The Most Wanted Series by Mary Ann Marlowe

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ "A beautiful love story. ". —Robinne Lee,. USA Today. best-selling author of. The Idea of You. My best friend recognized the international rock god before I did, but by then it was too late. I'd already slept with him. In my defense, I'd gone out to the club to support my brother's music career, and Adam stopped by the merch table shrouded in a hoodie, sporting grungy jeans and a threadbare T-shirt from a long-forgotten AC/DC concert... more⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ "A beautiful love story. ". —Robinne Lee,. USA Today. best-selling author of. The Idea of You. My best friend recognized the international rock god before I did, but by then it was too late. I'd already slept with him. In my defense, I'd gone out to the club to support my brother's music career, and Adam stopped by the merch table shrouded in a hoodie, sporting grungy jeans and a threadbare T-shirt from a long-forgotten AC/DC concert. How was I supposed to recognize him? God, it gets worse. When he asked me what I do, I half lied, "My company's developing a perfume. " I couldn't tell him I research boner pills on laboratory mice. Besides, it was true that a coworker had tossed me a vial of some experimental fragrance as I left work. It smelled nice so I tried it on. Adam leaned in. "What's it like? ". I scooted over. "I'm wearing it. ". Gaze locked on mine, he lifted my wrist and brushed his sensuous lips across my skin, breathing in whatever chemical I'd loosed on him. Just like that, an electric charge sparked up my arm. I sucked in a sharp breath, and his eyes dilated black, like this intense desire had surged back toward him. "Mmm," he said. "You smell intoxicating. ". I must have, because he flirted with me, bought me beers… invited me back to his place. I knew I shouldn't go home with him. We were perfect strangers. But God, I wanted to. I wanted more. I wanted him. I thought he wanted me, too. So when my best friend ran an image search the next day, proving the guy I'd hooked up with was THE Adam Copeland, I had to How had I, a biochemist from suburban New Jersey, attracted that sexy out-of-reach rocker? And what the hell was in that perfume? An earlier version of this book was published as Some Kind of Magic. less

Climbing onto the shoulders of a beautiful stranger, I ask myself, Are there no limits to the humiliations I’ll endure for a paycheck? As a tabloid photographer, I demean myself every day hunting trophy shots for my boss—a certified A-hole who doesn’t think I’m cut out for the job. Hoping to prove him wrong, I’ve got my camera trained on an A-lister when some jerk comes out of nowhere and photobombs me. “Who are you shooting? ” Mr... moreClimbing onto the shoulders of a beautiful stranger, I ask myself, Are there no limits to the humiliations I’ll endure for a paycheck? As a tabloid photographer, I demean myself every day hunting trophy shots for my boss—a certified A-hole who doesn’t think I’m cut out for the job. Hoping to prove him wrong, I’ve got my camera trained on an A-lister when some jerk comes out of nowhere and photobombs me. “Who are you shooting? ” Mr. Oblivious stares at me like I’m more interesting than the celebrity up the block, who… has been swallowed up by autograph seekers. Dammit. I wave in frustration toward my lost opportunity. “Nobody, now. ”. A slight smile plays on his gorgeous lips. “Want a boost? ”. Seriously, he’d make a better photo with his golden hair, bright blue eyes, broad shoulders, and tanned skin—like some model for a California travel agency—but I don’t get paid for artsy pics of random hot dudes. My shark of a boss would Get the shot at any cost. And just like that, fear of losing my job overcomes my self-respect. Photobomber drops on his knee, and—I can’t believe I’m doing this—I climb this mouth-wateringly delicious man and ride him like a parade float. And maybe I am an incompetent paparazza because I don’t even realize the dude between my thighs is Micah Sinclair, guitarist for the band The Most Wanted and notorious publicity whore—not until he hands me his business card and flounces. Adding insult to injury, by the time I return to the office—without pictures of the actress or a comment from Micah—social media posts of yours truly atop a bona fide rock star have emerged. My ruthless boss—thinking I’ve made an exploitable connection—gives me a new use Micah to get inside his world and dig up dirt. But once this charming musician takes me in, I’m not sure whose side I’m on. And I think he might be using me. An earlier version of this book was published as A Crazy Kind of Love. less