Landry Family

Alison Baker is over love. Relationships are great. But peace? That’s priceless. The only way to get and keep a calm existence is to stay away from men. This is especially true for wealthy, charming, powerful men like her ex-husband. Then she meets Barrett Landry. He looks dapper standing in front of her in a suit, taking a glass of champagne off her serving tray. He pushes but she pulls. He asks questions. She tries desperately not to answer.

His baseball stats are perfect. When Danielle Ashley looks closer, she realizes so is everything else. A sinful smirk. Downright delicious body. And if the way Lincoln Landry pursues her, even when she tries to shut him down, means anything—so is his stamina. There’s no denying the chemistry between them. Their attraction is fierce. They’re both single, share amazing banter, and they both adore children. What’s the problem? It’s as tangled as their sheets.

Mallory Sims is late for her first day of work. After spilling her tea, she discovers she has no gas in her car. Add that her arm keeps sticking to her dress from syrup left on the console of her car, flustered feels like an understatement. Then she sees her new boss. Graham Landry is the epitome of NSFW in his custom-fit suit, black-rimmed glasses, and a look so stern her libido doesn’t stand a chance. Being flustered is just the start of her problems.

Ellie Pagan has a list of reasons to stay away from Ford Landry. And they were so much easier to stick to when he was a half of a world away. But now, he’s home. Standing in front of her, body hard and chiseled to perfection from his stint in the military, he’s wearing a suit cut to perfect and a smirk she could never resist. Suddenly, all the reasons why she should avoid him just got a whole lot harder to remember. He calls her his first love. He swears he won’t make the mistake of letting her go again. But he’s said that before.

I’m that guy. Camilla Landry rustles against me, the silky fabric of her overpriced lingerie slipping along my bruised rib. The porcelain perfection of her skin is even more innocent against the colorful ink dotting my own. It’s demure meets damaged, pampered meets punctured.