“I know. It kind of puts you on the spot, which is why I wanted you to watch the video somewhere else. Pressure leads to bad decisions, like telling the woman you love she should leave. Christ, what kind of sense did that make?”

“I work best under pressure, actually,” Portia replied.

“Is that so?” Tav asked.

“Aye,” she replied, happiness bursting through her when he grinned. “We still have a lot to talk about you know.”

“I am here for any and all Dr. Phil shite, except I’d prefer it from an actually licensed therapist,” Tav said. “We’ll talk. We’ll figure this out, my liege.”

Portia kissed him then, and because she knew it would make the front page, she put everything she had into it. She could be called many things, but she had never been one to half-ass the things she truly cared about, and she certainly wouldn’t start with Tavish. He had a reputation to uphold, after all.

A Prince on Paper

(yes, Johan’s story!)

Coming Spring 2019

From Avon Books

Nya looked up into Johan’s eyes. They were an impossible shade of blue, and his lashes were long and thick, and goddess why was he kind to her on top of looking like one of her sim dating heroes come to life?

She blurted out the first thing that came to mind Anything that would drive away the looming embarrassment of what had happened between them the previous afternoon.

“Do you use Jamaican Black Castor Oil?” she asked.

“Pardon?” His auburn brows rose in very reasonable confusion.

“Your lashes. They’re very . . . lustrous.”

Embarrassment flamed through her—one brisk wind from the mountains of Thesolo was all it would take to scatter her ashes. It seemed she couldn’t be in this man’s presence without humiliating herself. This was why she stuck to the dating sims. Choosing a pithy response from a pre-populated list was easier than coming up with one on your own.

“Thank you,” he said, that deep, accented voice of his tinged with amusement. “I’m glad my lashes please you.”

“I should go,” she said, turning away from him before more silliness flew from her mouth.

“Nya.”

He didn’t reach out to stop her, but the beckoning in his voice was as good as his fingers curling around her wrist. She looked back at him over her shoulder.

His gaze was warm and inviting and if Nya Jerami didn’t know better, she might imagine that the Tabloid Prince of Liechtienbourg fancied plain, boring her.

His full lips pulled up into a mischievous grin. “You should stay.”