File acissymhalfmac.ga; Original Head Over Heels by Jill Shalvis · Head Heels Over Head by Elyse Springer. Head Over Heels Best Free Books Online Read from your Pc or Mobile. Head Over Heels (Lucky Harbor #3) is a Romance novel by Jill Shalvis. Irresistible, The Sweetest Thing, Head Over Heels av Jill Shalvis på acissymhalfmac.ga . Format: E-bok; Filformat: EPUB med Adobe-kryptering.
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Lucky Harbor Collection 2: Lucky Harbor Collection 1: Ladda ned. Spara som favorit. Visit the sleepy coastal town of Lucky Harbor in this delightful collection.
The first three books in New York Times bestseller Jill Shalvis's award-winning series are guaranteed to make you laugh and fall in love. She's lost her boyfriend her decision and her job so not her decision , so what better time to leave LA for Lucky Harbor - the little place she used to call home. Renovating the ramshackle inn left by her mother is the perfect opportunity for a fresh start.
Facing a tall, dark hottie contractor, and a past she needs to overcome, will Maddie learn that there's no place like home? But anywhere away from her unfulfilled dreams and sexy ex-husband will do. So joining her sisters getting their newly renovated inn up and running is the perfect chance to get her life back on track. But with a sexy, green-eyed sailor on the scene, and her ex appearing out of the blue, three is most definitely a crowd.
Can she face up to her past, and find her heart's desire? A quiet life running the family inn just isn't for her. But it's not long before her misbehaviour draws the attention of the rugged, sexy sheriff - who'd love to tame her wild ways.
Suddenly she can't put a foot wrong without him hot on her heels. Sort of. And it's all Clive Alexander's fault- Oops. Like I said, I'll explain about him later. As for the beginning of the end of Kate as I knew her, it started when a makeup artist and his crew stopped me and my housemate on a San Francisco street and asked if we'd like to be made over for an upcoming issue of Changes magazine.
Tempting, especially as I'd recently cornered my reflection and decided that something had to be done to stop the downward slide of the woman in the mirror.
Which brings me back to Clive Alexander. Anyway, call it fate or just plain chance, standing before me was the fashionably bald Michael Palmier. And he wanted to transform me, among other things. Turns out he's also a pretty good kisser, though not as good as Clive- I digress. Or should I say obsess? Of course, I suppose that's my cue to rewind and begin with the night Clive entered my relatively uncomplicated sphere of existence.
The night those unblinking eyes swept through me as if I were invisible. The night I took up residence in front of my bathroom mirror instead of cracking open my Bible. The night I excused myself from Bible study by calling the exercise before the mirror "soul-searching.
Couldn't have been further from the truth.
Is it my imagination, or did a tuxedoed Brad Pitt just walk through the doors of one of San Francisco's most exclusive children's clothing stores? I blink behind my rectangular specs to bring his profile into sharper focus. But as it's been ages since I've seen a pic of Brad sporting anything other than bed-tousled hair, I can't be certain if this clean-cut male specimen is him. Definitely calls for a closer look. As I step forward, a voice at my back murmurs, "GQ.
Very GQ. From his hiked eyebrow, the peak of which disappears into the dark brown hair playing across his brow, it's obvious he's also taking in the Brad-ish guy. Giving my best don't-even-think-about-it glower, I cuff his shoulder.
However, just as he never misses an opportunity to rib me, I never miss the opportunity to return the favor-even though we sometimes push it too far. He lifts the hand that bears a gold band and wiggles his fingers. Belle's the only one for me. Despite marriage's supporters, it's not for everyone. Not that I rule it out completely. Rather, singledom is simply the conclusion I reach each time something promising dissolves into something ,,, not so promising.
As an added benefit, the dry spells inherent in selective dating are a little easier to bear. As in must have credentials, and topping that list is that "The One" be a Christian. Not that I haven't fudged a time or two ,,, make that three "I know I can change him" , but without fail I've regretted lifting the ban on what others call a "discriminatory" practice. Of course, some of my Christian dates haven't gone much better, but at least those losses don't seem to cut as deep.
As I sidle nearer, Beau halts to the left of his target and thrusts a hand forward. When Brad-ish turns to him, I'm treated to a head-on view. Definitely not Brad. Smile aside, his eyes are less-than-unearthly blue, jaw relatively narrow, and skin on the weathered side. As for his size, though his shoulders are broad, his height falls short. Not that ex-Brad-ish isn't attractive. He's simply not flawless.
In his midforties perhaps?
How do you do it? Although I sometimes forget to step back and marvel at the talent God has given me, once a project comes together, I'm amazed-and humbled-as there's no denying that it wasn't a solo undertaking. I sigh. My little girl would love a Kate Mae Meadows room.
Shortly, she loops an arm through that of an older man, who regards her with an I-am-so-bored expression that brightens only when a server appears bearing a tray of desserts. He helps himself to one but shakes his head when Olivia reaches for the tray. Mustn't ruin that pretty figure, I surmise as I watch her sparkle sputter.
Why, oh why, do so many sacrifice so much for the sake of outward appearances? I yank my thoughts back. Who knows? Maybe Olivia is cavity prone ,,, or diabetic ,,, or allergic ,,, Belle, the first half of Belle and Beau's Boutique, appears before me. I really appreciate your putting on this 'do. Did I really say that? I've heard S.
Why, even some husbands and wives refer to the other as an S. It's so ,,, impersonal. As if a loved one warrants little more than the status of something approaching a scouring pad.
Belle's lids narrow. Mind if I read something into it? You know I've given up on men. So what's the big deal? Makes it sound as if- "And of course, it is only March. Who knows, but at this rate, you might just top last year's New Year's-er, New Month's-resolutions. In the unlikelihood that I finally meet "The One," it will be because God dropped him in my lap.
Hmm ,,, I glance at Brad-ish. Sure would be nice if he was searching for a soft landing. Maybe I am being a bit hasty with my "thou shalt embrace singledom and be unbelievably, inconceivably happy" creed.
All thoughts of my moratorium on men take a giant step back. Please, God, let this baby make it. Belle's strong, but another miscarriage- "Past the halfway mark," she says. Peering into her angular face, the edges of which pregnancy has begun to soften, I pop a worry-free smile in place.
And the reason I've given up on men. No, Charles wasn't ancient or enormously fat. In fact, he was something of a looker. Literally, though, think dark specs, white cane, and guide dog.
Not that I have anything against the visually impaired, but when he used his disability as an excuse to grope me- Honestly! Right there in the restaurant in front of everyone.