Her fake husband is a Work In Progress…
Work in Progress, an all-new romantic comedy from Staci Hart, is available now!
I never thought my first kiss would be on my wedding day.
But here I stand, clutching a bouquet of pale pink roses behind the doors of a Las Vegas chapel, and at the end of the aisle is the absolute last man I imagined would be waiting for me.
Bestselling author. Notorious bad boy. Savagely handsome, dark as sin, chiseled as stone. And somehow, my soon-to-be husband.
Marry him, and I’ll land my dream job. Save him, and I’ll walk away with everything I’ve ever wanted. All I have to do is remember it’s all for show. None of it is real, no matter how real it feels.
But first, I have to survive the kiss.
And with lips like his, my heart doesn’t stand a chance.
Jestem totalnie zakochana w historii, którą stworzyła Staci Hart! Work in Progress to książka, której czytanie daje wiele przyjemności. Jest słodko, momentami jest zabawnie i oczywiście nie zabrakło chwil, w których rumieniec kwitł na twarzy. Motywem przewodnim jest udawane małżeństwo, które ma przynieść zysk obojgu bohaterów.
Amelia jest topową blogerką książkową, która źle sobie radzi socjalnie. Jest nieśmiała, cicha, wycofana. Jednakże pod fasadą nieśmiałości skrywa się piękna dziewczyna o złotym sercu.
Tommy to typowy niegrzeczny facet w bojowych butach. Długie włosy, luz i niesamowity seksapil to wizytówka tego krnąbrnego pisarza. Niestety Thomas jest także magnesem na kłopoty, więc musi powziąć drastyczne działania, by oczyścić swój wizerunek i uratować karierę, która wisi na włosku.
A kto byłby lepszą pomocą, niż piękna blogerka, od której bije dobrocią ze wszystkich stron?
I co mogłoby pójść nie tak, skoro oboje skorzystają na aranżowanym małżeństwie?
Ach! Jestem zachwycona tym, jak autorka dobrała bohaterów w tej historii. Tommy i Amelia idealnie się uzupełniają, a chemia między nimi jest elektryzująca. On pomaga jej otworzyć się na ludzi i nabrać pewności siebie, a ona z kolei go wycisza i uspokaja. Są dla siebie nawzajem tym, czego w życiu potrzebowali.
Nie wiem, jak Wy, ale ja lecę nadrobić poprzednie części tej serii, bo zostałam totalnie wciągnięta w Red Lipstick Coalition! I już nie mogę się doczekać historii Katherine!
I’m totally in love with the story created by Staci Hart! Work in Progress is a book which reading gives a lot of pleasure. It’s sweet, at times it’s funny and of course there were moments when the blush appeared on your cheeks. The trope is a fake marriage, which is supposed to bring profit to both of our heroes.
Amelia is a top book blogger who is socially awkward. She’s shy, quiet, withdrawn. However, under all this shyness hides a beautiful girl with a golden heart.
Tommy is a typical bad boy in combat boots. Long hair, swag and indescribable sexappeal are the showcase of this writer. Unfortunately Thomas is also a magnet for trouble so he must take drastic action to clean up his image and save his career, which hangs by a thread. And who would be a better help than a beautiful blogger, from whom kindness shines from all sides?
And what could go wrong when both of them will benefit from an arranged marriage?
Ah! I’m delighted with how the author has mated heroes in this story. Tommy and Amelia perfectly complement each other and the chemistry between them is electrifying. He helps her open up to people and gain self-confidence and she in return soften him and calms him down. They are what they need in life for each other. I don’t know how about you but I’m going to make up for the previous parts of this series because I am totally drawn into the Red Lipstick Coalition! And I can’t wait for Katherine’s story!
Download your copy today or read FREE in Kindle Unlimited!
Amazon Worldwide: http://mybook.to/WorkinProgress
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The hall bathroom door opened, consequently stopping the earth’s orbit and flinging me into space for lack of gravity.
Thomas Bane stepped out of the doorway in slow motion, propelled by a cloud of steam that licked at his glistening body like it wanted to taste him. His hair was black, wet, curling and dripping in rivulets down the planes and valleys of his expansive chest and abs and narrow hips. He had that thing, the trough of muscle bracketing his hips that caught sluicing water and carried it in an angle that would eventually reach that unknown terrain beneath his towel. I saw the ghost of that terrain, the long, cylindrical bulge that was substantial enough to clearly state its presence, even through the thick towel.
He smirked, dragging his hand through his wet hair. I salivated, watching droplets of water roll down his forearm and collect on the tip of his erotic elbow.
“You’re up,” he said.
I blinked, not knowing when I’d set my coffee down or how many minutes—hours? years?—had passed in the time I spent ogling his body.
He sauntered into the room like he wasn’t basically naked. I tried unsuccessfully not to stare at his knees, the place where his ropy thigh connected, the angular muscles of his calves, the curve of his ankle, the broad pad of his foot.
He was perfectly proportioned. Michelangelo would have carved him twenty feet tall, and women would have worshipped at his perfect feet.
Gus bounced when he saw Tommy, his toys forgotten. And when Gus took off running, Tommy stopped, eyes widening and hands splayed in front of him.
“Gus, no,” he commanded.
To no one’s surprise, Gus did not listen. He barked once, snagged the hem of Tommy’s towel, and whipped it off him in a single tug that exposed every inch of skin on Thomas Bane’s ridiculous body.
Thank God my coffee was already on the counter. I’d have gotten third-degree burns.
For a split second, Tommy was frozen there in all his natural glory, poised to run after his dog, his face drawn and eyes locked on the sweet, disobedient dog. He wasn’t paying any attention to me.
I, however, gave him my full and undivided consideration.
His thighs were a mass of muscle so hard and defined, the tops were planes that came to a notch at his knee and a point where it met his hip. My eyes caught that trough that had before disappeared and followed it where it pointed—straight to the thatch of dark hair and the member nestled there.
The very thick, very long, mostly limp member.
If I stared at it a second longer, I was going to faint—my vision was already dim, my pulse pumping so hard, I could feel it in my neck, at the back of which a cold sweat had broken.
But he shifted to run after Gus, who was galloping away, trailing the towel behind him.
“Dammit, Gus! Gimme that!”
Then it was the back of him I saw, his hair, the streaming water rolling down all the curves of his shoulders, his back, the valley of his spine, and down to the most perfect ass I’d ever seen in real life.
Well, the only ass I’d ever seen in real life that wasn’t my own, and even that I couldn’t get a good look at without a mirror.
Seriously, that ass. That perfectly sculpted ass, round and tight and curved in the sides, shifting from one side to the other as he ran after the damn dog. My gaze caught a tattoo on one ass cheek, and I squinted at it, trying to make it out.
Tommy bent to snag the end of the towel—I caught sight of his sack and almost dissolved through the floor in an acidic puddle of embarrassment—but when he pulled, Gus spun around, ass in the air and tail wagging as he growled, pulling back.
A string of obscenities left Tommy’s mouth, but I was still gaping and staring at his ass. I realized that I was laughing. It sounded like someone else in a different room.
I wondered absently if this was how it felt to have a stroke.
About the Author
Staci has been a lot of things up to this point in her life — a graphic designer, an entrepreneur, a seamstress, a clothing and handbag designer, a waitress. Can’t forget that. She’s also been a mom, with three little girls who are sure to grow up to break a number of hearts. She’s been a wife, though she’s certainly not the cleanest, or the best cook. She’s also super, duper fun at a party, especially if she’s been drinking whiskey.
From roots in Houston to a seven year stint in Southern California, Staci and her family ended up settling somewhere in between and equally north, in Denver. They are new enough that snow is still magical. When she’s not writing, she’s reading, sleeping, gaming, or designing graphics.
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