishing. She’d done it by force of will and desire, continuous studying and practice, so she would be ready to deliver when the opportunity came.

Now was that opportunity.

She could steel her spine even if she couldn’t calm her stomach.

She wore her usual black pantsuit and white blouse. Selecting one size up and choosing a square cut lent her hyper-feminine figure some much-needed gravi­tas. The hard lines of the design concealed any hint of curve—which she appreciated, given her very round derrière and rather Rubenesque chest. Dressing her fig­ure for academia—or, more accurately, concealing her figure for academia—was a challenge that she hadn’t anticipated when she’d decided to become a scientist at twelve years old.

Still, one had to accept what one had.

She would never forget the day a female colleague had taken her aside about it, though.

“You’re going to have to do something about all of that.”

Her fellow doctoral candidate had spoken blithely as she’d gestured in a vague circle toward Mina’s jeans-clad rear and her breasts with a long red fingernail.

“It’s just too much,” she’d added. “You’ll never be taken seriously.”

At the time, the words had stung, but Mina was grate­ful for them. Her colleague had been right. The thin old uni sweatshirt she’d been wearing that day had stretched across her full chest, and her jeans had been form-fitted.

She’d looked like the student she had always been, rather than the professional academic she was becoming, and the world she’d been about to enter was cutthroat, old-fashioned, and antagonistic—especially if you happened to have been born with female anatomy.

As soon as she had transformed her attire, her work had begun to garner more attention. Her male col­leagues, it appeared, had been able to focus on it, rather than her.

Thankfully, she had mastered those ropes long ago—so well, in fact, that she was now in line to reap the highest professional reward: an interview for the ap­pointment of an adviser to the King of Cyrano.

In preparation, her dense chocolate-brown curls had been ruthlessly brushed back from her face, heavily gelled, and confined into a thick French braid. Today—a day in which when she couldn’t afford to have even a single hair out of place—she had used nearly double the amount of product to tame the springy, indomita­ble mass.

She had learned long ago to avoid putting her hair in a bun. Too many academics harbored sexy librar­ian fantasies.

The combination of the suit and the braid created a no-nonsense image—that of a serious academic. It was precisely what Mina wanted to project. Especially since she was the youngest candidate ever to sit for a parliamentary interview—and only the second woman ever nominated.

The door cracked open, and a page popped his per­fectly coiffed head out.

About the Author

Marcella Bell lives in the mostly-sunny wilds of Southern Oregon with her husband, children, father, and three mismatched mutts. The dry hot summers and four distinct annual seasons of the region are a far cry from the weird rainy streets of Portland, OR, where she grew up, but she wouldn’t trade her quirky mountain valley home for anyplace else on the earth. As a late bloomer and a yogini, Marcella is drawn to romance that showcases love’s incredible power to transform.