Jane Blackwood

I’ll Just Hold My Breath, Fancy Pants…Oh no. This is so not happening. Her whole life Kat Taylor has been reaching for the brass ring and coming away with nothing but sore knuckles. Not this time. Her flighty Aunt Lila gave her a charming house on Martha’s Vineyard for the summer, and now some arrogant, amused, and, okay, surprisingly hunky, British author named Lawrence Kendall says he has a claim to the same cottage! If he thinks that just because he’s suave and good-looking and…and…has that hairy chest and great accent that he can woo her into leaving, well, he can die trying…Fine, You Bloody Well Do That, Irrational Woman…Kat Taylor may be strange—and rather bewitching—in her foot-stamping protestations, but she is not getting the house. It was granted to Lawrence first and that is that. So. There we are. Very sorry, nice to meet you, have a lovely summer—somewhere else. The last thing Lawrence needs to add to his writer’s block is some woman skulking about the house, humming, looking distractingly attractive. Bloody hell. She’s not budging. Right. Perhaps the only thing to do is make a temporary peace and ignore each other…for two months. Right. Should be no trouble at all…

Declan McDonald has been dead for two years. At least that's what everyone thinks. Certain that his pop idol status cost his brother his life, the superstar has faked his own death and sentenced himself to exile in a bleak mansion. But even the most extreme self-imposed punishment has its loophole. Dec is tired of TV dinners. — Rose Pisano thinks it's a little odd that someone has offered her $80,000 a year to be a personal chef, and the fact that she talks with her employer over a speaker seems strange, too, but she needs the money. Dec soon becomes infatuated with the spunky chef, not to mention her food, and when they accidentally meet, it's obvious they're made for each other. However, Dec doesn't want to, once again, subject someone he loves to the risks that go hand-in-hand with superstardom.