Pretending never felt so good….
A new standalone romance from Wall Street Journal Bestselling Author Ilsa Madden-Mills…
They say nothing compares to your first kiss.
But our first kiss was orchestrated for an audience.
Our second kiss…that one was REAL.
He cradled my face like he was terrified he’d f*ck it up.
He stared into my eyes until the air buzzed.
Soft and slow, full of sighs and little laughs,
He inhaled me like I was the finest Belgian chocolate,
And he’d never get another piece.
A nip of his teeth, his hand at my waist…
And I was lost.
I forgot he was paying me to be his fake fiancée.
I forgot we weren’t REAL.
Our kiss was pure magic, and before you laugh and say those kinds of kisses don’t exist…
Then you’ve never touched lips with Max Kent, the hottest quarterback in college history.
Get ready for breathtaking kisses and dreamy football players…
I just want to jump up and down and do the happy dance every time I think about Fake Fiancée! I love love love love love this book hard.
Fake Fiancée is a super sweet romance with some sass and sexy thrown in for good measure. And it like hitting the trifecta of romance. A hot, sexy male hero, who can be cocky and sweet all in one. A fierce strong female heroine who is sassy and a little broken but pulls herself up and hold no punches back. And a story line that keeps you turning page after page and before you know it you’ve read the whole book and all you want is more.
Max is the big man on campus. Quarterback and all around good guy. Sure he has a rep with the ladies on campus, but this is his senior year. He needs to be focused and ready for the draft and he can’t do that when woman are constantly trying to get into his pants.
Sunny is just trying to get through school. She doesn’t need the distraction of a man, been there done that, and it all just seems to blow up in her face any way. But wouldn’t you know it, she’s now neighbors with one of the biggest man-whores on campus. Just what she needs. Especially when one of his conquests leaves his house and wrecks her car while leaving!
Max and Sunny have instant chemistry and Max just knows that he knows her from somewhere. Trying to make things right after having her car wrecked, Max tries to help Sunny out by taking her to class and helping to get her car fixed. The two become quasi friends and so Max comes up with the idea of Sunny being his pretend girlfriend to keep the groupies at bay and maybe even give her ex-boyfriend something to stew over.
These two are polar opposites with Max coming from a wealthy, famous family and Sunny only having her grandmother and working to just to barely get by. But these two click in ways that made me giddy. Sunny is sarcastic and sassy. Max can go toe to toe with her but he has a soft side that makes you want to swoon.
Though in a little suspense and BOOM! A super fun, great read.
Buy this book. You won’t be sorry. Five “Meant to Be” Stars!
Max stalked over to the barrier that divided the stands from the football field and jumped it. The fans went nuts as he brushed past them, some not even realizing it until he was down the aisle. The Jumbotron followed him.
“Good Lordy, what’s he doing?” Mimi asked, clutching at her chest.
“I don’t know,” I said rather weakly, taking the chance to study him the closer he came. He was beautiful, his shoulders impossibly broad. To add to the distraction, his helmet was in his hand and all that dark brown hair was flowing around his chiseled features as if he had a fan in his face. My Viking.
“He’s coming over here,” Mimi commented.
He was. But why?
I stopped breathing . . .right when he came to a halt in front of me and knelt down on one knee.
Eyes the color of a wild ocean gazed at me.
He took my left hand in his right one.
“Max,” I breathed, my heart fluttering.
He gazed up at me. “Sunny Blaine, will you marry me?”
The stadium went wild. In a daze, I looked up at the Jumbotron and felt like I was watching this happen to someone else. Camera phones flashed all around us.
My first clear thought was I’ll kill him.
Aloud, nothing came out but a faint wheeze. Clearly someone had stuffed a giant wad of cotton in my mouth. Clearly I needed something a lot stiffer to drink than this Diet Coke. Clearly my fake boyfriend was a freaking raving lunatic.
He sat his helmet on the ground next to my feet, reached inside it and pulled out a small black box.
No, no, no!
The box opened, and my stomach churned at the sight of the large round solitaire diamond ring that was nestled on the black silk. I blinked repeatedly to clear my vision.
With deft fingers, Max eased it out of the lining and slipped it on my left hand.
I stared down at it. Then back at him.
I was going to murder the hottest quarterback in the country.
Kiss her, Kiss her, the crowd chanted.
We were the focal point of the entire world.
Max stood and tugged me up with him until we were standing. He slid his hand around my neck and pulled his face to mine. The sky was blotted out as he kissed me.
But I hadn’t said yes!
I wouldn’t say yes.
Not to a fake engagement.
The applause of the stadium was deafening. And his kiss—it was deadly. Despite my rage, my body craved him. His lips were hot, so hot, and my tongue met his with a vengeance. We kissed hard, and I nipped at him, my teeth scraping across his lips. But the only one who’d end up bleeding in this scenario was me.
He eased back to take me in, and with a final look at my face he gave a thumbs-up sign to the entire stadium. They went nuts, chanting his name.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered in my ear, letting his hand trail down my arm as he stepped back from me. He walked away backward, eyes on me the entire time. The announcers for the game told everyone who might have missed it that Max Kent had just asked his girlfriend to marry him, and she’d said yes. More cheers came as they replayed him on his knee in front of me with a giant YES written across the top.
I plopped back down in my seat. Frozen.
“. . . did you see her face? Shocked . . .”
“. . . most romantic thing in football . . .”
“. . . luckiest girl in the world . . .”
My face went hot. Even my ears burned. I wanted to crawl under a seat.
What a lie.
The half ended and our offense came out to the field, snapped the ball, and Max threw it straight to Tate who ran it in for another touchdown. My chest constricted and anger churned in my gut.
I didn’t care who won.
I hated football right now.
Most of all, I hated Max Kent, and I was going to make him pay.
Wall Street Journal best selling author Ilsa Madden-Mills writes about strong heroines and sexy alpha males that sometimes you just want to slap.
She’s addicted to all things fantasy, including unicorns and sword-wielding females. Other fascinations include frothy coffee beverages, dark chocolate, Ian Somerhalder, astronomy (she’s a Gemini), and tattoos. She has a degree in English and a Master’s in Education. When she’s not pecking away on her computer, she shops for cool magnets and fuzzy pajamas.
She loves to hear from readers and fellow authors. Email her at email@example.com.