Fall in Love Book Bundle: Small Town Romance Box Set

by Grover Swank, Denise

  What was I doing with my life?

  I bolted from the window and crossed the room for the coat hook beside my door. I shrugged on the forest-green parka I’d bought before Christmas and stepped into a pair of knee-high rubber boots. Then I was out the door before I could convince myself to climb into the safety of my bed.

  Life in Calamity—my life, at least—was dull, a characteristic I was more than content to embrace. Except at the moment, without a distraction, the question clawing at my conscience, the question that made the loneliness sink deeper, would plague me all night.

  What was I doing with my life?

  Not tonight. That would be the topic of tomorrow’s call with my parents, and I wasn’t going to overthink it now.

  I checked the peephole to make sure the stairwell was empty before unlocking the door. Since there was only one apartment up here, these stairs were mine. But just because my stalker was dead didn’t mean the fears she’d created had perished with her.

  The landing outside the door was empty, no surprise, so I made a break for it, navigating the gray staircase to the side exit door that dropped me on First Street. I checked its peephole too, then inched the door open, confirming I was alone. When I stepped outside, the winter air cooled my lungs.

  Though it was warmer than I’d expected. The snowflakes that landed on my brown hair instantly melted. Not wanting to linger alone, I hurried down the sidewalk, listening for any sound of someone behind me. But the street was deserted and the only boots leaving tracks in the snow were my own.

  The red-orange light from Jane’s beckoned—along with a stiff drink. Wine wasn’t going to cut it tonight. It wasn’t going to numb the anxiety creeping up my spine, making my heart beat too fast, my breathing too shallow. Maybe venturing out into the darkness hadn’t been the best idea.

  Once upon a time, I’d been fearless. A two-block walk on a well-lit sidewalk wouldn’t have made me think twice. But I was practically running by the time I reached Jane’s door.

  I flew inside, stomping my boots as I surveyed the area.

  Empty. Almost.

  Except for Jane herself and a man on a stool, sitting dead center at the bar.

  I weaved my way past the tables in the center of the room, scanning the tall booths that hugged the walls. They were empty too. The stage to the left of the bar was deserted but the mic stands had been left behind. The band’s equipment was shoved against the wall. Even the jukebox in the corner was off.

  “I’m closing in forty minutes,” Jane said as she spotted me crossing the room, holding up a finger. “Not one second longer. Want to get home before the roads get dicey.”

  Jane Fulson was a bit of a legend in Calamity. I’d met her only a few times on the nights Lucy had dragged me out for a cheeseburger and a drink, but Jane wasn’t a woman you forgot easily.

  Her white hair was tied up in a twist with a few tendrils falling down behind her ears. Her skin was permanently tan, the wrinkles around her eyes and mouth earned from years of hard work. Though it was open to the public, when you walked through the door to her bar, you knew you were in her bar. At Jane’s, the customer wasn’t always right. She was.

  “One drink,” I promised and unzipped my coat, taking the stool one down from the other patron.

  I cringed at my reflection in the mirror behind the bar. The snow hadn’t been kind to my hair and it hung in limp strands down my shoulders to my waist. I hadn’t bothered with makeup this morning and my nose was red from the walk over.

  Thankfully, the light was dim. Any brightness from the beer and liquor signs adorning the walls was soaked up by the tall ceilings and plethora of wood décor.

  I cast the guy at my side a brief glance. Then did a double take as my mouth went dry.

  Hello. Where had this hottie been hiding? I’d spent my fair share of time watching Calamity’s residents and I would have remembered him.

  His broad shoulders were curled in as he bent to the bar, hunched over his glass. The ice rattled in his tumbler as he stirred the cocktail with a tiny yellow straw. His profile was perfect. Straight forehead. Strong nose. A chiseled jaw covered in stubble. Luscious lips turned down in a scowl.

  He was wearing a long-sleeved thermal that molded to his roped arms. Strength oozed off his body and the muscled definition of his back. The face and the body were perfection, but it was the energy he exuded that rendered me awestruck.

  He had this raw and rough edge. A simmering brood that wafted off his body in waves. A warning. A message. Stay away. A bead of sweat formed at my temple and I struggled to drag in the heavy, hot air.

  The man sat just feet away, but he was in a world of his own. An invisible wall separated his stool from the others, keeping others locked away.

  “What can I get you?” Jane slapped a paper coaster in front of me.

  I blinked, lost in the haze of this man and forced my eyes forward. “Uh . . . gin.”

  “Anything with that gin?” Jane asked, her gaze darting between me and the handsome stranger.

  “Tonic, please.”

  She nodded and went to work preparing my drink as I shrugged off my coat and put it on the stool at my side.

  I was in simple black leggings. Beneath my cardigan, I’d pulled on a white tank top over my sports bra. There was a dollop of salsa on the hem from my dinner earlier when I’d lost control of a diced tomato. I shifted the edge of my cardigan to cover it up and ran a hand through my hair.

  This was what happened when I acted on impulse. I ran into the one hot guy in Calamity and I was practically in pajamas with bedhead.

  High five, Ev. Next time, just stay home.

  Jane returned with my drink, setting it on the coaster before shooting a look at the clock over her shoulder. “Forty minutes.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She grimaced at the ma’am before disappearing through a doorway that connected the bar to the kitchen.

  Leaving me and my companion in utter silence.

  The air around us was stifling. I lifted my drink with a shaking hand, sipping and savoring the juniper taste. I was tempted to gulp, to cool the fire thrumming through my veins, but I sipped.

  Who was this guy? Curiosity got the best of me and I looked up to the mirror.

  A pair of the bluest eyes I’d ever seen met my gaze. Blue like the ocean on a sunny day. Blue like the evening skies above the Montana mountains. An endless blue that swallowed me whole.

  I tore my gaze away from the mirror and turned to his profile, wanting to see that blue up close.

  It took him a moment to look over, and when he did, he only dipped his chin in a silent greeting. Then he went back to his drink, his shoulders hitching closer to his ears as he tried to shut me out.

  His sandy-blond hair was cut short but the longer strands on top were damp. He hadn’t been here long either.

  “It’s not fair,” I blurted.

  He looked up at the mirror, at my reflection. Then he slowly brought his glass to his lips. The yellow straw was bent, folded over the rim and held by one of his long fingers. His grip practically engulfed the glass whole. “What’s not fair?”

  Sweet lord, he had a good voice too. A shiver rolled over my shoulders at the rich and gravelly timbre. “Your eyelashes.”

  He blinked, then took another sip.

  I was sure he’d just keep on drinking and ignoring my presence for the next thirty-seven minutes, except then he turned and . . . bam. Those eyes trapped me like a bird in a cage.

  No man had ever made me feel this way with a single glance. My pulse raced. I wobbled on my seat. Desire bloomed in my core. The full force of his Persian blues sent a tidal wave of ecstasy rushing my way.

  “Who are you?” I whispered.

  His eyebrows came together. “Who are you?”

  “E-Everly Christian.” My tongue felt too big for my mouth.

  He nodded and went back to his drink.

  No way. He wasn’t getting off that easy. “Now it’s your turn.
Who are you?”

  “No one special.”

  I hummed. “Nice to meet you, No One Special. Mind if I call you Hot Bar Guy instead?”

  The corner of his mouth turned up.

  Victory. I hid my smile in my drink, taking a long sip. I’d never been good at subtle. Shameless flirt was more my style, and though I hadn’t inherited much from my mother, her innate talent for being blunt seemed to have stuck. Good or bad, I usually said whatever came to mind.

  “What brings you down here tonight?” I asked, not expecting an answer.

  He didn’t disappoint. He simply sipped from his glass, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip.

  Did he have any idea that just his presence was making me squirm on this stool?

  “I was in need of a stiff drink.” I answered my own question. “And maybe a little excitement.”

  “Probably should have come here earlier. You missed your window for excitement.”

  I quirked an eyebrow and met his gaze in the mirror. “Did I?”

  * * *

  The sound of traffic woke me. The slush of tires on melting snow. I blinked awake, lifting off my pillow to shove the hair from my face. I didn’t need to check beneath the rumpled sheet to know I was stark naked.

  And the space beside me was empty.

  I flopped into my pillow and stretched as a smile spread across my face. There was an ache in my core. My muscles throbbed. I’d been deliciously used and pleasured last night.

  Sometime before dawn, Hot Bar Guy—Hux—had disappeared without a word.

  My laugh echoed in the empty apartment. “I love Calamity.”

  * * *

  ** END SNEAK PEEK **

  The Bluff is available now!

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you for reading The Bribe! This book started as a short story for an anthology. I’d only intended to write about five or six thousand words, and it was going to be its own little entity with a neat and tidy happily ever after within fifteen pages. But the moment I introduced Lucy and Duke in Yellowstone, I knew there had to be more. So here we are, at the beginning of a new series. A new adventure with me, Devney Perry, writing as Willa Nash. Thanks again for reading and I hope you’ll come along with me to more stories in Calamity.

  I’d like to give special thanks to the incredible team who contributed their talents to this book. My editor, Elizabeth Nover. My proofreaders, Julie Deaton, Karen Lawson and Judy Zweifel. My cover designer, Sarah Hansen. Thanks to Kimberly Brower, my agent.

  Thanks to Kristen Proby for being Willa Nash’s first fan. To Jennifer Santa Ana and Natasha Tomic for always picking up the phone to talk things through. And thanks to the Goldbrickers for holding me accountable to show up every day for my two thousand words.

  To the bloggers who have taken the time to read and post about my stories, thank you! I am so grateful for all you do. And a huge thanks to the members of Perry Street, whose love and excitement about my books makes me smile every day. I am so blessed to have such wonderful readers.

  And lastly, thank you to my family. To my husband for not looking at me like I was crazy when I dreamed up this idea. And to my kids, who don’t mind a little extra screen time so Mommy can finish writing for the day.

  Will and Nash. This pen name is special for so many reasons, but its inspiration comes from you. You two are the lights of my life.

  About the Author

  Willa Nash is USA Today Bestselling Author Devney Perry’s alter ego, writing contemporary romance stories for Kindle Unlimited. Lover of Swedish Fish, hater of laundry, she lives in Washington State with her husband and two sons. She was born and raised in Montana and has a passion for writing books in the state she calls home.

  Don’t miss out on Willa’s latest book news. Subscribe to her newsletter!

  www.willanash.com

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  Other Titles by Willa Nash

  Calamity Montana Series

  The Bribe

  The Bluff

  The Brazen

  The Bully

  Writing as Devney Perry

  Jamison Valley Series

  The Coppersmith Farmhouse

  The Clover Chapel

  The Lucky Heart

  The Outpost

  The Bitterroot Inn

  The Candle Palace

  Maysen Jar Series

  The Birthday List

  Letters to Molly

  Lark Cove Series

  Tattered

  Timid

  Tragic

  Tinsel

  Tin Gypsy Series

  Gypsy King

  Riven Knight

  Stone Princess

  Noble Prince

  Fallen Jester

  Tin Queen

  Runaway Series

  Runaway Road

  Wild Highway

  Quarter Miles

  Forsaken Trail

  Dotted Lines

  The Edens Series

  Christmas in Quincy

  Indigo Ridge

  Landslide

  Kathryn Nolan

  “Gabe was making me break my rules. Every single one.”

  Beneath the brawny chest of bearded, man-bunned Gabe Shaw beats the heart of a romantic. The bartender is confident the love of his life will stroll through the doors of his bar and fall head over heels for him and the town of Big Sur. But what’s a man to do when it’s lust at first sight?

  Makeup artist Josie Torres never spends the night. And she doesn’t believe in second dates or grand romantic gestures either. Falling in love? She knows better now. All she needs are her tools of the trade and the wild adventures that Los Angeles has to offer…and the occasional sexy fling. Like the one she decides to have with the mountain man bartender after hours on her photoshoot.

  The attraction is electrifying and terrifying when Gabe sets his mind to breaking down her walls. Josie is used to loving ’em and leaving ’em. But when a storm strands her in Big Sur, her hard-and-fast rules are no match for his seduction.

  There’s only one problem. He wants her to stay, and she needs him to let her go.

  Author’s Note: A steamy standalone romance about two opposites who keep accidentally ending up on dates. One-click if you love a hero who’s ready to tie the knot and a heroine who won’t be tied down. Sexy Add-ons: Insta-lust that turns into so much more, a quirky small town, long hikes through the redwoods, late-night dirty dancing. This love story comes with a guaranteed Happily Ever After.

  Copyright © 2018 Kathryn Nolan

  All Rights Reserved

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Editing by Faith N. Erline

  Cover by Kari March

  Photo: ©Regina Wamba

  ISBN: 978-1-945631-22-1 (ebook)

  ISBN: 978-1-945631-23-8 (paperback)

  Created with Vellum

  Prologue

  Josie

  Two years earlier

  My best friend was trying to get me drunk the night before my wedding. Technically, the night of my bachelorette party, although it was just the two of us.

  And there was a shocking dearth of penis straws.

  “How much do you want again?” Lucia asked, as she poured half the bottle of champagne into a plastic cup that said Married AF.

  “Are we discussing the pros and cons of being horrifically hung over on the most beautiful day of my entire life?” I asked, knocking my cup against hers in grim celebration. But Lucia only shrugged, tossed her long blonde hair, and leaned back on the hood of her car.

  I’d had three requests for this night: For it to be just the two of us. For it to be quiet. And to not get drunk.

&n
bsp; So far, she was only fulfilling two of the three.

  Lucia had parked her car off Mulholland Drive, a famous road with an equally famous view of the entire city of Los Angeles, rising smoggy and sultry beneath us. The sun was slowly dropping behind the countless skyscrapers and palm trees, painting the canyon in hues of orange and pink. The soft, continual roar of traffic was everywhere—L.A.’s version of birdsong.

  “I won’t let you get drunk,” she said, nudging me with her foot. I was sitting next to her, spine straight. I could feel my muscles rigid with anxiety. “But I will suggest you have a little, you know…” she paused. “Fun. At your own bachelorette party.”

  “I’m having fun,” I said defensively, glancing at my new pearl-colored nails. I’d been painting my fingernails black since I was thirteen years old, but Clarke had said it was unbecoming for a bride to have black nails on her wedding day. He’d said the same thing about my many piercings until I’d dutifully removed them.

  I couldn’t do anything about the tattoos decorating my body. Clarke had been disappointed about that.

  But he was probably right. I wanted to look like a bride tomorrow.

  Not a punk.

  Another nudge from Lucia. I turned to look at her.

  My best friend was a glowing goddess. She was white, with long blonde hair, dark blue eyes and a dazzling smile that turned mischievous when she was joking. She looked like a bride—at ease in her own skin. Comfortably relaxing on the hood of her car, sipping champagne.

  Lucia had been my best friend for seven years. I was a makeup artist, and we’d first met when she was fifteen (and I was twenty-one) on her very first high-profile photo shoot. Lucia had been hesitant and trembling, half-naked in a chilly room filled with strangers, told to look “sexy” by a man with a camera. So I’d stepped in, came up with a silly idea to teach her Spanish on the spot.