Ergebnis von "Staci Hart" in Alle Kategorien

Olivia Brent has one summer to save the dairy farm she just inherited. But there's one problem, and it's not her lactose intolerance. It's Jake Milovic. The brooding farmhand has inherited exactly 50 percent of Brent Farm, and he's so convinced the city girl can't work the land, he bets she can't save it in a summer. Determined to prove him wrong, Olivia accepts what might be the dumbest wager of her life.

Some universal truths refuse to be ignored. Peanut butter and jelly are a match made in heaven. Spaghetti and meatballs are best friends forever. And guys like Tyler Knight don't go for girls like Cam Emerson. She knew from the second she met him that he didn't belong on her bookshelf, the six-foot-six ex-tight end with a face so all-American, it could have sold apple pie.

Staci Hart presents Book 4 in the Roseville Ramblers series.

Sometimes your life is split by a single decision. I've spent every day of the last seven years regretting mine: He left, and I didn't follow. A thousand letters went unanswered, my words like petals in the wind, spinning away into nothing, taking me with them. But now he's back. I barely recognize the man he's become, but I can still see a glimmer of the boy who asked me to be his forever, the boy I walked away from when I was young and afraid. Maybe if he'd come home under better circumstances, he could speak to me without anger in his voice.

He plays the bass with expert fingers. He plays women with intoxicating charm. And he’ll play me with the ease of a virtuoso. Who better to teach me to play than the master himself? I’m his model student, front row, pencil sharp. Pick-up lines? I’ve got them. Free drinks? By the dozen. Kissing? Let me grab my chapstick. But the most valuable lesson I’ve learned is that there’s so much I don’t know - like why his touch sets off a chain reaction straight to my nethers…or how I’m certain each kiss is the best I’ll ever have…until the moment his lips take mine again.

Once Rose Fisher makes a decision, that's it. End of story. Like when her ex, Patrick, dumped her out of the blue, then showed up with a super-hot, tatted up sex kitten on his arm. Then it was over for good. The end. Poof. Dead to her. Except he was everywhere - down the hall, at the bar with their friends, worming his way into her dreams. But with their friends paired off, they're left alone more and more. Rose is determined to keep him friend-zoned.

The second Annie Daschle tumbles into my arms, I'm a goner. When she asks if we're hiring at Wasted Words, I can only say yes, even though we aren't - it's that early on that I realize I can't say no to her. Not when she asks me to show her around New York, even though I already know I should stay away. Not when she asks if we're friends because I want her so much more than that. But she isn't mine, and she never can be.

I’ve always been able to separate feelings from chemosignals. A shot of dopamine, a dash of serotonin, and a sprinkle of oxytocin - and bam - you’re in love. And when egg meets sperm, you’re pregnant. I couldn’t even be surprised as I stared down at the little blue plus sign - because I knew exactly when and how and with whom it happened. The upside? I don’t have to go looking for a suitable mate.

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. Thomas Bane. Best-selling 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.

His body is as chiseled as Adonis. His lips are as sculpted as David. And his ego is the size of the Guggenheim. You know the type: wolfish smile and the gravity of a black hole - the kind of man who sucks all the air from the room the second he enters it. My cocky boss thinks this internship was wasted on me, and he doesn’t hesitate to let me know. But he’s wrong, and I’m going to prove it to him. If I can stay away from his devil lips, that is....

Hate is a strong word. Depending on the company, loathe is a good substitute. Abhor might be a little fancy, but it gets the job done. But the word that really sums up how I feel about Liam Darcy is, without question, hate. He doesn't seem to think much of me either. The second he lays his fault-seeking eyes on me, he sets out to oppose me. Everything about him is imposing, as if he consumes the nearby air to power the rise and fall of his broad chest, and it's clear he resents my presence on his advertising team.

For nine long months, I've been fighting to figure out how to be a single dad, how to be alone. For nine long months, I've been failing. When Hannah walked through the door, I took my first breath since I'd found myself on my own. She slipped into our lives effortlessly, showing me what I've been missing all these years. Because Hannah made me smile when I thought I'd packed the notion of happiness away with my wedding album.

Joel Anderson doesn't take anything seriously. Not his relationships, which have been few and far between since his brutal divorce. Not the drama of working in a tattoo parlor, which seems to be around every corner. When things get him down, he smiles and cracks a joke. But he's not the kind of man you cross, or you'll find yourself at the wrong end of his fists. A standalone romantic comedy.

You are cordially invited to the party of the century. There's no greater thrill than in the moment a courier hands you the heavy invitation with those words etched on the front. Because you've just joined the most exclusive group in New York. The Bright Young Things. Lavish parties. Irreverent treasure hunts. Every event is a sparkling spectacle, stalked not only by the media, but by the law, who's declared war. They're out to ruin everyone's good time, starting with uncovering the mysterious benefactor leading the group....

Nothing good comes after the third date. Date three is the crucial point when things get real, which is exactly why I bounce out the door, twiddling my fingers at whatever poor boy I've left behind. Because, if I stick around, one of three things will happen: he'll profess his undying love, he'll get weird and stalky, or I'll go crazy. Like, Sid and Nancy crazy. Like, chase-him-through-the-streets-begging-him-to-love-me crazy. Seriously, it's better for everyone this way.

Everyone hates parts of their job. Maybe it’s the paperwork. Maybe it’s the day-to-day grind. Maybe it’s that client who never knows what they want or the guy who always cooks fish in the microwave. But not me. I love every corner of the Longbourne Flower Shop, every flower, every petal, every stem. I love the greenhouse, and I love Mrs. Bennet, my boss. I love creating, and I love being a florist. I don’t hate anything at all. Except for Luke Bennet. The Bennet brothers have come home to help their mom save the flower shop, and Luke is at the helm.

Staci Hart presents Book 3 in the Roseville Ramblers series.

Never thought I’d agree to a marriage of convenience to my hot, firefighter ex boyfriend. Especially after he casually informs me we've been married for ten years. Ten years ago, Wilder and I were so in love that we got married in Vegas for one night only before leaving for college on different sides of the world. He was supposed to mail the annulment papers. Problem is, he didn't. Worse? He didn't tell me. Not even when I came back to town to marry another man.

The hot baseball player I'm forced to stay with for my best friend's wedding is off limits. Remy Winfield has more muscles than manners, and he's on a mission to get me into bed by way of the filthiest mouth I've ever wanted to kiss. He doesn't care about my longtime crush or my certainty that we're finally about to happen.

Twelve years ago, my first and only love left town and never came back. How dare he show up now, looking like that, and he’s running against me for mayor. It’s unfair, him standing there, too tall and handsome for his own good. It’s audacious that his clothes accentuate every lean, strong curve of his body. It’s universal BS that his smile makes my heart flipflop, and it’s patently un-freaking-believable that my body would betray me when he turns that gorgeous smile on me.