She's Got Mail!: She's Got Mail! / Forget Me? Not

She's Got Mail!: She's Got Mail! / Forget Me? Not
Авторы книги: id книги: 1768227     Оценка: 0.0     Голосов: 0     Отзывы, комментарии: 0 817,55 руб.     (8,91$) Читать книгу Купить и скачать книгу Купить бумажную книгу Электронная книга Жанр: Зарубежные любовные романы Правообладатель и/или издательство: HarperCollins Дата добавления в каталог КнигаЛит: ISBN: 9781474025461 Скачать фрагмент в формате   fb2   fb2.zip Возрастное ограничение: 0+ Оглавление Отрывок из книги

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Описание книги

She's Got Mail! by Colleen CollinsGood things come in big packages…Ambitious editorial assistant Rosie Myers is finally getting her big break. When the writer of a Real Men column runs away with a stripper, Rosie is given the assignment. There's only one catch–she has to write like a guy. No problem…until she starts receiving letter from sexy lawyer Ben Taylor. He thinks he needs a man-to-man talk, but Rosie knows what he really needs is a woman….Forget Me? Not by Darlene GardnerForget Me…NeverStraitlaced, by-the-book Amanda Baldwin is at loose ends. Het longtime fiancé has just dumped her! What's Amanda to do? Easy…let the most charismatic, hunky bach guy–namely Zach Castell–show her the wild side of life. Zach is irrepressible, unpredictable and uncommited–he thinks marriage is a state of unhappily ever after. He just wants to help Amanda forget about her fiancé, but after a few close encounters, will he want the job? And will Amanda approve the change?

Оглавление

Darlene Gardner. She's Got Mail!: She's Got Mail! / Forget Me? Not

Contents

Ben tapped Rosie on the shoulder. “Take a seat.”

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“If Reid was so wonderful, suppose you explain why you like me better,” Zach teased

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Отрывок из книги

Two brand-new stories in every volume…twice a month!

Duets Vol. #39

.....

So it was Miss, not Mrs. Not that he cared. Maybe it was that wayward curl that intrigued him. Or the flash of lightning in those hazel eyes—which were now checking out the room as though a pervert had just invited her into the back seat of his car. “It’s a law office,” he said, “not a torture chamber. Please, have a seat.”

She shifted her gaze to his, giving him a we-are-not-amused look, before crossing to one of two wooden guest chairs, silhouettes of harps cut into their backs.

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