Judging by the way Angie was talking to Elijah, smiling sweetly and toying with the end of her ponytail, she was definitely “vibing,” as Chloe put it. An ugly, foreign feeling surged up inside Jace that made him feel the exact same way as when he’d watched his brother flirting with her. Turn around and walk away. It’s none of your damn business. But before Jace fully thought through the consequences of his actions, he was crossing the road with Truffle leading the way. As soon as the little white dog caught sight of Angie, his tail started going a million miles a minute. Stop. You’re not going to get involved. Don’t be a hypocrite. Other people in this town meddle and you hate it. It was true. He came from a family of meddlers, and it drove him nuts. But maybe there was some meddling-specific chromosome that had been passed on from his parents without his knowledge, remaining dormant all this time and waiting for the right moment to strike. “Jace.” Angie looked at him with wide eyes, almost like she was a kid with her hand stuck in the cookie jar. “I was taking Truffle for a walk.” He raked a hand through his hair like he was totally relaxed and going about his day. The truth was, he had no bloody idea what he was doing. “How was yoga?” “Awesome.” For some reason, Angie’s voice seemed an octave or two higher than normal. “Super great, actually. Excellent.” Hmm. Three ways of saying the same thing. She did that whenever she was nervous. “Are you into yoga?” Jace asked Elijah. “Yeah, man. With all the firewood I have to chop for the pizza oven, my back gets real tight.” Jace resisted the urge to roll his eyes. How did he manage to say shit like that without coming off like a total douchecanoe? “But I could always use some tutoring.” Elijah shot Angie a flirty look, and her cheeks turned the prettiest shade of pink. “Any opportunity to expand my skills.” “I’m sure Chloe could help with that,” Jace said stiffly. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Truffle sniffing around Elijah’s leg. He’d done the same thing to the coffee table earlier that morning—inspecting his target. Jace really should put a stop to it… “I wasn’t talking about Chloe,” Elijah said, his eyes still trained on Angie. Angie laughed and gingerly stuck her hand in the air. “I volunteer as tribute.” Jace forgot the dog and stared at her hard. Was this one of those gray-area things he’d never understand, or did Angie really like this guy? He had no freaking clue. Just then, Truffle jumped up on his hind legs, hooking his front paws around Elijah’s calf. His hips started to hinge back and forth, and Elijah glanced down, a what the hell do I do now expression on his face as he and Angie looked down at Sir Hump-a-Lot. “What the hell?” Elijah stumbled back, and Truffle dropped down to the ground, looking mightily miffed that his sexy times were interrupted. “Truffle!” Angie snort-laughed. “So inappropriate.” “It’s a dominance thing,” Jace said to Elijah. “He tends to do that whenever he thinks he can overpower someone.” Angie shot Jace a raised brow, but she squatted to give the dog a scratch behind the ears before he could figure out exactly what she was thinking. Was the comment too much? He’d blurted it out without thinking, and Elijah seemed off his game now.

New Hope, South Carolina. Population 6,129. I know every soul represented in that number. Not a single one of them drives the shiny red Mercedes that just went speeding by. Seventy-five in a forty-five. I flick on my lights and press on the gas, sending my cruiser flying past the city limit sign and the godawful billboard that sits directly behind it; the one declaring New Hope home to country music superstar, Scarlett Kincaid. It wouldn’t be a big deal if this were actually her home. It’s not. Scarlett may have been born here, but her fancy boots haven’t landed on this soil in over a decade. All it took was one call from a hotshot music executive to send her packing before the ink was dry on her high school diploma. Scarlett flew from this town fast enough to leave our heads spinning. Before any of us could process what had happened, little Scarlett Kincaid—the same girl who used to build forts with me in my living room while my mama made us mac ‘n’ cheese—had a hit single sitting at number one on the Billboard charts. She went from homecoming queen and most likely to marry a rich spouse in our senior yearbook, to the queen of country music. The country loves her. Hell, the whole world loves her. New Hope…not so much. And it’s high time that fucking sign comes down. But first, I have to deal with this speed demon in the sexy red car. I sound the sirens, and the car pulls to the side of the road and waits while I walk to the driver’s side window. It’s still up, the heavy tint preventing me from seeing inside. With a hand on my holster—because you never know what you’re going to walk up on—I knock on the window. The dark glass lowers. My first thought: this woman is absolutely gorgeous. Long, dark hair. Pouty lips. And a tiny pink dress. Her eyes are covered by oversized aviators, but I’m sure they’re as pretty as the rest of her. My second thought: what crazy excuse is she going to come up with to try and get out of this ticket? It never ceases to amaze me the things women are willing to do to keep from getting into trouble. I’ve been offered everything from a blowjob to a pay-off to marriage. “Do you know why I pulled you over today, ma’am?” “Tucker?” The woman smiles, then pushes her sunglasses to the top of her head. And that’s when I see the brown eyes I’ve spent more than a decade trying to forget. “Tucker Andrews, is that you?” I step back and square my shoulders. “You can call me Officer Andrews. Do you know why I pulled you over today, ma’am?” “Tucker.” The woman laughs and shakes her head. “It’s me, Scarlett.” At the mention of her name, I’m met with an onslaught of flashbacks. Running hand and hand through the neighborhood with her, laughing and playing, only to have her ignore me the second we got to school. The popular crowd versus the nerds who desperately tried to fit in. She the former, me the latter, and the pain it caused every time she acted as though she didn’t know my name. For years, I pretended it didn’t bother me because I knew that when I got home, Scarlett would meet me at the fence, and the awkwardness from the day would dissipate as though it never happened. But it did. Day after day after day. I was a glutton for punishment. There was nothing in the world I loved more than Scarlett Kincaid, and it didn’t matter how badly she hurt me, I was always willing to forgive her. Her smile and laugh might’ve gotten to me in middle school and high school, but I refuse to let it affect me now. “I know who you are.” Her smile falters.

He’s the quiet brooding guy who’s owned my heart since I was sixteen but has refused to claim it.

I’m the naïve woman who believes that someday our time will come.

I just didn’t realize that someday would include waking up in Vegas with a raging hangover and a ring on my finger.

If we believed in fate, maybe one of us would’ve trusted that something more powerful than ourselves interceded because our love is one of tangled vines. As twisted and frayed as they’ve become over the years, they’ve never broken.

An annulment seemed like the easy way out. We should’ve known it wouldn’t be fate that intervened, but our Italian Mamas. They can deliver Oscar-worthy performances when heaping on the guilt.

We thought it’d be easyHe’s the quiet brooding guy who’s owned my heart since I was sixteen but has refused to claim it.

I’m the naïve woman who believes that someday our time will come.

I just didn’t realize that someday would include waking up in Vegas with a raging hangover and a ring on my finger.

If we believed in fate, maybe one of us would’ve trusted that something more powerful than ourselves interceded because our love is one of tangled vines. As twisted and frayed as they’ve become over the years, they’ve never broken.

An annulment seemed like the easy way out. We should’ve known it wouldn’t be fate that intervened, but our Italian Mamas. They can deliver Oscar-worthy performances when heaping on the guilt.

We thought it’d be easy to pretend to be a happily married couple in front of our families for three months and then say we gave it our best shot and go our separate ways.

But nothing is easy when it comes to Dominic Mancini and me. Nothing. to pretend to be a happily married couple in front of our families for three months and then say we gave it our best shot and go our separate ways.

But nothing is easy when it comes to Dominic Mancini and me. Nothing.

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My 5 Star Review:

It’s official! I’m completely in love with Dominic Mancini!! I knew from the beginning he was my favorite Mancini brother. It’s not that I don’t love them all, but there is something about Dom.. From beginning to end, I was not able to put this book down! 

Wild Steamy Hook Up is, without a doubt, my favorite book from Piper Rayne!! Dominic and Val were destined to be together. Their love was years in the making. Val has been in love with him when she was 16. Dom, as we’ve seen through this book, is only looking so hook ups, no long term romances,

So the fact that he’s the one that gets drunk and marriage in Vegas is so funny. 

While staying married for 3 months to make their mamas happy, we get to see another side to Dominic. We get to see what’s underneath and the reason he’s only looking for hook ups. We see more in his past and his vulnerable side and it make me melt even more for him. 

Dominic captures my heart like no other character before. A wonderfully written 5 star book that I want to read again and again!! Perfect book and a little teaser at the end. We get Blanca’s book and I cannot wait!

Piper Rayne, or Piper and Rayne, whichever you prefer because we’re not one author, we’re two. Yep, you get two USA Today Bestselling authors for the price of one. Our goal is to bring you romance stories that have "Heartwarming Humor With a Side of Sizzle" (okay...you caught us, that's our tagline). A little about us... We both have kindle’s full of one-clickable books. We're both married to husbands who drive us to drink. We're both chauffeurs to our kids. Most of all, we love hot heroes and quirky heroines that make us laugh, and we hope you do, too.

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“Need some help?” I’m on my tiptoes when the question comes, trying to reach a book on the top shelf in the bookstore at the student center. My heart does a nosedive off a cliff as that familiar gruff voice washes over me, his accent a smooth drawl that’s reminiscent of hot summer nights and slow kisses—kisses we never had…well, except for that one time freshman year. I ignore him and try to grab the book. “You’re too short. Let me,” Blaze says, this time closer, his voice soft. I ease back on my feet and whip around, internally wishing I’d worn something more I hate you and don’t you wish you still had me, but sadly, I’m not in my kickass shoes and itchy dress. Today it’s flat-soled red Converse, black joggers, and a Yankees sweatshirt. I blow at a piece of hair in my face. Shit. Of course, he looks magnificent in a tight long-sleeved black shirt that clings to his broad chest and tapered jeans molded to those leg muscles. His face is unshaven, the darkness on his jawline adding a broody look. Curse him and his hotness. I stare at him a little too long, until I snap out of it. “I don’t need help,” My voice is strangled as I move to brush past him—forget the textbooks—but he reaches out and takes my elbow. “Charisma—” His fingers are a hot brand on my skin—it’s the first time we’ve touched in three months—and I pull away. A tremble starts in my legs. How dare he?It was one thing to see him in a social setting and pretend I was fine, but when we’re face to face without people watching… “Don’t put your hands on me. I’m not your hookup anymore, football player.” His face reddens, and he drops his arms. “I didn’t mean—” he stops, not finishing as he studies my face. I wonder what he sees. You know what he sees, Charisma—someone who wasn’t up to his usual standards. Everything I didn’t say last night rushes out. “Didn’t mean to what? Dump me in the middle of my own sorority’s party in front of all my friends and half of campus? And you know, that’s totally fine. We both knew I wasn’t enough to keep your attention.” His jaw clenches and he frowns, his brow furrowing. “I didn’t plan for things to happen that way.” “How did you want to break up with me? Over candlelight? A text would have worked just fine,” I bite out. The silence builds between us, and he watches me intently, as if trying to figure me out. He starts at my hair and works his way down to my feet, then comes back to my face. Just when I think I might combust from the intensity of his eyes, he looks away. “What?” I cock my hip. “You look like you want to say something.” He taps his hand against his leg. Ice-blue eyes, ones I used to stare into and get butterflies from, glitter down at me. “You just can’t handle that ended things, sweetheart.” “Not your sweetheart.” “Never were.” Shit…shit…my heart feels like an anvil just landed on it, heavy and hard, and I can’t breathe for a second at his words, part of me pissed, the other part devastated. I wanted to be his sweetheart, I did, but he… You’re not my type. “Thanks for the reminder,” I say quietly, my anger folding away piece by piece and slipping into that horrible self-pity I despise. He closes his eyes and scrubs his face with those talented hands, strong and big and capable, skillful with a football. He steps in front of me, much like he did last night, and I tilt my head back to take him in. At my height of five feet, three inches, it’s hard to glare at a guy who towers over you and not look ridiculous, but I manage—until his eyes flicker with lingering emotion. I dart my eyes around the store, searching for a way out, but I’m stuck between him and a bookshelf. “You’re blocking my path.” I focus on his legs. No sexiness there—well, except for the tight muscles under that denim. “This is what I know,” he says in a low voice, ignoring my statement. “You told me we were just messing around. You set all the rules. Isn’t that how you operate? So why does me ending things with you even matter?” “You never asked for more. You could have.” The revealing words fall around us, tinged with hurt, and I want to pull them back. The silence between us crackles, yet I’m aware of other people around us. There are a few girls on another aisle, and I glance over as one of them pulls out her phone. No doubt she’s taking a picture of him. Part of me retreats, anxious she’ll get me in that photo—a girl who clearly doesn’t belong. He doesn’t notice. Everyone knows who he is, and they’re probably wondering why he’s talking to me. “No, I didn’t,” he finally says, the words taut as if pulled from him unwillingly. He taps his leg, his tell that he’s anxious or angry. We weren’t together long, but every moment we spent together, I studied him like a wine connoisseur given a glass of rare cabernet. I know what makes him laugh, usually random things that make no sense. I know that groan he makes deep in this throat when he slides inside me, like he’s home. I know the feel of his hand when he cups my face and stares at me, a hesitant expression on his face— “You can’t even look at me anymore. I wonder why,” he says, his voice a challenge. Steeling myself, I face those baby blues. “You know why. I wish we’d never met up last fall. I wish you’d never flirted with me. I wish I’d never fucked you that first time in the library—” “Same page. Same fucking page, Charisma.” And then he’s walking away, broad shoulders swaying as he stalks down the aisle…
Wall Street Journal, New York Times, and USA Today best-selling author Ilsa Madden-Mills is best known for her angsty new adult romances and romantic comedies. Eight of her eleven novels have placed in the Amazon Top 10 Best-seller List: Dirty English #1; Fake Fiancée and I Dare You #2; I Bet You, Filthy English, and Very Bad Things #6; Boyfriend Bargain #8; The Last Guy, her collaboration with Tia Louise, #4. A former high school English teacher, she adores all things Pride and Prejudice, and of course, Mr. Darcy is her ultimate hero. She's addicted to frothy coffee beverages, cheesy magnets, and any book featuring unicorns and sword-wielding females. Feel free to stalk her online. .