Bøker av Indie Sparks

Scorpion, pecs and biceps . . . oh, my!No one warned me they didn't have high-speed internet in the desert.Between that, the seventeen species of scorpions that terrorize this part of the state, and the insufferable electrician/plumber/carpenter/mechanic who can't seem to keep his shirt on, I don't know how I'm supposed to get anything done here!I need an escape from my grief, and possibly my life in general. And I can't think of a better place to run away than my fabled namesake, the hippie-dippy remote west Texas desert compound known as Ivydell.Not that I'm running away. I'm simply taking a brief hiatus. I'll be back.It's not like some shirtless guy with a scorpion tattoo is going to change my whole life.

She's the new property manager. He's the new maintenance supervisor.They rub each other the wrong way-until they start to rub each other the right way.Oh. So. Very. Right.Landry:I've got news for this guy: I may be smaller than him but I'm not intimidated by him. Maybe he's intimidated by me. A lot of men can't handle having a woman for a boss, let alone a younger woman. That's his problem, not mine. I was hired to do a job and I intend to do it-just as soon as I can peel my eyes off his wide chest and those artistically tatted, exquisitely muscled arms. His hands . . . they're so big. All of him is big. And tall. And grumpy. And gorgeous. I'm fine. Everything's fine.Vaughn:There is no way she's old enough to be the manager. Not a chance she's had enough work experience to handle this job. Or even enough life experience! She's definitely pretty, but she's got an attitude-thinks she's bigger than she is, that's for sure. But she went from fiery to frightened quick when she saw that snake. And she came straight to me for protection. She's too young for me to be thinking the thoughts in my head about her. Entirely. Too. Young. And technically, my boss.Welcome home to The Nouveau: Luxury apartment living at its naughtiest.

She's the trusted leasing agent, taking some responsibilities off her manager's workload. He's the owner of the new landscaping company she's just hired. Sure, they had a situationship that ended abruptly, but that was years ago. Ancient history. It doesn't even matter anymore who ended it. So, will it matter who rekindles it?Carina: Of all the properties in this city, he had to walk into mine. No, not walk. Saunter. As if he has nothing else to do, nowhere else to be, just strolling through life--his and everyone else's. He hasn't changed a bit. If I'd known, he was owner of Rough Hands Landscaping, I'd have scratched that company off my list so fast. It's fine, though. It's not like I'm going to sit here the whole time replaying memories of his warm, rough hands touching every square inch my body. Pfft, please, I barely even remember. But that voice . . .Declan: When I asked my office manager who I was meeting with at The Nouveau and she told me the woman's name was Carina, I knew. And I told myself it would be fine. Maybe we'd both get a good laugh out of it. But being face-to-face with her after all this time is having unexpected effects. My brain knows how long it's been, but as far as my body is concerned, she could've just left my bed this morning. Every part of me spontaneously reminisces the sensations of every part of her, and if I don't get a grip on myself, I'm about to make quite the unprofessional impression. But those eyes . . .Welcome back for a second chance at naughty romance at The Nouveau.

Tatum may not have put "sexy stranger" on her Christmas list, but Santa knows what a good girl needs to make her holiday complete.When Tatum tells her overbearing mom that she isn't coming home for Christmas, Mom doesn't take it so well. But when Tatum's sister breaks the news to their mom two days before Christmas that she wants to bring her new girlfriend home for the holidays, Mom has the worst reaction of all.Tatum's inner elf rises up and she decides to create the brightest, happiest, pinkest, glitteriest, most loving holiday ever-in her one-bedroom apartment over a Christmas-themed bar. Who cares? It's not where you spend the holiday that matters; it's who you spend it with. Hooray! Tatum's holiday spirit is back in full force.In fact, she's feeling so cheery that when a stranger accidentally sends her a text to say he's on his way, she kindly texts back to let him know he's reached the wrong number. Sure, she's had a little wine while wrapping presents, so she maybe says a little more. And when he replies? Well, it would be rude not to respond.Quicker than she can stab herself in the knee with a pair of scissors, she's got a full-fledged flirty text convo going with some random guy who might be a doctor, might be a serial killer . . . might be the perfect addition to her holiday guest list.And if she happens to extend an invite to a drag queen Mrs. Claus and the vampire throuple from across the street? Hey, the more the merrier, right? 'Tis the season!Light the fireworks and pour the champagne! The naughty list is ready to make merry!

Best friend extraordinaire, Nadine Garrison, is back for book two, but she's got her own problems this time.Sure, in retrospect, going into business with some guy I'd only been dating for six months sounds impulsive.Okay, it was impulsive, but it was a good opportunity, and Heath put in as much money as I did. We were equal partners. Until he made an unauthorized withdrawal.It's not like he absconded to another country with the money. No, he sunk every dime into a foolproof investment. In my defense, I was vulnerable when we met, and Heath was only supposed to be my rebound guy. I never dreamed I'd have to financially rebound from him.So now, while he's busy hawking snake oil, trying to grow his downline, I'm out here just trying to maintain my sanity, stay on top of my game for my sales job, and keep our juice bar afloat.But there's always time for vengeance. Heath stole my money; I'll take his beloved personal trainer. It's a start.Wick puts my body through the wringer, in the gym and out, but he's so not my type. His storm-cloud eyes might see right through me, and his filthy mouth definitely takes my mind off my troubles for a while, but there is not a more arrogant man in the world. Like I said, so not my type. So, why do I keep seeing him?

This brat likes her fashion and her men a little older and bolder. Neely Hart is an old soul. Not like Victorian old, more like heart-shaped sunglasses, neon polos, and high-waisted, acid-washed denim. She has a good eye for it, which has made her funky vintage boutique a hit in a trendy shopping district. Paul Ashton is a modern man. Not to be mistaken for traditional, more like a contemporary, hot cigar-bar-owning, brat-taming Daddy. His popular cigar lounge is located right next to Neely's boutique, which is convenient since Paul meets her tastes to a tee. But Neely isn't looking to be tamed. And Paul isn't looking for such an independent brat. You know what they say about what we find when we aren't looking though . . . He pushes her buttons. She pushes right back. This is their game. They were made for it. And they just might be made for each other.