We're thrilled to spotlight Happily Ever Ninja by one of our automatic one-click romance book authors, Penny Reid,
It's LIVE now click here to get your copy today! To celebrate the release, we're giving one lucky winner a $50 gift card.
Note: To truly appreciate the beginning of Greg & Fiona's love story, we highly recommend you read Ninja at First Sight prior to Happily Ever Ninja, a FREE prequel novella.
It's LIVE now click here to get your copy today! To celebrate the release, we're giving one lucky winner a $50 gift card.
Note: To truly appreciate the beginning of Greg & Fiona's love story, we highly recommend you read Ninja at First Sight prior to Happily Ever Ninja, a FREE prequel novella.
"We're suppose to get ten inches overnight."
"I might give Fiona ten inches this afternoon, if she plays her cards right."
Read an Excerpt
“I’m not good enough for you, Fe. But . . .” I shrugged, unable to do anything but smile at this woman who’d become my entire world, “no else one is either. So I might as well take you for my own. Marry me.”
She stared down at me, captivatingly astonished. Though I couldn’t tell if she were merely shocked, or both shocked and horrified. She’d covered her mouth with her hands and was standing still, motionless, too stunned to even move.
I’d effectively pressed her proverbial pause button.
Obviously, I was completely and utterly mad.
Too early.
Too soon.
She wasn’t ready, not for a proposal of marriage.
At eighteen, Fiona was wise beyond her years. And yet her wisdom was as tragic as it was beautiful.
So I waited. And waited.
And waited.
Just like I’d waited all those months after seeing her for the first time, keeping my distance despite seeing her everywhere—at the gym, the café, the library, in the dorm lobby—endeavoring to convince myself I was merely infatuated with her façade. In lust an easier concept to manage than some fanciful rubbish like love at first sight, or soul mates, or cosmically meant for each other.
So I waited. And waited.
And waited.
Kneeling in front of her, holding my offering between us, my heart in a little blue box.
“Fe?” I prompted, because a creeping uncertainty had taken up residence at the base of my throat.
She started, her eyes jumping between the ring and me.
And then she said, “Yes.”
Though it was more of a,
!!!! <3 <3 <3 Y E S <3 <3 <3 !!!!
Because she’d yelled it—screamed it at me, actually—with a shade of hysterical delight. I didn’t have even a split second to recover, to grin, to rejoice in her response before she launched herself, tackling me to the plush carpet. Quick thinking had me closing the ring box before it was knocked from my hand in her exuberance.
Straddling my hips, Fiona covered my face and neck in kisses. She punctuated each press of her soft lips with another “Yes”, the volume and intonation varying wildly.
I laughed and then groaned, because she moved over me, lithe and eager, her body clamoring for intimacy.
“Wait-wait, darling.” I sought to still her movements, but she was surprisingly strong. Though, if I dwelled upon it, her strength wasn’t at all surprising. She could climb walls. And do backflips. And walk on her hands for an indeterminate period of time.
She rocked against my growing erection, driving caution from my mind and the breath from my lungs. Her dress was the problem, because the skirt was virtually nonexistent. The only impediments to a hasty coupling were her inconsequential panties, and my suit pants and boxers.
And, you know, her virginity.
“Make love to me, Greg,” she whispered hotly against my ear, now driving good judgment away. In fact, all noble thoughts and feelings packed their bags, loaded up, and decided to take a vacation for the evening. Selfish desire had pushed them out.
Good riddance.
I flipped her onto her back, and her hands were everywhere—in my hair, pulling at the hem of my shirt, scratching my sides, reaching for the buckle of my belt. The only sign of nerves was the slight trembling of her fingers as she cupped me through my pants.
I batted her hand away, because I was libel to make a mess in my boxers if she continued to stroke me with her eager palm.
“Fe, we have to get off—”
“Yes! Let’s get off!”
“—the carpet,” I finished, laughing at her wide, impatient eyes and opportune remark. “We have to get off the carpet.”
She gave me a determined glare then did that thing gymnasts know how to do, where one springs off the ground in a blatant display of strength and flexibility, kicking off her shoes as she did so.
As soon as I stood she was on me again, backing me into the bed. I grabbed her hands between us.
“Darling, is this your way of telling me you’re feeling sexually frustrated?”
“Frustrated? No.” Now she was trying to climb me with just her legs. “Starved? Yes.”
“Though I’m thoroughly enjoying your exuberance, I really must insist we slow down.” Not because I intended to stop. But rather, much like the first time we’d kissed, I wanted to prepare her for what came next.
“No slowing down.” She rubbed her thigh against my cock, crippling both my ability to think and move. “I don’t know if I’m doing this right, but I honestly don’t care anymore. I want you. I want you so very badly. And I want those bad things you promised . . .”
Well, okay then.
She stared down at me, captivatingly astonished. Though I couldn’t tell if she were merely shocked, or both shocked and horrified. She’d covered her mouth with her hands and was standing still, motionless, too stunned to even move.
I’d effectively pressed her proverbial pause button.
Obviously, I was completely and utterly mad.
Too early.
Too soon.
She wasn’t ready, not for a proposal of marriage.
At eighteen, Fiona was wise beyond her years. And yet her wisdom was as tragic as it was beautiful.
So I waited. And waited.
And waited.
Just like I’d waited all those months after seeing her for the first time, keeping my distance despite seeing her everywhere—at the gym, the café, the library, in the dorm lobby—endeavoring to convince myself I was merely infatuated with her façade. In lust an easier concept to manage than some fanciful rubbish like love at first sight, or soul mates, or cosmically meant for each other.
So I waited. And waited.
And waited.
Kneeling in front of her, holding my offering between us, my heart in a little blue box.
“Fe?” I prompted, because a creeping uncertainty had taken up residence at the base of my throat.
She started, her eyes jumping between the ring and me.
And then she said, “Yes.”
Though it was more of a,
!!!! <3 <3 <3 Y E S <3 <3 <3 !!!!
Because she’d yelled it—screamed it at me, actually—with a shade of hysterical delight. I didn’t have even a split second to recover, to grin, to rejoice in her response before she launched herself, tackling me to the plush carpet. Quick thinking had me closing the ring box before it was knocked from my hand in her exuberance.
Straddling my hips, Fiona covered my face and neck in kisses. She punctuated each press of her soft lips with another “Yes”, the volume and intonation varying wildly.
I laughed and then groaned, because she moved over me, lithe and eager, her body clamoring for intimacy.
“Wait-wait, darling.” I sought to still her movements, but she was surprisingly strong. Though, if I dwelled upon it, her strength wasn’t at all surprising. She could climb walls. And do backflips. And walk on her hands for an indeterminate period of time.
She rocked against my growing erection, driving caution from my mind and the breath from my lungs. Her dress was the problem, because the skirt was virtually nonexistent. The only impediments to a hasty coupling were her inconsequential panties, and my suit pants and boxers.
And, you know, her virginity.
“Make love to me, Greg,” she whispered hotly against my ear, now driving good judgment away. In fact, all noble thoughts and feelings packed their bags, loaded up, and decided to take a vacation for the evening. Selfish desire had pushed them out.
Good riddance.
I flipped her onto her back, and her hands were everywhere—in my hair, pulling at the hem of my shirt, scratching my sides, reaching for the buckle of my belt. The only sign of nerves was the slight trembling of her fingers as she cupped me through my pants.
I batted her hand away, because I was libel to make a mess in my boxers if she continued to stroke me with her eager palm.
“Fe, we have to get off—”
“Yes! Let’s get off!”
“—the carpet,” I finished, laughing at her wide, impatient eyes and opportune remark. “We have to get off the carpet.”
She gave me a determined glare then did that thing gymnasts know how to do, where one springs off the ground in a blatant display of strength and flexibility, kicking off her shoes as she did so.
As soon as I stood she was on me again, backing me into the bed. I grabbed her hands between us.
“Darling, is this your way of telling me you’re feeling sexually frustrated?”
“Frustrated? No.” Now she was trying to climb me with just her legs. “Starved? Yes.”
“Though I’m thoroughly enjoying your exuberance, I really must insist we slow down.” Not because I intended to stop. But rather, much like the first time we’d kissed, I wanted to prepare her for what came next.
“No slowing down.” She rubbed her thigh against my cock, crippling both my ability to think and move. “I don’t know if I’m doing this right, but I honestly don’t care anymore. I want you. I want you so very badly. And I want those bad things you promised . . .”
Well, okay then.
Teasers
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Synopsis and Purchase Link
Book 5, Knitting in the City
Click HERE for the Complete list of the Knitting in the City Series
There are three things you need to know about Fiona Archer… I would tell you what they are, but then I’d have to kill you.
But I can tell you that Fiona’s husband—the always irrepressible and often cantankerous Greg Archer—is desperately in love with his wife. He aches for her when they are apart, and is insatiable when they are together. Yet as the years pass, Greg has begun to suspect that Fiona is a ninja. A ninja mom. A ninja wife. A ninja friend. After fourteen years of marriage, Greg is trying not to panic. Because Fiona’s talent for blending in is starting to resemble fading away.
However, when unexpected events mean Fiona must take center stage to keep her family safe, her response stuns everyone—Greg most of all. It seems like Greg’s wish has come true.
Except… not.
When all is said and done, can Greg handle this new version of his wife? Will his irrepressible cantankerousness push her away? Or can the couple find a way forward without either being forced to step back into the shadows?
But I can tell you that Fiona’s husband—the always irrepressible and often cantankerous Greg Archer—is desperately in love with his wife. He aches for her when they are apart, and is insatiable when they are together. Yet as the years pass, Greg has begun to suspect that Fiona is a ninja. A ninja mom. A ninja wife. A ninja friend. After fourteen years of marriage, Greg is trying not to panic. Because Fiona’s talent for blending in is starting to resemble fading away.
However, when unexpected events mean Fiona must take center stage to keep her family safe, her response stuns everyone—Greg most of all. It seems like Greg’s wish has come true.
Except… not.
When all is said and done, can Greg handle this new version of his wife? Will his irrepressible cantankerousness push her away? Or can the couple find a way forward without either being forced to step back into the shadows?
"You're a star, the center of a solar system, with no desire for the planets, asteroids, and moons caught in your gravitational field."
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