GLAMOROUS Harlequin Series Summer Blog Tour Promo Post: The Playboy's "I Do" Deal by Tara Pammi

A billionaire’s Caribbean getaway just got a lot more interesting in this sizzling marriage of convenience story by Tara Pammi!

A convenient offer…

From the stowaway on his yacht!

Dev Kohli’s superyacht is Clare Roberts’s perfect hideout. A family betrayal has her running from a forced marriage. Trying to ignore the heat still blazing between her and Dev from their last encounter, Clare prepares to bargain with the billionaire…

Dev knows the PR expert can restore his company’s tarnished reputation. But agreeing to hide her in paradise—just the two of them—brings an intimacy he can’t escape. And as the threat to Clare increases, so does Dev’s need to protect her with something he never thought he’d offer—his ring! 

Buy The Playboy's “I Do” Deal by Tara Pammi!

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What her friends also didn’t know, and Clare wasn’t about to tell them, was that their new client was the same man she’d had a one-night stand with recently. She’d never shared his identity with them, feeling a strange sense of protectiveness about that night. Also, because if she talked to them, then she’d have to own up that she’d mostly failed at abiding by the most im­portant rule of one-night stands—keeping it strictly ca­sual. Especially as Dev had clearly had no such problem doing that himself.

Athleta was far too big a fish for Clare to walk away from just because its CEO hadn’t proclaimed that he’d love her forever. And tonight had been her one chance to impress on him that her small PR firm could clean up his recently tarnished image.

Only the mobster’s goons had trailed her all the way from London to a conference in New York and then to São Paulo, and it was terrifying. Today the mobster’s intentions had been made crystal clear. He intended to simply…take her in lieu of the money he insisted she owed him.

For two weeks, she’d lived in terror of being snatched from wherever she was.

She’d been meaning to hightail it back to her hotel room when she’d spotted Goon Number One with a drink in hand on the main deck of the superyacht this evening. The short, blond, chubby-faced man had smiled angelically—clearly his cheerful appearance was a useful tool in nabbing unsuspecting women. It was the same man she’d seen leaning near the newspa­per stand on the street where The London Connection’s offices were located, looking up at the sole window. The very same posh and supposedly secure street that they paid astronomical rent for.

He’d even bumped into her late one evening when she’d been rushing to catch the Tube after work. Apol­ogized profusely. When she’d then seen him lounging in the foyer of her New York hotel, she’d wondered if she was hallucinating.

Now, he was here, aboard Dev’s yacht. Looking just as posh as the rest of the designer-suited men. Wearing an affable smile, chitchatting away. He’d almost touched her. Tried to talk to her as if they were long-lost friends. She didn’t have time to wonder how he’d got on board. She needed to hide. Now.

She ran her hand over her hips, contemplating the rounds the uniformed security guard was making. The emerald green silk skirt she was wearing had been a gift from Bea, and it gave her some much-needed courage. Without looking back, she stepped gingerly down the spiral staircase—who knew yachts could have stair­cases like this one?—and tried to not trip in her four-inch heels.

The champagne sloshed around in her belly again as she passed door after door. Peeked into one expansive lounge after another. Even in her panic, Clare couldn’t help marveling at the airy, contemporary spaces, the chic stylish interiors. The click-click of her stilettos on the gleaming floors sounded like a sinister countdown.

Heart pounding, she walked into the biggest cabin.

For a second, she was thrown at the sheer size of it. A large bed with a navy-blue duvet looked so welcoming that she took an involuntary step toward it longingly.

It was the feel of the luxuriously soft cotton under­neath her fingertips that made her realize she was paw­ing it. Her eyelids felt heavy, her entire body swooning with exhaustion. She’d been traveling nonstop for a week. Hadn’t slept a wink ever since that ghastly man had started following her. But she couldn’t sleep now. Not if she wanted to remain undetected until after the party wound down.

After one last wistful glance at the bed, she shook off the lethargic fog that threatened to engulf her. She was crashing from the shock of seeing that mobster’s henchman again. Moving like an automaton, she walked into a massive closet.

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 cooperative 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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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.

Author Links

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Blog Tour Promo Post: Claiming His Bollywood Cinderella by Tara Pammi

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

He’s a Bollywood superstar, she’s a personal assistant… And their one night proves that keeping things professional will be impossible in this passionate and uplifting Cinderella romance from Tara Pammi. A brief encounter… A forbidden fairy tale!

The hottest actor in Bollywood, Vikram Raawal has found love countless times—when he’s playing a role. In real life, he’s given up on finding a soul-deep connection and prefers to focus entirely on his career. Until at a masquerade ball, one woman leaves him craving more…

Naina Menon’s first impression of drop-dead gorgeous Vikram left much to be desired. But then one heart-stopping night shows her there’s so much more to him than his celebrity persona. Still, he’s a billionaire, and she’s a humble assistant. Is passion enough to bridge their different worlds?

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

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Excerpt - CLAIMING HIS BOLLYWOOD CINDERELLA by Tara Pammi

Vikram Raawal walked up the steps of Raawal Mahal, his family’s two-hundred-year-old palatial ancestral bungalow. It was the only property his parents had left unsullied by their still-tempestuous marriage of forty years.

The muggy October afternoon was redolent with the pungent aroma of the jasmine creeper that his grandfather had planted for his wife all those years ago.

His grandparents had shared a love story that couldn’t be recreated by all the glittering sets and stars of Bollywood. If not for the fact that Vikram had very clear memories of them—Daadu and Daadi sitting side by side listening to ghazals on the gram­ophone, sharing stories with him and his younger brother and sister, Daadi keeping silent vigil by her husband’s side as he vanished away into nothing…he would have scoffed at even the idea of such a love.

But he had seen it. He’d been a part of it. He’d found comfort and joy in its shadow. And today, at the age of thirty-six, memories of that love hit him hard.

He was lonely, he admitted to himself, as he walked through the gated courtyard toward the main bungalow. The strains of an old ghazal played on the gramophone player, sinking sweetly into his veins, slowly releasing the pent-up tension he’d been car­rying. He laughed at the mural his younger brother, Virat, had painted on one wall where a profusion of plants and flowerpots sat on an elevated concrete bench.

The cozy bungalow, full of sweet memories and peaceful childhood associations, was his favorite place in the world. And yet, he had avoided visiting for almost two months, using out-of-country shoots and overloaded scheduling as excuses.

But here in this place where he was just Vikram and not Vikram Raawal, Bollywood star, and the chairman of the family production company Raawal House of Cinema, he couldn’t lie to himself.

He hadn’t wanted to expose himself to his daadi’s brand of perceptiveness. He hadn’t wanted her to see how unhappy he’d been of late. How…unsettled in his own skin.

The raucous burst of a man’s laughter punctured his thoughts. It was Virat.

For a few seconds, Vikram considered turning around and walking out. His recent argument with his brother had been far dirtier than their usual head­butting over projects for Raawal House. Being called arrogant and dominating by a brother that he loved and respected had…shaken him.

The laughter came again and Vikram’s curios­ity trumped his reluctance. He walked through the grand salon, filled with his grandfather’s trophies and accolades from a career that had lasted close to five decades in Bollywood.

Vijay Raawal had not only been a celebrated actor and director but had built his career from the ground up after traveling the country with a theater group for years. Started his own production company, and taken the industry in a new direction. Made main­stream films, art projects, and careers of many stars and never once lost his integrity.

How had his grandfather sustained such a glitter­ing career in such a superficial and cutthroat indus­try? Had it been simply the unconditional support Daadi had offered him through everything?

After fifteen years and numerous box office hits in Bollywood, Vikram had suddenly found himself filled with a strange feeling of discontent all of a sudden. But it was more than creative burnout. In a cinematic twist, he’d found himself wanting the same kind of support and affection from someone that Daadi had given Daadu while knowing that he wasn’t actually capable of returning it.

In a crazy moment of impulse, he’d asked his best friend Zara to marry him. Thankfully, Zara had in­stantly said no. That he had even considered mar­riage in the first place—even if it was to his oldest and longest friend, showed how unlike himself he was currently feeling.

He nodded at Ramu Kaka—his grandfather’s old manservant, as old and comfortingly familiar as the bungalow itself.

The first thing that hit him as he entered the expan­sive sitting room was the subtle scent of roses. Every inch of him stilled as he stood over the threshold, his long form hidden from his daadi and Virat by the L-shaped angle of the hall. They were lounging on the divan, while a number of their servants stood huddled by the other door that led to the huge kitchen. Every mouth twitched in varying degrees of smiles.

In the middle of the room, kneeling on the rug, was a young woman with her face in profile to Vi­kram. Evening sunlight filtered through the high windows in the room and lit up her silhouette. The first thing he noted was the dark halo of her hair, curly and thick like her very own crown, that swung from side to side every time she moved her head, and huge glittering earrings that reminded him of the crystal chandelier Mama had spent thousands of dollars on in some Italian boutique.

The earrings swayed enchantingly every time the young woman moved her head. And she did it a lot. His mouth curved.

Wide eyes, pert nose and a lush mouth moved in constant animation, along with her plump body. Almost anesthetized by seeing size zero bodies on movie sets, he let his gaze return to the voluptuous lines of her body with a curious fascination. A white cotton kurta hugged her breasts, a long chain of glit­tery beads dancing over them.

White stones on tiny half-moon gold hoops glinted in a perfect line over the shell of her left ear, winking mischievously in the waning sunlight. With her multihued skirt spread out around her in a kalei­doscope of colors, she was a gorgeous burst of color against a gray landscape.

Full of life and verve and authenticity he hadn’t seen in a long time.

A thrilling sliver of excitement bloomed in his gut even as he frowned at the oversized stuffed teddy bear on the floor in front of her. Suddenly, the woman opened her mouth and screamed.

The cry was deep rather than shrill, perfectly modulated, and eerily familiar.

Vikram watched in increasing fascination as she extended her arms and bent to scoop up the stuffed toy from the ground into her arms. The gold and sil­ver-colored bracelets she wore on one wrist tinkled at the moment, adding their own background score to the entire scene.

And then it came to him.

She was enacting a scene. From a recent movie. His latest action thriller.

She was…mocking him?

She was imitating the cheesiest line he’d ever said in front of a camera and she was doing a fantastic job of pinpointing everything he’d hated about the movie and in particular, that scene.

About the Author

Tara writes sexy romances with swoon-worthy heroes and sassy heroines - whether the classic Presents or the bantery contemporaries! Her heroines are sometimes smart badasses and sometimes shy geeks but all of them find the perfect hero. Because every heroine deserves a love story!

Tara lives in Texas with her very own Hero (who’s kind of a mix of Alpha and Beta and is perfect) and two Heroines-in-making. When she isn’t writing or reading, Tara can be found failing in the kitchen, binge-watching her favorite shows on NetFlix, or making resolutions in her pretty planner to exercise more, or even a little.

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