7 Novels by Emma Hart (.ePUB)+
7 Novels by Emma Hart (.ePUB)+
Requirements: .ePUB/AZW3 Reader, 4.6 MB | 1.9 MB | Version: Retail
Overview: Emma Hart is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of over thirty novels and has been translated into several different languages. She is a mother, wife, lover of wine, Pink Goddess, and valiant rescuer of wild baby hedgehogs.
Miss Fix-It: One handywoman.
One single dad.
One set of twins.
And the wall isn’t the only thing being drilled…
I learned the hard way that being a handywoman isn’t easy. The questions, the stares—the assumption I’m the proud owner of a cock and balls. Not that it matters. I’ve proven over and over that I’m ready for anything the judgmental asses throw at me.
Except the hot, single dad of twins who just moved to town.
Brantley Cooper gets the shock of his life when I show up on his doorstep to fix up his kids’ new rooms. His son is confused why ‘the pretty lady has a drill,’ and his daughter has a new obsession—me.
On paper, my job is easy. Go in, do their bedrooms, and leave.
In theory, I’m spending eight hours a day with a guarded, sexy as hell guy, and I’m staying for dinner more often than I’m eating it alone, on my couch, with Friends re-runs.
I shouldn’t be staying for dinner. I shouldn’t be helping him out with the twins. I shouldn’t be falling in love with tiny toes and dimpled cheeks.
And I most definitely should not be kissing my client.
Best Served Cold: Revenge is a dish best served cold. Which is a real problem when the attraction runs red-hot.
Trust me. I know. The only reason I decided to renovate my family’s ice-cream store was to serve up a sundae full of revenge for my a-hole ex who opened an ice-cream store right next to mine.
It was supposed to be simple.
Renovate. Reopen. Put his peachy butt out of business.
Until he decided to get under my skin—and broke my toe.
Now, I’m stuck with Chase in my store every day, helping me renovate. But he’s also in my head, and I’m spending a little too much time up against his abs.
Not that it’s the worst place to be.
But it doesn’t change anything. I still hate him, and I’m still going to get my revenge.
The Roommate Agreement: Let your homeless best friend stay with you, he said. Being roommates will be fun, he said. It’s only temporary, he said.
He never said I’d fall for him.
You know what isn’t ‘temporary?’ The endless stream of dirty socks in my bathroom and empty food packets under the sofa–and don’t even get me started on the hot guys who take over my living room every Sunday to watch sports.
I can’t take anymore.
So I propose a roommate agreement. One that will bring peace and order back to my life, complete with rules that might just stop my newfound crush on my best friend in its tracks.
After all, there’s only so many times you can see your best friend naked before you start to lose your mind.
Rules. They’re meant to be broken… Aren’t they?
The Accidental Girlfriend: TOP TIP: Don’t put out an online ad offering your services as a fake date. Someone will take you up on it.
And it won’t just be for one night.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how I ended up being Mason Jackson’s fake girlfriend.
He didn’t even want me to be. No—his sister was solely responsible for me being his date for his ten-year high school reunion.
Now, she’s responsible for telling his parents our relationship is real.
We have no choice. We have to act like this isn’t all a mistake, like it’s not all fake, like we’re totally, completely, utterly, head-over-heels in love with each other.
Frenemies: There are some things you just have to deal with.
Like your hot as hell college booty call moving in next door with his adorable daughter.
The only time we’ve ever gotten along is under the sheets. Old habits die hard because two minutes on my front porch is how long it takes us to bicker.
Not that a little fact like that bothers my healthy, eighty-year-old grandmother and roommate who’s determined to see me married before she bites the dust.
Unfortunately for me, she’s got her eye set on Cameron Black.
She’s barking up the wrong tree. He’s not The One, no matter how much I swoon when I see him with his daughter. I have no intentions of rekindling anything with him—until a rubber spider in my mailbox starts off the mother of all neighborhood prank wars, just like the ones we had in college, and throws me right into his path.
One that leads right to his bedroom…
Number Neighbors: BAD IDEA #241: Sending a dirty text to your number neighbor.
In my defense, my friends did it too, and their neighbors took it as the joke it was.
He responded with a dirty text of his own. Next thing I know, I have a standing texting date every night at ten-thirty.
Until I have to miss it because the stray kitten who adopted me one week ago is sick. The only person I know who can help me at this time of night is my British next-door neighbor and local vet, Isaac Cooper.
I’ll keep him overnight, he says. Here’s my number to call me in the morning, he says.
I know that number.
Because I’ve been texting it every night for the last four days…
Hot Mess: What do you do when the whole world has seen you getting down and dirty in a broom closet?
I, Elle Evans, am on the run.
Not from the fuzz—although that would be more exciting.
No, I’m on the run from the four-year-old private tape that, thanks to my vengeful ex, has probably already ruined my vlogging career.
There’s nothing like the entire world knowing what you look like mid-O.
Creek Keys, Florida, is a million miles away from NYC and the perfect place for me to hide for the rest of summer until I can figure out what I’m going to do.
Something that’s easier said than done since my new landlord’s daughter thinks you’re God’s greatest gift. Even better? Their beach house is right next to the one I’m renting, so there’s no getting away from her—or her hot, British dad.
Who most definitely does not think I’m role model material.
He might be right.
The problem is that neither of us can say no to her.
Or each other.