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About Penelope Bloom
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Penelope Bloom is a USA Today, Amazon, and Washington Post bestselling author whose books have been translated into over nine languages. Her popular romances include His Banana, My (Mostly) Secret Baby, Her Cherry, Savage, and Punished.
Her writing career started when she left her job as a high school teacher to pursue her dream. She loves taking her imagination for a spin and writing romances she'd want to live. She likes a man with a mind as dirty as sin and a heart of gold he keeps hidden away. Her favorite things include getting to wear socks all day--pants optional--and being a positive example for her girls. Showing her daughters that no dream is too big, no matter what anyone tells them, is worth all the late nights, doubts, and fears that come with being a writer.
Stay connected! For giveaways, goodies, updates, and extras, join the mailing list at https://landing.mailerlite.com/webforms/landing/a0y7m1. Follow her on Facebook at PenelopeBloomRomance, and check out her website at www.penelope-bloom.com.
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She’s just temporary. A momentary blip in my life.
Although I have to admit she’s quite attractive, as far as blips go.
She’s also the first person my son has ever actually liked, which has to count for something.
New plan: I will not… let myself get too attached to the nanny.
I’ve always been the kind of man to keep my plans flexible. Adaptation is key. Just like I’ve had to adapt to having a beautiful woman waiting for me when I get home every night.
Temporarily, of course.
My son deserves better than temporary. And I won’t dangle the prospect of a happy, complete family in front of him when I know the relationship wouldn’t last.
Because beneath the innocent, big doe eyes and the charming awkwardness, the nanny would turn out like the rest. She’d find some reason to leave. They all did.
So I’ll make one final amendment to the plan. Yes, I may think inappropriate thoughts about the nanny. I may get attached to the nanny. But I will not fall for the nanny.
And if I do, I will deny it until my cold, dead heart freezes over.
Author’s Note: Get out your safety goggles because this fiery nanny and swoon-worthy single dad are about to collide and the reaction is going to be explosive.
No strings. No attachments. Get in, get out—euphemism intended.
The lesser known second rule?
Make sure your casual hookup isn’t about to become your wedding planner.
Yeah. Long story.
The wedding was going to be a fake. The only catch was nobody could know. Not even my wedding planner.
Now the wedding planner thinks I’m the world’s biggest bastard. She thinks I’m in love with the woman I’m supposed to marry. She thinks a lot of things, but she doesn’t know the truth.
She’s got no idea she’s going to fall for me by the time this thing is over.
She’s got no idea our little hookup wasn’t meaningless. Not to me, at least.
And worst? She thinks she’s safe around me. She thinks I’m off the market, that there can’t be a repeat because there’s someone else.
There’s nobody else. Just her. And ever since the first taste, I knew she was all there’d ever be.
Author’s Note: Don’t run away from the ultimate playboy. He’s ready to fake marry you so hard . She’s sweet and sassy, he’s over the top in everything. They’re a match made in fake marriage history.
Yeah. I apparently missed out on that one.
Because Damon Rose came, and instead of running, I got pregnant.
Yes. I remember Chelsea Cross.
I remember five years ago when she thought she could handle me.
Proving her wrong was… enjoyable.
With hair I wanted to fist. A mouth that only stopped when I kissed it. A body that I needed to press against the nearest wall and claim.
And now she wants a job.
A smart man would say “no”.
Or, I could teach her the same lesson I taught her five years ago.
She can’t even begin to handle me.
Author’s Note: Buckle up for the ultimate bosshole in this steamy, workplace romantic comedy with a sassy heroine and a stubborn grump who wants to ruin her day.
Calm down, perv. My mailbox.
As soon as I saw what was inside,
I knew two things:
It belonged to my hot neighbor, and he had a dirty secret.
Normally, I was more of a cat person. As in, if I had to choose who lives, I’m going to take the cat nine times out of ten. It’s not that I particularly like cats, I just don’t particularly like most people.
My neighbor wasn’t most people. He lived in the apartment across the hall, and he was your typical, buttoned-up, fancy shoes, smells like a Calvin Klein commercial, looks like he actually flosses kind of guy. I mean, seriously? Wasn’t flossing just made up by dentists so they could go on their little power trips once every six months?
The point was, this guy very obviously had his life all put together. He was Mr. Perfect, and If you asked me, he needed to be brought down a few pegs to wallow with the rest of us.
Cue his long, thick, package penetrating my tight little mailbox.
I know. It’s absolutely sick. It was such an obvious ploy to hit on me. Forget the fact that the mail lady put it there, my neighbor and I both knew what kind of game he was playing. Oh yeah, we totally knew. It was on. It was in, if you would.
I accidentally dropped a knife on the package a few times back in my apartment. It basically sprang open on its own, and I had no choice but to look inside.
His dirty little secret was staring me right in the face. As it turned out, Mr. Perfect wasn’t so perfect. Who knew?
Hint: I knew. And I was absolutely going to enjoy every second of what was coming.
The third novel in USA Today bestselling author Penelope Bloom’s Anyone But… series sizzles with a sexy and hilarious story about letting go of the past to chase the love of a lifetime.
Seven years ago, I swore I’d never date Nick King. Ever.
Now I’m supposed to work under him—and no, despite the way he glares like he wants to strip me bare, I mean he’ll be my boss. But what better way to prove I’m really over him, right?
I was a nerdy overachiever in high school, and Nick was my hopeless crush. I even laminated a note he passed to me; granted, I had a thing for laminators, but that’s beside the point.
Now, my only shot at getting my life back on track is to crawl to him on my knees and pray I nail the interview. Maybe I should pray that’s the only thing that gets nailed in his office—especially since he looks like he wants to devour me.
Nick broke my heart once. But hey, I’m still pretty handy with a laminator. Maybe I could run my heart through one before I take this job.
From USA Today bestselling author Penelope Bloom comes the first novel in the romantic, sexy, and hilarious Anyone But… series.
Seven years ago, my best friends and I made a promise: No matter what, we would never date one of the King brothers. Even if they grew up to become megafamous, gorgeous, heart-stopping billionaires. Even if they crawled on their knees and begged for forgiveness.
But guess who just flew back into our lives in a private jet? And guess who just showed up to my job on my first day? Richard. King. Fortunately, it takes two seconds for Richard to reveal he hasn’t changed. Conceited. Cocky. Rude. Unfortunately, he’s also the kind of gorgeous that’s borderline offensive—with a jawline to make statues self-conscious and a grin that short-circuits my brain.
He’s spent years taking what he wants. I doubt he’s hungry for anything else—except me, apparently. There’s no way I’ll let him maneuver his way back into my life. My friends would never forgive me. I would never forgive me. But did I mention his jawline?
No touching his banana.
Seriously. The guy is like a potassium addict.
Of course, I touched it.
If you want to get technical, I actually put it in my mouth.
I chewed it up, too... I even swallowed.
I know. Bad, bad, girl.
Then I saw him, and believe it or not, choking on a guy's banana does not make the best first impression.
I should backtrack a little here. Before I ever touched a billionaire’s banana, I got my first real assignment as a business reporter. This wasn’t the same old bottom-of-the-barrel assignment I always got. I wasn’t going to interview a garbage man about his favorite routes or write a piece on how picking up dog poop from people’s yards is the next big thing.
Nope. None of the above, thank you very much.
This was my big break. My chance to prove I wasn’t a bumbling, clumsy, accident-prone walking disaster. I was infiltrating Galleon Enterprises to follow up on suspicions of corruption.
Cue the James Bond music.
I could do this. All I had to do was land the position as an intern and nail my interview with Bruce Chamberson.
Forget the fact that he looked like somebody carved him out of liquid female desire, then sprinkled on some "makes men question their sexuality" for good measure. I needed to make this work. No accidents. No disasters. No clumsiness. All I needed to do was hold it together for less than an hour.
Fast forward to the conference room before the interview, and that's where you would find me with a banana in my hand. A banana that literally had his name on it in big, black sharpie. It was a few seconds later when he walked in and caught me yellow-handed. A few seconds after that was when he hired me.
Yeah. I know. It didn't seem like a good sign to me, either.
Mistake #1: Asking Peter Barnidge for a job.
Mistake #2: Accepting his offer instead of throwing it in his face like I planned.
Mistake #3: In the interest of stopping before #99, I’ll pretend the only other mistake was withholding one, tiny little nugget of truth during my interview.
Peter Barnidge… Where do I even start? How about that after my first day working for Mr. Superstar International Bestselling Author, his name became my favorite kid-friendly cursing substitute. Stub a toe? Peter Barnidge it! Bank account is overdrawn? Son of a Barnidge! And when I realized I was falling for my boss? Well, what the Barnidge?
I wish it was easier to just plain hate him, instead of the twisted, confusing blend of hatred and attraction I feel. But he’s the bad kind of attractive. Dark with a side of smoldering heat. The kind of hot that makes me want to do that Catholic cross thing every time I look at him, because one glance takes my brain straight to a world of sin.
Speaking of sin… I also lied a little during my interview. But I’m a single mom and I’d do anything to provide for my daughter, even if it meant keeping one tiny little secret. Unfortunately, even small secrets have a way of growing over time.
I think it’s only a matter of time before he finds out, and somehow, I don’t think he’s going to be happy when he does.
The second novel in USA Today bestselling author Penelope Bloom’s Anyone But… series turns up the heat and hilarity with a story about second chances and promises worth breaking.
After Cade King cost me everything, I vowed I’d never fall for him again—even if he became rich and megafamous.
Now he’s back, and he’s still the embodiment of a big, shiny red button. Everybody knows you shouldn’t touch red buttons, but it’s so, so hard to resist.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy it a little when I arrested him for disorderly conduct. Unfortunately, I think Cade liked it a little too. So when he asks for my help raising the son he just found out about, I know exactly what to say: “No, you stupidly sexy red button. I won’t touch you, even to help a cute little kid.” You’re damn right that’s what I said. Mostly.
Still, Cade doesn’t know the first thing about commitment. He lives completely in the moment. I’d need to have a recurring case of amnesia to believe he could change, even for his son. Or me.
Well, a gentleman never brags.
Thankfully, I’m no gentleman.
First, I paid for her cherry (pie, but that’s not the point),
Next, I deflowered her.
After that? I left my business card and walked out like I owned the place.
Yeah, you could say we hit it off.
How did I meet William?
He walked into my bakery, bought a cherry pie, stole a vase of flowers—I still have no idea what he wanted with them—and left his business card.
Before I say what I did with the business card, I should clarify something:
William couldn’t have walked into my life at a worse time.
My bakery was failing.
My creepy ex refused to leave me alone.
Oh, and I was a twenty-five-year-old virgin, a fact my friends refused to stop hassling me about.
Fixing my little virginity problem with William would be like swatting a fly with a hammer. Overkill, but the best kind.
William was stupid hot, the kind of hot that makes women do stupid things. The kind of hot that made me think crazy things. Like thinking the fly wouldn’t even mind getting hammered by William and his washboard abs. That makes two of us.
So I called him.
Maybe it was against my better judgment. Maybe I was stepping into a disaster waiting to happen.
I knew I was in trouble when he chuckled in that deep, sexy voice of his over the phone and said, “I’m still craving your cherry. Do you deliver?”
And no, it’s not what you’re thinking. I’m a professional.
The client hired me to trim a bush in his garden for a party.
I accidentally turned it into something that rhymes with “a big rock and walls”.
Imagine my surprise when the art world decides it’s a masterpiece.
Were my raging hormones the cause of my bush sculpting blunder? I mean, who would blame me if they were? After meeting Harry Barnidge for the first time, my brain went straight to cavewoman mode. There were undignified fantasies of being bashed over the head and carried off to a cave, a significant loss of vocabulary, and maybe even a little drooling.
But I can’t focus on that. On him. I need this job to make my little sister’s dreams come true. Until now, I’ve managed to screw everything in my professional and personal life up, but I’m determined to make this work.
So when Mr. Heartstopper offers to help me manage my accidental art career, it’s impossible to say no.
It’s like the old saying goes. If you erect it, they will come. Or something like that.
I was done with relationships, until her. The new gardener took everything I knew and flipped it upside down. And once I saw her bush? Well, that was when I knew she was something special.
Women have tried a lot of things to get my attention, but Nell’s bush has to be the boldest method. I mean, there was the direct approach, and then there was turning a ten-foot bush into… that.
So of course, I asked her out. And when the biggest art critic in the country declared her bush a work of art, I offered to become her agent… even if my specialty was books.
Now I just have to convince her that I want more than our professional relationship. No matter the cost. Even when my biggest rival wants to steal her from under me and threatens to ruin me if I tell the truth about him.
Said no one ever…
But all I have to do is resist for a few months.
Come January, I’m flying to Paris to chase my dream of being an artist,
Too bad I can’t have my treat and eat it, too.
I forgot to mention… My hot boss was also my high school crush.
First, I wanted to crush him with gooey affection.
In the end, I just plain wanted to crush him.
Now he’s back, and he might as well have “do not touch” printed on his chest.
One tiny question: would it count if I didn’t use my hands?
Let me answer my own question. Yes, Emily, you raging horndog, it counts. Besides, my dream is practically waiting for me like a perfectly wrapped, shiny little package if I can just behave. I’d be an absolute idiot to risk that, and I have a long, proud history of not being an idiot to protect.
Unless it’s kind of like when you do really well in class all semester so you can afford to flunk a test at the end. Three months is a long time, and if he’s the one giving me the big, fat, dirty “F”, it does add a little dose of temptation to the equation.
But all I have to do is one quick job for him. A few posters and a few props for a big Halloween party that he’s hosting.
Then I just walk away from his dreamboat eyes and perfect body, grab a plane, and forget about all the beautiful children we could’ve squeezed inside our white picket fence.