Showing results by author "BB Easton" in Contemporary

I can’t remember anymore if my grandfather’s eyes were blue or green, but I’ll never forget the way they wrinkled at the corners when he laughed at one of his own jokes. Or the way they sparkled with mischief when he told me tales about the magical creatures that dwelled in the forest behind his humble Irish sheep farm. As a child, I believed every fantastical word. But when he warned me about the mute boy who also lurked in those woods, the one the priest had declared to be the spawn of Satan himself, I refused to listen.

I am thiiiis close to finally becoming a full-fledged psychologist. PhD? Check. Prestigious postdoc position? Check. Letter of recommendation from my supervisor? That’s going to take a miracle. Not only because my boss said I have to cure our most-prized client’s writer’s block in time for him to meet his insane deadline, but also because that client just so happens to be…Thomas O’Reardon. The wickedly brilliant, achingly beautiful, devastatingly British best-selling author whose psychological thrillers line my bookshelf at home.

Ronald 'Knight' McKnight was the meanest, most misunderstood boy at Peach State High School...perhaps on the entire planet. Knight hated everyone, except for me, BB - the perky, quirky punk chick with the locker next to his. I, on the other hand, liked everybody...except for Knight. I was scared to death of him, actually. All I wanted was to marry a Prince Eric-lookalike Lance Hightower and have a million of his babies. Unfortunately for me, Knight was even better at getting his way than I was, and once he got under my skin, my life would never be the same.

Ronald 'Knight' McKnight was obsessive. Possessive. Downright psychopathic. But that didn't stop me from falling in love with him...or falling apart when he joined the marines. When he left, Knight told me to 'find someone better', but I didn't. I found Harley instead. Harley James was a fun, flirty, tattooed mechanic whose face was as angelic as his secrets were sinful. He taught me how to live again. How to laugh again. But would he teach me how to love again? Over Knight's dead body.

My type had been well-established. There might as well have been a giant sign on my heart that said, 'Good Guys Need Not Apply'. Which is exactly why I had to friendzone Ken Easton. The man was a former football star, smelled like fresh laundry instead of stale cigarettes, and had more ties in his closet than tattoos on his knuckles. Pssh. BOR-ING. But the more I got to know my hunky study buddy, the more questions I came away with.

Tras años intentando animar mi vida sexual desistí y decidí escribir un diario. Quizá mi apuesto y frío marido era incapaz de darme la pasión que yo esperaba; después de todo, mis ex ya cumplieron con los niveles de testosterona que yo ansiaba y encontraba en mis novelas favoritas..., así que, si no podía tener ese nivel de pasión, al menos podía escribir sobre ello, ¿no? Nadie debía saberlo, iba a ser mi pequeño secreto. Pues ¿adivináis qué? Mi marido leyó el diario. ¿Y sabéis qué? Le hizo cambiar el juego. Bien.

BB ist frustriert. Denn das Sexleben mit ihrem sehr attraktiven, aber leider wenig einfallsreichen Mann ist nach vielen Jahren Ehe alles andere als aufregend. Der Alltag, der Stress, die Kinder... Man kennt es. Um wenigstens in der Fantasie ein wenig Prickeln zu erleben, beginnt sie Tagebuch über die erotischen Erlebnisse mit ihren Verflossenen zu führen. Dabei nimmt sie kein Blatt vor den Mund. Was sie nicht weiß: Ihr Ehemann liest heimlich mit, was sie schreibt, und legt sich von da an richtig ins Zeug... Schonungslos ehrlich, sexy und herrlich komisch.