Tessa Bailey – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read

Tessa Bailey – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.wownovels.com Sun, 01 Feb 2026 09:23:53 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=7.0.2 http://www.wownovels.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/favicon.png Tessa Bailey – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.wownovels.com 32 32 Catch Her If You Can (Big Shots #5) Read Online Tessa Bailey http://www.wownovels.com/catch-her-if-you-can-big-shots-5-read-online-tessa-bailey Sun, 01 Feb 2026 09:23:53 +0000 https://www.wownovels.com/catch-her-if-you-can-big-shots-5-read-online-tessa-bailey Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Sports Authors: Tessa Bailey Series: Big Shots Series by Tessa Bailey
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Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 96850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)

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This special paperback features gorgeous sprayed edges with stenciled artwork.

#1 New York Times bestselling author Tessa Bailey is back with an all-new marriage of convenience, friends-to-lovers sports romance about a baseball catcher and the burlesque club owner he can’t get out of his head.

Madden Donahue, the newest catcher for the Yankees, has been in love with Eve Mitchell since high school, but for some mysterious reason, the burlesque club owner always turns him down. That never stopped him from being her self-appointed protector. Case in point, now that Eve’s sister has left Eve with her two children indefinitely, Madden steps in with a proposition—marry him for the much needed health benefits.

Eve has secretly harbored feelings for Madden all along, but there’s one problem—her best friend Skylar called dibs on him when they were fourteen. Eve has always put their friendship above all else, and she’s not willing to risk losing Skylar over a man. Raised by the local strip club owner, Eve is woefully short on friends and treasures the ones she has. But with Skylar happily paired off, Eve finds herself accepting Madden’s proposal—on the condition that their marriage remains strictly private. She’s not about to let her unique profession and maligned reputation destroy Madden’s shiny new career.

Madden won’t let Eve get away that easily, though. What starts as a marriage of convenience soon ignites into something much hotter, and now it’s up to Madden to convince Eve that their connection is far more than a business arrangement. As the passion builds, can their fake marriage become the real deal?

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

Chapter One

Eight Years Earlier

Boys smelled like goat cheese.

Thus, fourteen-year-old Eve Keller had put them into one category: NOPE.

No, thanks. They were all the same. Not for her.

That opinion changed on a brisk autumn day in late November.

Eve held the snack-size bag of Fritos between her teeth. She needed her hands free to unload her school iPad and science notes, but before she managed to unzip her backpack, the two guys throwing a baseball in her friend Skylar’s backyard caught her eye. One of them she recognized. One of them she didn’t. In their smallish Rhode Island town of Cumberland, coming across an unfamiliar face wasn’t typical.

If she’d seen this newcomer before, she would have remembered.

He had a different way of standing. Braced for a blow. Chin up, hands half curled at his sides. Eyes narrowed as if suspicious of his surroundings, his demeanor very still and observant, while conversely, his black hair moved every which way with the wind. Something else that marked him as an outsider? He wore a jacket, instead of a hoodie, as was the custom with the local boys, even when temperatures dipped to the twenties.

As if sensing her curious gaze, the young man’s head turned and caught her staring from the kitchen window. Apart from a slight widening of his eyes—what color were they?—his expression didn’t change. But those hands completed their curl at his sides.

Quickly, Eve looked away, surprised to feel goose bumps lifting on her arms inside her sweater sleeves, no idea she’d spend the next eight years holding back four words from being said aloud. Four words that would keep her awake at night, choking her at times.

I saw him first.

“Who is that?” Eve asked her best friend, Skylar, who was the only freshman at Cumberland High with an At-a-Glance business planner—and she had her nose buried in it now.

“Who is who?” Skylar asked, distracted by her color-coded to-do list.

“That big dude with your brother.”

Skylar’s brunette head popped up. “Huh?” She turned in her chair to follow Eve’s line of sight out the window. “I have no idea. Wait. Why is he kind of hot?”

Eve snorted and sat, ripping open her chip bag. “The hot ones are always the biggest assholes.”

The other girl snorted too. “If he’s hanging out with my stepbrother, that definitely tracks.”

Eve woke up the home screen of her iPad.

“Maybe he’s on Elton’s travel team,” she murmured, once more glancing out the window.

“Uh, yeah. No. Look at his form. Is this, like, the first time he’s ever thrown a baseball?”

“Maybe he’s a cousin on your stepdad’s side,” Eve suggested, refusing to be caught staring again. Although keeping her attention glued to her iPad screen was annoyingly difficult. “Imagine you just called your new cousin hot.”

“Stop.”

“Stop being a pervert.”

They ducked their heads to muffle the sound of their laughter, though Eve put an end to her mirth a lot sooner than Skylar, not wanting to make it weird. Or make it seem like she was too invested. Their friendship was still new, right? Skylar might welcome Eve at her kitchen table to do homework today, but girls their age were fickle. They switched up friend groups as often as they changed their nail polish color. Skylar was already getting teased for hanging out with Eve and it was only a matter of time before that got old.

Ignoring the dread that sank low in her stomach, Eve fished out another Frito curl and popped the chip into her mouth. “What do you think is going to be on the quiz tomo—”

“Oh my god, they’re coming in here.”

“What? Oh.” Eve clapped her hands together to get rid of the Frito salt, then ran what she hoped were five nonchalant fingers through her chin-length blond hair, surprised to find her pulse being weird. “Whatever.”

“Yeah,” Skylar breathed, her casual shrug looking more like a flinch. “Whatever.”

Both girls kept their heads down when the two boys came in through the back door into the kitchen, though Eve would admit to sliding a quick sideways glance at the new guy’s footwear. Lace-up boots, not sneakers. Definitely not from here.

Elton greeted Skylar the same way he had since their parents got married two years earlier. “Oh god, you’re still here?”

Skylar’s middle finger was already up. “Die, Elton.”

He stomped into the kitchen and yanked open the first cabinet. “Did you eat all the good snacks?” Foil packaging rustled. “What the hell. All that’s left is your mom’s health food shit.”

“You’re not looking hard enough.” Skylar spoke to her stepbrother like she was communicating with a toddler. “Move the granola bars to one side. See beyond the front row, genius.” His cry of good fortune had Skylar sending Eve a smirk. “Pathetic.”

Eve rolled her lips inward to stifle a laugh. It would probably sound too breathless if she let it out, because her entire right side was on fire under the new boy’s scrutiny. He stood without moving at the entrance to the kitchen, hands in the pockets of his worn jeans, eyes quietly amused. Until they rested on Eve and that sparkle turned . . . serious?

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Pitcher Perfect (Big Shots #4) Read Online Tessa Bailey http://www.wownovels.com/pitcher-perfect-big-shots-4-read-online-tessa-bailey Thu, 25 Sep 2025 16:13:56 +0000 http://www.wownovels.com/pitcher-perfect-big-shots-4-read-online-tessa-bailey Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Sports Authors: Tessa Bailey Series: Big Shots Series by Tessa Bailey
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Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 97875 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)

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#1 New York Times bestselling author Tessa Bailey is back with an all-new enemies-to-lovers, fake-dating sports romance about a playboy hockey rookie and the disciplined softball pitcher completely immune to his charms.

Boston Bearcats rookie Robbie Corrigan is living the dream. He’s made it to the NHL, his best friend/teammate and fellow “orgasm donor” is his roomie—and the women of Boston love them both. Life is sweet. That is, until he meets Skylar Paige, division 1 softball pitcher, girl least likely to take anyone’s bull…and the one member of the opposite sex immune to his charms. Robbie might be dazzled by the badass pitcher, but Skylar pegs him as a filthy player and wants nothing to do with him.

When he discovers she’s carrying a serious torch for her brother’s best friend, Robbie knows he should just go back to clubbing and whipped cream bikini parties, but he can’t seem to leave Skylar to flounder on her romantic quest to land another man. Nor can he miss out on the opportunity to spend time with her and hopefully redeem himself. Before Robbie knows it, he’s agreed to be Skylar’s fake boyfriend/love coach at an upcoming family wilderness competition where her crush will be in attendance. What could go wrong?

Through a series of contests that require them to trust each other, Robbie and Skylar grow closer and closer until their fake relationship starts to feel like the realest thing they’ve ever known and the sizzling lessons in sensuality burn out of control.

But it’s all just pretend…right?

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

Chapter One

Skylar Page sat cross-legged on her twin-sized bed enjoying the moments before sunrise. That stillness just before dawn when Boston would begin to stir outside of her window, sounds and scents penetrating the brick walls of her studio apartment. For now, it was just her and the quiet thoughts she needed to envision the day ahead, calculate travel times, and prioritize errands.

After taking a medium gulp of coffee, she opened her white leather planner, her gaze bouncing between underlined reminders and to-do lists, releasing a satisfied sigh over the carefully blue-inked letters. There was nothing like knowing exactly what the day, week, and year had in store.

Currently, it was Saturday morning and she planned on pampering Future Skylar by knocking out some tasks over the weekend—in between practices, of course.

First up—

Her phone rang.

Brow creased, she transferred her attention to the lit-up iPhone where it sat beside her thigh on the raspberry-colored comforter.

Elton, her brother, was calling? At 7:00 a.m. on a Saturday?

Immediately, her heart kicked into a sprint. No one called this time of day with good news. Was something wrong with one of their parents?

Skylar answered on speakerphone, then gripped her knees. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. What’s wrong with you?”

That wasn’t the tone of someone in the middle of an emergency. Her relieved exhale shifted the pages of her planner. “Why are you calling so early?”

“Because I’m on my way to pick you up.”

Furiously, she flipped through a mental calendar, followed by the physical one in front of her, wondering if she’d missed a significant date. Had they made breakfast plans and she’d simply forgotten? That would be a massive rarity for Skylar, but maybe an email had gone to spam. “We’re not going to visit Mom and Dad until next Sunday. Did you mix up the dates for spring break?”

“Nope. This is something else.”

Skylar waited for her older brother to elaborate, but there was nothing but the sound of his turn signal ticking in the background. “Explain or I’m hanging up!” she shouted at Elton, the way only a sibling could do. Technically, they were only related by marriage, but they bickered like it was their birthright. “I’m in the middle of something.”

“Shut up. You’re writing in your planner.”

“I wasn’t writing anything,” she mumbled. “I was admiring what’s already there.”

“Whatever you do, don’t put planner gazing in your dating profile.” She heard a shift of clothing. “I’ve got some good and bad news, sister of mine. Which one do you want first?”

“The bad news. Obviously.”

“Whatever you scribbled down in your planner for this morning? Canceled.”

“Hanging up on you seems like a good idea.”

“Wait for the good news,” Elton rushed to say. “You’re pitching this morning.”

A beat of silence passed. “That’s it? I pitch every morning.”

“Not against the Boston Bearcats, you don’t.”

Slow blink. “Elton, when did you start taking edibles?”

A deep, husky laugh reached her ears from the other end of the call. One that didn’t belong to her brother. No, she knew that laugh like she knew the raised seams of a softball. And her heart was back to pumping, her gaze boring into the phone like she could see the source of that laughter through her blank screen. That perfect sound belonged to Madden Donahue, her long-standing crush . . . and her brother’s best friend. “Madden is with you?”

“Who else is going to catch your pitches?” Elton responded.

Skylar picked her way backward through the wild conversation, her concentration splintered just knowing Madden was apparently on his way to her apartment. Snatching up the phone, she jogged to the bathroom, set the device on the sink, and found her toothbrush, applying a swipe of Crest. “Okay, wait. Did you say I was pitching against the Bearcats?” she asked, just before sticking the brush into her mouth, scrubbing.

“Correct.”

“As in, the professional hockey team?”

“Yup.”

Her incredulity reflected back at her from the mirror. “How and why?”

Elton had the nerve to sound impatient. “I’ll explain on the way. How soon can you be downstairs? We’re here.”

She rinsed and spit as quietly as possible, barely refraining from chucking the phone into the toilet. “Ten minutes.”

“Five.”

“Ten, shithead.” She yanked her long brown hair up into a ponytail. “You’re lucky I only set aside this morning to work on next week’s to-do list.”

“Do me a favor.”

“In addition to this one?” she sputtered, running to her bedroom closet and hunkering down in front of the stackable drawer holding her multitude of sports bras.

“Yeah. When you get into the car, sit as far away from me as possible just in case sucking is contagious.”

“I’m going to sit close enough to choke you to death. You won’t even see it coming.”

“Choke me after the game. Save your energy for pitching.”

“We’ll see.”

Nightshirt off. Quick underwear change.

Sports bra on. Yoga pants up.

Socks.

It was that weird turning point between winter and spring when the temperature was chilly in the morning and absolutely baked Boston in the afternoon, so Skylar wasted a full minute trying to decide between a tank top or a sweatshirt, finally pulling on both. Then she snatched up her sneakers, keys, phone, and her softball glove where it sat on a shelf of honor by the front door. A minute later, she sailed out of the building, flashing her brother the middle finger through the windshield of his car, a gesture that he gleefully returned.

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Dream Girl Drama (Big Shots #3) Read Online Tessa Bailey http://www.wownovels.com/dream-girl-drama-big-shots-3-read-online-tessa-bailey Wed, 12 Feb 2025 07:22:55 +0000 https://www.wownovels.com/dream-girl-drama-big-shots-3-read-online-tessa-bailey Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Forbidden, Sports Authors: Tessa Bailey Series: Big Shots Series by Tessa Bailey
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Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95606 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)

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A steamy chance encounter between a professional hockey player and the manic pixie dream girl he just can’t seem to forget takes a turn when the pair realize that their parents are engaged—in an all-new rom-com by #1 New York Times bestselling author Tessa Bailey.

When professional hockey player Sig Gauthier’s car breaks down and his phone dies, he treks into a posh private country club to call a tow truck, where he encounters the alluring Chloe Clifford, the manic pixie dream girl who captivates him immediately with her sense of adventure and penchant for stealing champagne.

Sparks fly during a moonlight kiss and the enamored pair can’t wait to see each other again, but when Sig finally arrives to meet his dad’s new girlfriend over dinner, Chloe is confusingly also there. Turns out the girlfriend is Chloe’s mother. Oh, and they’re engaged.

Sig’s dream girl is his future stepsister.

Though the pair is now wary of being involved romantically, Chloe, a sheltered harp prodigy, yearns to escape her controlling mother. Sig promises to teach her the ins and outs of independence in Boston—but not inside his bedroom. They both know there can never be more than friendship between a famous hockey player and his high-society, soon-to-be stepsister. But keeping their relationship platonic grows harder amid the developing family drama, especially knowing they were meant for so much more…

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

Chapter One

When good things happened to Sig Gauthier, it never failed to surprise him.

But “good” wasn’t enough to describe the moment he met Chloe.

No word existed for that.

There was simply an understanding that his life would never be the same—and the life he’d led up to knowing Chloe became a collection of indistinct sounds and shapes, while the present became incredibly clear, like a window being defogged.

There she was.

Eight minutes earlier, he was on his way to the snobbiest goddamn section of Connecticut in existence. Darien held the title for wealthiest town in the state. Elite schools. Sprawling estates. Old money. In other words, not his vibe. Sig wasn’t exactly sure why he’d agreed to this dinner with his father and his latest love interest—also known as his richest sucker to date. Normally, he turned down invitations from Harvey Lerner, but after Sig looked up the affluent address, he’d driven the three hours from Boston out of sheer curiosity.

Was Harvey going to swindle this rich woman, too?

If so, it would be a pattern. Sig’s own mother claimed Harvey had drained the contents of their bank account and left while Sig was still a baby. Harvey claimed to have changed, that he wanted an authentic father-son relationship with Sig, but Sig never truly believed him. Every once in a while the deeply hidden need for a father-son bond reared its head and Sig agreed to meet with Harvey—and he regretted it every single time. Tonight would be no different.

A rattle in the engine of his 1998 Chevy pickup made Sig sit up straighter.

“Ah, fuck.”

He’d heard that sound before. This wasn’t going to end well.

In fact, he had about a minute before the old banger he’d been driving since his college days sputtered to a stop. Damn. And only three minutes from his destination?

With a quick check of his blind spot, he started to pull over onto the shoulder of the tree-lined road, but a sign caught his attention up ahead. Country Club of Darien.

Sig snorted.

His red, dented-up truck was going to be more out of place in that parking lot than a priest in the penalty box, but he didn’t want to risk waiting for AAA on the side of the road. The sun was going down and there were too many blind curves. Someone could easily slam into him. Better to wait it out in a lot.

“Guess I’m going to miss caviar and gimlets in the conservatory,” he muttered, taking a right at the sign heralding the country club since 1957. As he slowed to a stop in an available spot on the farthest edge of the lot, he whistled long and low, observing the club through his rearview. It was something out of a movie. Flickering lanterns and sparkling fountains and white pillars. Tennis courts, valet parking, a golf course. Probably an underground cigar room.

Even the air tasted expensive.

In fact, Sig would be shocked if a parking attendant didn’t ask him to get his ratty ride away from these feats of German engineering asap. And they were welcome to try.

As a two-time NHL all-star, Sig wasn’t easy to move.

Once the Bearcats offered him a new contract, he’d probably be able to afford the most expensive car in this lot, just like the corporate lawyers and trust fund babies drinking Macallan while overlooking the back nine—but he still wouldn’t want one.

Sig unplugged his phone from the charger and looked down at the screen, cursing when he saw the dreaded empty battery icon. One percent? He’d had the damn thing plugged in the entire ride. Maybe he shouldn’t be shocked that his frayed—and discontinued—cigarette lighter charger had finally stopped working, but it couldn’t have picked a worse time.

The phone went ominously dark and Sig dropped his head back against the seat. “This is on you, man. You shouldn’t have come.” Without looking, he tossed his lifeless phone onto the passenger seat. “Should have stayed in Boston.”

Didn’t he know by now that bad shit happened near his father?

There was no choice but to walk into that mirage of wealth and ask to use the phone.

Or a charger. Just until he was able to put a call through to AAA.

Jesus, he couldn’t think of anything worse than venturing into this playground for one percenters. Except maybe sniff testing everyone’s gear after an overtime game. What other option did he have, though?

Blowing out a breath, Sig retrieved his phone and pushed open the driver’s-side door, peeling his six-foot-two frame off the leather seat, stretching in the darkness while he considered the brightly lit club.

Just get it over with.

He kicked the door shut with a rusted shriek and started toward the valet, his bootsteps loud on the asphalt. The two dudes in royal blue jackets watched him approach warily, but he knew instantly when one of them recognized him.

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Merry Ever After – Under The Mistletoe Collection Read Online Tessa Bailey http://www.wownovels.com/merry-ever-after-under-the-mistletoe-collection-read-online-tessa-bailey Thu, 21 Nov 2024 13:35:41 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/merry-ever-after-under-the-mistletoe-collection-read-online-tessa-bailey Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Insta-Love, Novella Authors: Tessa Bailey Advertisement

Total pages in book: 16
Estimated words: 15212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 76(@200wpm)___ 61(@250wpm)___ 51(@300wpm)

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A single mother working in a thrift store. A gentle giant farmer who can’t find jeans that fit. When opposites attract, they find themselves making alterations in more ways than one in this smoking-hot short story by #1 New York Times bestselling author Tessa Bailey.

Evie Crowe is starting over in a strange town with her newborn, and men are the furthest thing from her mind. If only the quiet, hulking farmer, Luke Ward, would stop coming into the thrift shop and piquing her reluctant interest. Evie wants to stay single all the way—she can’t trust anything more than friends-with-holiday-benefits. But Luke is in it for the long haul. He’s fixed on making this a Christmas Evie will remember forever. If she gives him a chance.

Tessa Bailey’s Merry Ever After is part of Under the Mistletoe, a stirring collection of December romances that thrill and tingle all the way. They can be read or listened to in one swoony sitting.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

Chapter One

Evie

The farmer is back.

I can hear him fumbling and cursing in the dressing room of my shop. The dirty shoelaces of his muddy work boots peek out from beneath the red velvet curtain, making me sigh. I’ll have to break out the Swiffer mop as soon as he leaves. But the mess he’s making isn’t my main concern. I only want to know if he found anything that fits.

Abruptly, the farmer straightens, the back of his head becoming visible over the top of the curtain. Our eyes meet briefly in the mirror, which is outlined in blinking white Christmas lights, and embarrassment streaks through my chest at having been caught watching him. My gaze zips back down to the tuxedo-dress design I’m sketching, and I continue to shade beneath the collar.

There’s a pause between the endless stream of holiday music emanating from the old stereo before “Last Christmas” by Wham! takes over for Elvis. The songs seem so out of place because it isn’t even cold outside, the way it would be back in Chicago by now. Surely it can’t be December 22? Yet the streetlamps just beyond the windows are decorated with big tinsel bells, and come evening, the big fir tree in the town square will light up with multicolored vintage bulbs. Christmas in Texas just hits different, I guess.

When I hear a disappointed grunt from inside the dressing room, my shoulders slump. Not a single winner in that entire pile of secondhand jeans he carried in there with him ten minutes ago?

Moments later, when that weathered hand yanks back the curtain and the farmer emerges with a scowl, I’m reminded why he can never find anything in the little corner thrift shop that fits. He’s biblically huge. At least six feet six inches of brute force. Broad and stacked. Filthy from farmwork. Mean looking. A grizzly bear wouldn’t cross his path.

And he’s blushing to the tips of his ears.

As the farmer approaches the register, he carries a single pair of jeans in his hand, the rest of them left neatly stacked behind him in the dressing room. The sound of him clearing his throat is like a crack of thunder and causes me to drop my pencil, deepening the red flush that encompasses the sides of his bristled face.

Soulful brown eyes meet mine from way above. Like, I actually have to tip my head back to make eye contact, and when I do? There’s a worrying little twitch just below my belly button, followed by a slow inundation of heat, beginning at the top of my spine and finishing with a singe of my nerve endings. All of them. What was that?

A moment’s hesitation passes before he sets the jeans on the counter, nudging them forward. “These didn’t fit, but I ripped the damn things trying to get them off.” He dips his chin. “I’ll be paying for them.”

Guess that explains the blush. “That isn’t necessary.”

“Tell me how much, please.”

They couldn’t be more ancient. Frayed and faded and patched. “Five.”

He hides his skepticism and sets a twenty on the counter. “The rest is for the mess, ma’am. I do apologize.”

Just like the last three times the farmer has attempted to find jeans that fit in the thrift shop where I work, in the seconds right before he leaves, he looks at me as if he wants to say something. Maybe ask my name. Maybe ask for my number.

Part of me wishes he would.

The rest of me hopes he doesn’t, because I would have to decline.

The five-month-old baby sleeping in the tiny back office ensures I don’t have time to date. I’m lucky they let me bring my son to work. Lucky the elderly couple who owns the shop allows me an entire rack to display my upcycled designs and keep the cash it generates. That they’re lenient with me if something comes up with Sonny, like a pediatrician appointment or a cold. This isn’t the kind of town that takes chances on a blow-in from the city—so yeah, I’m lucky.

Hoping for anything more would be selfish.

I’m not very smart about choosing men, anyway. The farmer could have a mean streak or mommy issues. A pet boa constrictor roaming freely about his house. Perhaps he chats about agriculture with a mannequin propped up in his kitchen. Who knows.

Bottom line, I wouldn’t give him my number.

For some reason, though, when he fixes his stare on the ground, sighs, and turns to leave, I find myself blurting, “You know, I could make you some jeans. Custom.”

His boots scrape to a stop, and he looks back at me through narrowed eyes. “That sounds like a fuss.”

“It wouldn’t be. I like making clothes.” I make an absent gesture toward my very own rack of designs, and I immediately wish I hadn’t. It comes off like a boast when I meant to be reassuring. Now I’m the one with red ears. “That is to say, I enjoy making new clothes out of old ones.”

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The Au Pair Affair (Big Shots #2) Read Online Tessa Bailey http://www.wownovels.com/the-au-pair-affair-big-shots-2-read-online-tessa-bailey Thu, 22 Aug 2024 20:05:25 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/the-au-pair-affair-big-shots-2-read-online-tessa-bailey Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Sports Authors: Tessa Bailey Series: Big Shots Series by Tessa Bailey
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Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 117201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 586(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)

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#1 bestselling author Tessa Bailey returns with an all-new sports rom-com about a burly, surly, single dad who falls head-over-hockey-stick for his quirky live-in nanny…

Tallulah is smart, vivacious, and studying to be a marine biologist. She’s also twenty-six and broke. So when Burgess, a battle-scarred hockey veteran and newly single dad, offers her a job as his live-in nanny, she jumps at the opportunity to get paid while living in a super fancy neighborhood and being around Lissa, his cool but introverted tween.
Her tween charge isn’t the only one who could use some help fitting in, though. According to…well, everyone except Burgess, he needs to get back on the dating scene, and adventurous Tallulah is just the girl to show him how. But as boundaries are slowly crossed and Burgess finds himself pulled between his daughter, who wants her parents back together, and his insane chemistry with Tallulah, a huge rift is formed, and Tallulah does the “right” thing—breaks her own heart and walks away.
Though Burgess knows it’s for the best—he’s too jaded, with too much baggage—a chance meeting, and a new push from his daughter, forces him to put everything on the line and fight to prove he learned his lessons well and is worthy of a happily ever after with Tallulah.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

Chapter One

Tallulah Aydin had never seen blood droplets sail through the air quite so gracefully.

She turned the phone sideways and enlarged the hockey highlight to full-screen mode, tapping the volume button in order to hear the commentator’s voice.

Abraham with the vicious elbow to O’Hanlon’s nose. Oh mama. Somebody call the trainer. O’Hanlon just learned the hard way what we’ve known for years. Players risk bones and cartilage when they enter Sir Savage’s house as he’s just proven once again tonight . . .

Tallulah exited the video and set her phone down, queasiness rolling in her stomach.

This afternoon, she was scheduled to begin shacking up with the homicidal hockey player from that very SportsCenter highlight. Sir Savage. If the algorithm gods hadn’t creepily recognized her location as Boston and placed that nose-crunching clip from last night’s preseason game in her path, she would already have left the smoothie shop and entered the landmark doorman building across the street to begin her employment as an au pair for his tween daughter.

She’d agreed to the arrangement months ago. Back when the whole idea hadn’t seemed so unnerving. Now, however, the white plastic seat in which she’d been parked for over an hour was rapidly making lattice patterns on the backs of her legs. Blenders whirred in her ears. She’d been rendered unable to stand up and cross the road. Which was galling, considering she’d just spent a year in Antarctica studying the migration habits of the Adélie penguin.

A nanny job should be a cakewalk, right?

Thanks to a twist of fate, she’d landed a swanky place to live in Beacon Hill while she earned her master’s in marine biology at Boston University. In return, all she had to do was nanny for an already self-sufficient twelve-year-old girl while her daddy apparently went out and flattened perfectly good noses on the ice.

It was the latter that kept her glued to the uncomfortable chair.

Tallulah reached for the paper cup holding her peanut butter–espresso blast and noticed her hand was trembling oh-so-slightly. She gave herself an impatient eye roll and snatched up the cup, swigging what remained of her smoothie. The guy behind the counter obviously heard the empty vacuum sound coming from her paper straw and gave her the Boston eyebrow. Head cocked, impatient, one brow raised. Like, are you done here or would you like to lick the napkin dispenser, too?

She’d clearly overstayed her welcome at the Joyful Juicer.

Message received, Tallulah stood up, crossed to the trash can, and tossed her cup before returning to the table and gripping the handle of her suitcase. Staring through the picture window of the shop at the ten-story brick building on the other side of the road, her stomach sagged somewhere in the vicinity of her knees. On paper, she didn’t have any reason for the alarm weaving through her ribs.

After all, her best friends, Wells and Josephine, had vouched for the Boston Bearcats team captain, Burgess Abraham, also known as Sir Savage. He didn’t have any criminal history that she could find on the internet. In fact, he was known for being a terror on the ice, but stoic and reasonable once he entered the locker room. As evidenced by the time Tallulah had spent watching postgame interviews with his sweaty black hair plastered to his forehead, his denim-blue eyes intense as he considered every question like the answer was deeply important.

And no, she hadn’t purposefully searched for shirtless interviews, thank you very much.

They’d come up as a suggested Google search. She couldn’t simply ignore that kind of search engine divine providence. It would be irresponsible. Nor could she ignore shoulders thick enough with muscle to seat a couple of baby walruses—and those suckers had heft.

But right now, when she was an hour late to arrive at Burgess’s penthouse to view her new living space and go over the particulars of their arrangement, all she could see was that brutal elbow slicing through the air, the accompanying expression of malice.

Like a peek inside some hidden part of the man?

Accepting this job had seemed like a great idea when she’d met Burgess at that golf tournament in California last summer. But she shouldn’t have been so impulsive when it came to something so huge, like living with a man who she barely knew. One who could have all manner of lurking issues. In her experience, men could be mild mannered, charming even, on the surface. Easygoing, friendly.

They could also be dormant volcanos waiting for the right moment to erupt.

Ignoring the sigh from the dude behind the counter, Tallulah sat back down.

Moving in with this near stranger was a bad idea. An error in judgment.

Thankfully, she hadn’t moved in yet. If she was going to change her mind, it had to be now. Before she wasted valuable time Burgess could be using to find a new au pair. She could check into a hotel tonight and use tomorrow to view apartment share opportunities. With other women. The apartments probably—no, definitely—wouldn’t be in neighborhoods as nice as this, nor would they be penthouses, but at least she’d be able to sleep at night.

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Fangirl Down (Big Shots #1) Read Online Tessa Bailey http://www.wownovels.com/fangirl-down-big-shots-1-read-online-tessa-bailey Tue, 27 Feb 2024 19:57:13 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/fangirl-down-big-shots-1-read-online-tessa-bailey Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Sports Authors: Tessa Bailey Series: Big Shots Series by Tessa Bailey
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Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 111959 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >118

Wells Whitaker was once golf’s hottest rising star, but lately, all he has to show for his “promising” career is a killer hangover, a collection of broken clubs, and one remaining supporter. No matter how bad he plays, the beautiful, sunny redhead is always on the sidelines. He curses, she cheers. He scowls, she smiles. But when Wells quits in a blaze of glory and his fangirl finally goes home, he knows he made the greatest mistake of his life.

Josephine Doyle believed in the gorgeous, grumpy golfer, even when he didn’t believe in himself. Yet after he throws in the towel, she begins to wonder if her faith was misplaced. Then a determined Wells shows up at her door with a wild proposal: be his new caddy, help him turn his game around, and split the prize money. And considering Josephine’s professional and personal life is in shambles, she could really use the cash…

As they travel together, spending days on the green and nights in neighboring hotel rooms, sparks fly. Before long, they’re inseparable, Wells starts winning again, and Josephine is surprised to find a sweet, thoughtful guy underneath his gruff, growly exterior. This hot man wants to brush her hair, feed her snacks, and take bubble baths together? Is this real life? But Wells is technically her boss and an athlete falling for his fangirl would be ridiculous… right?

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

Chapter One

I am the number one Wells Whitaker fangirl.

Sure, golf’s resident bad boy has seen better days, but that’s the thing about being a fangirl.

Be in it for life or keep walking, pal.

There are three qualities one must possess to make an impact as a fangirl.

Number one: Enthusiasm. Let them know you’re there, baby. Otherwise blend into the polo shirts and khakis like everyone else.

Number two: Persistence. Skipping tour stops in one’s home state isn’t an option. Fangirls show up and show out.

Number three: Bring snacks. Food at a golf course is expensive and no one is cheerful after shelling out fourteen dollars for a hot dog.

To be fair, it hurt to drop five bucks on lunch these days, but Josephine Doyle wasn’t thinking about that now, because Wells Whitaker himself was making his way to the tee box of the ninth hole. And oh, he was in rare form today. Surly as a snake, unshaven, ignoring the outstretched hands of spectators hoping for a high five from the once-promising golfer. He raked a hand down his handsome face, shook out a tattooed forearm, and yanked the driver out of his bag with all the ceremony of a lint flick.

Utterly majestic.

Josephine popped in one of her AirPods and tapped on the tournament livestream, her ear flooded by the jocular tones of the commentators, Skip and Connie.

Skip: Well, it’s a beautiful day here in Palm Beach Gardens, Florida. Unless, of course, you’re Wells Whitaker. In which case the sunlight is probably irritating your hangover.

Connie: This year’s tour has presented quite a challenge to the golfer, who has already seen better days at twenty-nine. He swung into the tour on a wrecking ball five years ago, won three majors. Now? Most weeks, he’s lucky to make it past the opening round.

Skip: Today . . . well, let’s put it bluntly, there isn’t a chance on God’s green earth Wells makes it through to tomorrow. And frankly, Connie, I don’t think he cares.

Connie: Not if his nocturnal activities are any indication, Skip. Take to the internet for proof that golf is the furthest thing from Whitaker’s mind. A mere six hours ago, he was questioned by police after a bar brawl in Miami—

Josephine plucked out her AirPod and shoved it into the pocket of her official Wells Whitaker brand pants. It wasn’t so long ago that Skip and Connie worshipped Wells. In the fangirl business, they were called Fair Weather Fans. They showed up for a player only on his best day. When the window into success wasn’t even a smidgen grimy.

That’s fine. Josephine would more than compensate for those Judases.

And today?

Today she would finally get the chance to tell Wells she hadn’t counted him out. Down? Sure. But never out. She’d look right into those bloodshot eyes and remind him that his greatness wasn’t something that could go away. It had simply gotten hidden beneath self-doubt, alcohol, and a frown that could scare the feathers off a duck.

Josephine still couldn’t believe she’d won the contest.

Even if she had entered it sixty-one times.

Lunch and Lessons with Wells Whitaker. One lucky fan would share a meal with the once-great and soon-to-be-great-again Wells, followed by a putting lesson. Technically, Josephine didn’t need the lesson, as she’d grown up on a golf course, worked in a pro shop, and spent her days teaching proper techniques to customers.

Golf was her life. She was more stoked for her chance to shake some sense into the defeated athlete. No one else seemed inclined to take on the task. Especially his caddie, who appeared to be watching Vanderpump Rules on his phone.

Really, the sparse crowd that had followed Wells to this hole seemed inclined to knock off early or find a more popular player to watch, a couple of them breaking from the pack and wandering toward the clubhouse before Wells even took his shot. A bunch of Fair Weathers if Josephine had ever seen them.

Unfortunately, Wells looked like he was considering dropping out of the tournament altogether, too. On one hand, that would mean Josephine would get lunch sooner. Her waning blood sugar could use the boost.

On the other, she’d rather see him finish the day on a high note.

Time to make an impact.

Josephine reached down deep for her fangirl wail and set it loose, startling many a khaki-pants-wearing man in the process. “Let’s go, Wells. Put it in the hole!”

The golfer gave her a stone-faced look over his generously muscled shoulder, affording her a view of his light brown eyes and square jaw. “Oh, look. It’s you. Again.”

Josephine gave him a winning smile and held up her sign, which read wells’s belle. “You’re welcome.”

A line popped in his stubbly cheek.

“You got this,” she mouthed at him. Then couldn’t resist adding, “I’m excited about our lunch today. You remember that I won the contest, right?”

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Same Time Next Year – A Novella Read Online Tessa Bailey http://www.wownovels.com/same-time-next-year-a-novella-read-online-tessa-bailey Thu, 02 Nov 2023 21:55:48 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/same-time-next-year-a-novella-read-online-tessa-bailey Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Funny, Sports Authors: Tessa Bailey Advertisement

Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 39338 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 197(@200wpm)___ 157(@250wpm)___ 131(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >42

From New York Times bestselling author Tessa Bailey comes a steamy novella full of hope and humor tracking a couple’s fake marriage for a year after the wild New Year’s Eve when they first say “I do.” Adored by all, Britta is an ambitious waitress working at Sluggers. The popular bar holds a special place in her heart and is a regular hangout for the Bridgeport Bandits, the local hockey club. With a half brother on the team, Britta has a strict no-dating policy for hockey boys. But she does have a soft spot for one particular player. A beast on the ice, Sumner Mayfield is on the brink of breaking into the NHL. But time’s running out. With his work visa about to expire, Sumner’s only chance to stay in Bridgeport is to marry an American—and get a green card. Otherwise, it’s back to Canada for the defenseman. On New Year’s Eve, the team begs Britta to marry Sumner that very night. Sum is embarrassed yet hopeful—he’s desperately in love. But Britta balks at first. Until something about Sumner’s soulful brown eyes and ripped physique makes her reconsider…

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

Chapter One

BRITTA

New Year’s Eve 2023

“That table isn’t strong enough to hold three people!” I shout over the sound of fireworks bursting outside, directly above the harbor. A dancing trio of ladies in sequined dresses is putting way too much trust in an ancient piece of furniture, the stems of their high heels dangerously close to the edge. And somehow, their safety is the least of my concerns.

Sluggers is slammed. I can’t sling beers and shots fast enough.

Despite the handwritten sign I posted on the door, people continue to bring lit sparklers inside the bar. It will be a miracle if we don’t get shut down by the fire marshal. The glittery gold garland I hung in a zigzag pattern across the bar in the name of being festive is now being used for an impromptu game of tug-of-war. This year is definitely going out with a bang.

An hour ago, the volume level went from merely loud to earsplitting when the hockey boys arrived, fresh from a win. They seated themselves at one of the dented, wobbling picnic tables at the back of the establishment, but despite their location, they’ve managed to take over the entire bar, as usual. Out of the corner of my eye, I witness an arm wrestling contest, a violent game of beer pong, and the goalie, Riggs, making out with a girl who I’m dead certain arrived with another guy.

Ladies and gentlemen, our local, beloved hockey team: the Bridgeport Bandits.

They might be amateur players, but they’re professional partiers.

I wince over the sound of the belching competition that is literally drowning out the music and pour a round of shots for a group of college students wearing sparkly gold glasses shaped like 2024. I ring them up. Clean up a spilled pint of Guinness. Uncap three Coors Lights and slide them down the bar, which is a risk, because the warped wood has seen better days. Then I jog for the kitchen, where the cook has been slapping the bell for a full five minutes. I’m relieved when I see the food order is up for the Bandits, however, because at least it will distract them from their mayhem.

Maybe.

I load down my arms with plates and pray for no mishaps, walking through Sluggers like it’s a field of land mines, dodging dancing girls and rowdy guys. There is no easy journey from point A to point B on a busy night—let alone a wild New Year’s Eve—and no one can hear me yell excuse me over the sound of Greta Van Fleet pumping through the stereo.

At least, until Sumner Mayfield wades through the cyclone of bodies and quietly pushes the crowd out of my way, grunting to signal me forward. I would compare him to a solemn priest walking through a frenzied battle, except that Sumner is a scary-ass giant with shoulders that are wider than I am tall. He’s currently sporting bandages over the bridge of his nose and over his right brow, hints of blood seeping through. I’ve watched him play hockey on our local public access channel—there is nothing priestly about Sumner.

On the ice at least.

Out here in the real world, he is the calmly intense guy on the team. Even now, when customers turn to protest his intervention, Sumner’s soulful brown eyes hold a distinctly Canadian apology, and obviously, the patrons drop their protests as soon as they get a load of his otherworldly physique.

“Thanks, Sumner,” I say, winking at him.

Just so I can watch that blush ride up the thick cords of his neck.

They match the ones on his forearms. Not that I’ve been studying him.

He’s simply impossible to ignore, that’s all.

“Welcome,” he rumbles, nodding at the plates on my arms. “Take some of those?”

“If you take one, the rest of them will fall like dominoes.” His chin dips, as though he’s disappointed that he can’t do anything more to help me. “You’ve fulfilled your duty, big guy. Now sit down and relax.”

As I’m passing the defenseman, I lift onto my toes and plant a kiss on his whiskered cheek, sending the Bandits into an absolute frenzy of table banging and paper-horn blowing. I shake my head at them in reproof, but I’m smiling. Because as obnoxious as these guys can be, I adore them—and I adore one of them more than all the others.

Because he’s my half brother, Bryce.

“Hey, sis,” shouts Bryce over the noise, while I’m setting down his triple cheeseburger in front of him. “Busy night.”

“The busiest,” I call back, even though we’re practically face to face. “The waitress called in sick, but I’m pretty sure I saw her on television at the ball drop in Times Square. My barback is arguing with his boyfriend in the parking lot. The cook plots a new way to kill me every time I let food sit in the window for longer than ten seconds. We’re out of house whiskey. I’m officially in the weeds, but it should die down once midnight rolls around.”

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >42

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Wreck the Halls Read Online Tessa Bailey http://www.wownovels.com/wreck-the-halls-read-online-tessa-bailey Mon, 09 Oct 2023 12:39:49 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/wreck-the-halls-read-online-tessa-bailey Genre: Chick Lit, Contemporary Authors: Tessa Bailey Advertisement

Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 109318 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 547(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >117

A sexy, hilarious standalone holiday rom-com about the adult children of two former rock stars who team up to convince their estranged mothers to play a Christmas Eve concert…

Melody Gallard may be the daughter of music royalty, but her world is far from glamorous. She spends her days restoring old books and avoiding the limelight (one awkward tabloid photo was enough, thanks). But when a producer offers her a lot of money to reunite her mother’s band on live tv, Mel begins to wonder if it’s time to rattle the cage, shake up her quiet life… and see him again. The only other person who could wrangle the rock and roll divas.

Beat Dawkins, the lead singer’s son, is Melody’s opposite—the camera loves him, he could charm the pants off anyone, and his mom is not a potential cult leader. Still, they might have been best friends if not for the legendary feud that broke up the band. When they met as teenagers, Mel felt an instant spark, but it’s nothing compared to the wild, intense attraction that builds as they embark on a madcap mission to convince their mothers to perform one last show.

While dealing with rock star shenanigans, a 24-hour film crew, brawling Santas, and mobs of adoring fans, Mel starts to step out of her comfort zone. With Beat by her side, cheering her on, she’s never felt so understood. But Christmas Eve is fast approaching, and a decades-old scandal is poised to wreck everything—the Steel Birds reunion, their relationships with their mothers, and their newfound love.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

Prologue

2009

The second Beat Dawkins entered the television studio, it stopped raining outside.

Sunshine tumbled in through the open door, wreathing him in a halo of glory, pedestrians retracting their umbrellas and tipping their hats in gratitude.

Across the room, Melody witnessed Beat’s arrival the way an astronomer might observe a once-in-a-millennium asteroid streaking across the sky. Her hormones activated, testing the forgiveness of her powder-fresh-scented Lady Speed Stick. She’d only gotten braces two days earlier. Now those metal wires felt like train tracks in her mouth. Especially while watching Beat breeze with such effortless grace into the downtown studio where they would be shooting interviews for the documentary.

At age sixteen, Melody was in the middle of an awkward phase—to put it mildly. Sweat was an uncontrollable entity. She didn’t know how to smile anymore without looking like a constipated gargoyle. Her milk chocolate mane had been carefully styled for this afternoon, but her hair couldn’t be tricked into forgetting about the humidity currently plaguing New York, and now it was frizzing to really accentuate the rubber bands connecting her incisors.

Then there was Beat.

Utterly, effortlessly gorgeous.

His chestnut-colored hair was damp from the rain, his light blue eyes sparkling with mirth. Someone handed him a towel as soon as he crossed the threshold and he took it without looking, rubbing it over his locks and leaving them wild, standing on end, amusing everyone in the room. A woman in a headset ran a lint brush down the arm of his indigo suit and he gave her a grateful, winning smile, visibly flustering her.

How could she herself and this boy possibly be the same age?

Not only that, but they’d also been named by their mothers as perfect complements to each other. Beat and Melody. They were the offspring of America’s most legendary female rock duo, Steel Birds. Since the band had already broken up by the time Beat and Melody were born, their names were bestowed quite by accident, without the members consulting each other. Decidedly not the happiest of coincidences. Not to mention, children of legends with significant names were supposed to be interesting. Remarkable.

Obviously, Beat was the only one who was meeting expectations.

Unless you counted the fact that she’d chosen teal rubber bands.

Which had seemed a lot more daring in the sterility of the orthodontist’s office.

“Melody,” someone called to her right. The simple act of having her name shouted across the busy room caused Melody to be bathed in fire, but okay. Now the backs of her knees were sweating—and oh God, Beat was looking at her.

Time froze.

They’d never actually met before.

Every article about their mothers and the highly publicized band breakup in 1993 mentioned Beat and Melody in the same breath, but they were locking eyes for the very first time IRL. She needed to think of something interesting to say.

I was going to go with clear rubber bands, but teal felt more punk rock.

Sure. Maybe she could cap that statement off with some finger guns and really drive home the fact that he’d gotten all the cool rock royalty genes. Oh God, her feet were sweating now. Her sandals were going to squeak when she walked.

“Melody!” called the voice again.

She tore her attention off the godlike vision that was Beat Dawkins to find the producer waving her into one of the cordoned-off interview suites. Just inside the door was a camera, a giant boom mic, a director’s chair. The interview about her mother’s career hadn’t even started yet and she already knew the questions she would be answering. Maybe she could just pop in very quickly, recite her usual responses, and save everyone some time?

No, I can’t sing like my mother.

We don’t talk about the band breakup.

Yes, my mother is currently a nudist and yes, I’ve seen her naked a startling number of times.

Of course, it would be amazing for fans if Steel Birds reunited.

No, it will never happen. Not in a million, trillion years. Sorry.

“We’re ready for you,” sang the producer, tapping her wrist.

Melody nodded, flushing hotter at the suggestion she was holding things up. “Coming.”

She snuck one final glance at Beat and walked in the direction of her interview room. That was it, she guessed. She’d probably never see him in person again—

“Wait!”

One word from Beat and the humming studio quieted, ground to a halt.

The prince had spoken.

Melody stopped with one foot poised in the air, turning her head slowly. Please let him be talking to me, otherwise the fact that she’d stopped at his command would be a pitiful mistake. Also, please let him be talking to someone else. The train tracks in her mouth were approximately four hundred pounds per inch, and the teal dress she’d worn—oh God—to match her rubber bands didn’t fit right in the boob region. Other girls her age managed to look normal. Good, even.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >117

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Unfortunately Yours (A Vine Mess #2) Read Online Tessa Bailey http://www.wownovels.com/unfortunately-yours-a-vine-mess-2-read-online-tessa-bailey Tue, 20 Jun 2023 02:20:57 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/unfortunately-yours-a-vine-mess-2-read-online-tessa-bailey Genre: Contemporary Authors: Tessa Bailey Series: A Vine Mess Series by Tessa Bailey
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Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 107710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 539(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >114

A down-on-her-luck Napa heiress suggests a mutually beneficial marriage of convenience to a man she can't stand... only to discover there's a fine line between love and hate.

After losing her job and her fiancé in one fell swoop, Natalie Vos returned home to lick her wounds. A few months later, she's sufficiently drowned her sorrows in cabernet and she's ready to get back on her feet. She just needs her trust fund to finance her new business venture. Unfortunately, the terms require she marry before she can have the money. And well, dumped, remember? But Natalie is desperate enough to propose to a man who makes her want to kill him--and kiss him, in equal measure.

August Cates may own a vineyard, but he doesn't know jack about making wine. He's determined to do his late best friend proud, no matter what it takes. Except his tasting room is empty, his wine is disgusting (seriously, he once saw someone gag), and his buddy's legacy is circling the drain. No bank will give him the loan he needs to turn the business around... and then the gorgeous, feisty heiress knocks on his door. Natalie has haunted his dreams since the moment they met, but their sizzling chemistry immediately morphed into simmering insults.

Now, a quickie marriage could help them both. A sham wedding, a few weeks living under the same roof, and then they can go their separate ways--assuming they make it out alive. How hard could it be? There's just one thing they didn't account for: their unfortunate, unbearable, undeniable attraction.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

Chapter One

For as long as August Cates could remember, his dick had ruined everything.

In seventh grade, he’d gotten a hard-on during a pep rally while standing in front of the entire school in football pants. Since his classmates couldn’t openly call him Woody in the presence of their teachers, they’d called him Tom Hanks, instead. It stuck all through high school. To this day, he cringed at the very mention of Toy Story.

Trust your gut, son.

His navy commander father had always said that to him. In fact, that was pretty much all he’d ever said, by way of advice. Everything else constituted a direct order. Problem was, August tended to need a little more instruction. A diagram, if possible. He wasn’t a get-it-right-on-the-first-try type of man. Which was probably why he’d mistaken his “gut” for his dick.

Meaning, he’d translated his father’s advice into . . .

Trust your dick, son.

August straightened the wineglass in front of him in order to forgo adjusting the appendage in question. The glass sat on a silver tray, seconds from being carried to the panel of judges. Currently, the three smug elitists were sipping a Cabernet offering that had been entered into the Bouquets and Beginners competition by another local vintner. The crowd of Napa Valley wine snobs leaned forward in their folding chairs to hear the critique from one judge in particular.

Natalie Vos.

The daughter of a legendary winemaker.

Vos Vineyard heiress and all-around plague on his fucking sanity.

August watched her full lips perch on the edge of the glass. They were painted a kind of lush plum color today. They matched the silk blouse she wore tucked into a leather skirt and he swore to God, he could feel the crush of that leather in his palms. Could feel his fingertips raking down her bare legs to remove those high heels with spikes on the toes. Not for the first time—no, incredibly far from the first time—he mentally kicked himself in the ass for sabotaging his chances of taking Natalie Vos to bed. She wouldn’t touch him through a hazmat suit now, and she’d told him as much umpteen times.

His chances of winning this contest didn’t bode well.

Not only because he and Natalie Vos were enemies, but because his wine sucked big sweaty donkey balls. Everyone knew it. Hell, August knew it. The only one to call him out on it, however, was preparing to deliver her verdict to the audience.

“Color is rich, if a bit light. Notes of tobacco in front. Citrus aftertaste. Veering toward acidic, but . . .” She held the wine up to the sun and studied it through the glass. “Overall very enjoyable. Admirable for a two-year-old winery.”

Murmurs and golf claps all around from the audience.

The winemaker thanked the judges. He actually bowed to Natalie while retrieving his glass and August couldn’t stifle an eye roll to save his life. Unfortunately, Natalie caught the action and raised a perfect black brow, signaling August forward for his turn at the judging table, like a princess summoning a commoner—and didn’t that fit their roles to a T?

August didn’t belong in this sunny five-star resort and spa courtyard on a Saturday afternoon ferrying wine on a silver tray to these wealthy birdbrains who overinflated the importance of wine so much it felt like satire. He didn’t belong in sophisticated St. Helena. Wasn’t cut out to select the best bunch of grapes at the grocery store, let alone cultivate soil and grow them from scratch to make his very own brand of wine.

I tried, Sammy.

He’d really fucking tried. This contest had a grand prize of ten thousand dollars and that money was August’s last hope to keep the operation alive. If given another chance, he would be more hands-on during the fermentation process. He’d learned the hard way that “set it and forget it” didn’t work for shit with wine. It required constant tasting, correcting, and rebalancing to prevent spoilage. He might do better if given another season to prove himself.

For that, he needed money. And he had a better chance of getting Natalie in the sack than winning this competition, which was to say, he had no chance whatsoever—because, yeah. His wine blew chunks. He’d be lucky if they managed to let it rest on their taste buds for three seconds, let alone declare him the winner. But August would try to the bitter end, so he would never look back and wonder if he could have done more to bring this secondhand dream to life.

August strode to the judge’s table and set the glasses of wine in front of Natalie with a lot less ceremony than his competitors had, sniffed, and stepped back, crossing his arms. Disdain stared back at him in the form of the two most annoyingly beautiful eyes he’d ever seen. Sort of a whiskey gold, ringed in a darker brown. He could still remember the moment the expression in those eyes had gone from take-me-to-bed-daddy to please-drink-poison.

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Secretly Yours (A Vine Mess #1) Read Online Tessa Bailey http://www.wownovels.com/secretly-yours-a-vine-mess-1-read-online-tessa-bailey Mon, 13 Feb 2023 18:42:15 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/secretly-yours-a-vine-mess-1-read-online-tessa-bailey Genre: Contemporary, Funny, Romance Authors: Tessa Bailey Series: A Vine Mess Series by Tessa Bailey
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Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 103119 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >111

A steamy new rom-com about a starchy professor and the bubbly neighbor he clashes with at every turn...

Hallie Welch fell hard for Julian Vos at fourteen, after they almost kissed in the dark vineyards of his family's winery. Now the prodigal hottie has returned to their small town. When Hallie is hired to revamp the gardens on the Vos estate, she wonders if she'll finally get that smooch. But the grumpy professor isn't the teenager she remembers and their polar opposite personalities clash spectacularly. One wine-fueled girls' night later, Hallie can't shake the sense that she did something reckless--and then she remembers the drunken secret admirer letter she left for Julian. Oh shit.

On sabbatical from his ivy league job, Julian plans to write a novel. But having Hallie gardening right outside his window is the ultimate distraction. She's eccentric, chronically late, often literally covered in dirt--and so unbelievably beautiful, he can't focus on anything else. Until he finds an anonymous letter sent by a woman from his past. Even as Julian wonders about this admirer, he's sucked further into Hallie's orbit. Like the flowers she plants all over town, Hallie is a burst of color in Julian's gray-scale life. For a man who irons his socks and runs on tight schedules, her sunny chaotic energy makes zero sense. But there's something so familiar about her... and her very presence is turning his world upside down.

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Chapter One

Hallie Welch tipped down one corner of the comics section and peered across Grapevine Way, her stomach sinking when yet another group of locals bypassed Corked, her favorite, sleepy little wineshop, in favor of UNCORKED—the new, flashy monstrosity next door that advertised hot sauce and wine pairings in the window. The exterior of UNCORKED was painted a metallic gold that caught the sun and blinded passersby, giving them no choice but to stumble inside or risk vision loss. From Hallie’s position on the bench, she could see through the front window to their state-of-the-art wine fountains and wall of stinky cheeses, the cash register lighting up like a pinball machine.

Meanwhile, the peeling white wrought-iron tables in the front courtyard of Corked sat empty and forgotten. Hallie could still see her grandmother at the far-right table, a modest glass of Cabernet sitting in front of her. Everyone would stop to say hello to Rebecca as they passed. They would ask her what flowers were in season and which bulbs were best to bury in the soil a particular month. And even though she was always reading a bestseller, she would carefully lay her silk-tasseled bookmark in the crease and give them her undivided attention.

The newspaper in Hallie’s hands sunk lower, crumpling slowly at the vivid memory and eventually landing in her lap.

On the front patio of UNCORKED was a literal dance floor and a disco ball hanging from the eaves. It spun all day long, casting light refractions all over the sidewalk and turning people into apparent zombies who preferred wine out of a vending machine. At night, that ten-by-ten square patch of wood was packed to the gills with tipsy tourists, their purses full of overly pungent Rochefort, no one sparing a thought for Corked next door. Or outraged at the mockery of their very name by the overzealous newcomers.

When the shop opened a month ago, Hallie almost felt sorry for the young couple from downstate. Poor dears, sinking their hard-earned money into a gimmick. It would never attract the loyal Napa locals who honored tradition and routine. She’d been wrong.

UNCORKED was thriving. Meanwhile, Lorna, the sweet elderly owner of Corked, didn’t even emerge at sunset anymore to light the candles on her outside tables.

Hallie looked down at the shatterproof wineglass in her purse. She’d been bringing it into Corked for tastings every day this week in an attempt to support the failing institution, but she needed a better game plan. Continuous day drinking had started off fun, but the days were beginning to blur together, and she’d found her car keys in the microwave this morning. Supporting Corked with only the help of a couple friends wasn’t going to keep her grandmother’s favorite table from vanishing off the sidewalk. And it needed to stay there. Far too many pieces of her grandmother seemed to float away into the wind lately, but not that table. Not the place Hallie had gone with Rebecca every single Sunday evening since high school and learned the art of gardening. It had to stay.

So, all right. Time to play offense.

Very carefully, Hallie folded up the funnies and tucked them beneath her arm. She scanned the sidewalk for any friends or clients, then walked briskly across the street toward UNCORKED. They’d added two potted ficuses on either side of their door, beautifully pruned into the shape of an ice cream cone, but there would be no brownie points awarded to the UNCORKED crew for proper plant maintenance. Not even for lush, well-loved greenery. And if Hallie Welch, proprietor of Becca’s Blooms and St. Helena’s premier gardener, didn’t warm up to someone for diligent care of a plant, that’s when they’d really pissed her off.

Besides, the plants weren’t her current focus.

She paused outside of UNCORKED and eyed the disco ball, shifting in her rubber slip-ons.

Here comes trouble, said her grandmother’s voice, drifting in somewhere from the great beyond. How many times had Rebecca taken a look at Hallie and said those words? Hundreds? Thousands? Now, in the reflective window of UNCORKED, she could see how her grandmother might make that prediction based on her facial activity.

Two round spots of color on her cheeks.

A firm set to her chin.

Expression . . . diabolical?

Let’s go with “driven.”

Mrs. Cross, owner of the coffee shop across the street, walked out of UNCORKED with a bottle of some celebrity’s wine in hand and a paper bib around her neck that read Sip Sip Hooray on the front. She skidded to a stop and bowed her head guiltily upon spotting Hallie. “I don’t know what happened,” started Mrs. Cross, quickly tearing off the bib. “I let them add me to their text alerts just to be polite and this morning . . . I woke up to a message about wineglass rims dipped in chocolate and my feet just sort of brought me here for the three o’clock session.”

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