Sometimes being outnumbered is a good thing--a very good thing! Harper When I signed up for an app that let me make some extra cash attending events with single men, I had no idea it would lead me to fall in love--four times! Scott is a caring organic farmer with muscles like no other. Damien is one of the richest men in the world who knows how to spoil me. Rafe is a famous quarterback who always hits me in the right spot. And then there's Tomas, my former professor turned Latin lover. It's scary dating four men, but they don't mind. In fact, they like how happy I am this way. Jack, however, my ex, is not exactly happy to find out my new situation. He'll stop at nothing to have me as his own--and share me with no one. When he goes too far, will my men be able to save me? If you love steamy reverse harem books, this new series from the author of Realm of the Chosen and Ember's Flames is perfect for you. Why choose if you don't have to?
View More*Tomas*I know Harper well enough by now to see when stress is eating her alive, even when she tries to hide it behind that bright, brave smile. Her art show has been consuming every spare second of her time, and on top of that, she still acts like Carmen is going to jump out at her every time we’re out together.That’s why today is all about her.She has no idea what I have planned, and the look of surprise when I show up at her door with a coffee in one hand and a bag of pastries in the other makes me feel like I already won the day.“Buenos días, preciosa.” I kiss her cheek as she opens the door, stepping inside before she can protest. “I’m stealing you for the day.”She blinks at me, still in her robe, hair a messy knot on top of her head. “Stealing me? What do you mean?”“I made an itinerary.” I wave a folded piece of paper in front of her face, then set it on the counter. “You deserve a ‘you day,’ Harper. No painting, no stress. Just you being pampered like the queen you are.”H
*Harper*I’m practically vibrating with excitement when I burst into the apartment, nearly knocking poor McKenzy off the couch. She’s got paint in her hair, a bowl of popcorn balanced on her lap, and her laptop open to some DIY tutorial. The moment she sees my face, her eyes go wide.“Okay, what’s got you bouncing off the walls like a caffeinated squirrel?” she asks, grinning as she sets her popcorn aside.“We’re doing it!” I practically sing, spinning in a circle. “We’re having our art show. And it’s going to be huge.”McKenzy gasps and leaps off the couch to grab my hands. “Shut up. Are you serious? How did this happen?”“Damien,” I answer, breathless from my impromptu happy dance. “I mentioned it to him, and before I could even finish the sentence, he had this whole plan. He said he’s going to blast it all over social media and call in favors from every art critic, influencer, and high-society snob he knows.”McKenzy’s jaw drops. “Holy shit. You know what this means, right?”“That
*Harper*McKenzy’s perched on top of a step stool, paintbrush clenched between her teeth, holding two wildly different knobs up to a half-finished dresser. One is sleek brass, the other shaped like a ceramic lemon.“I’m thinking weird fruit motif,” she says around the brush. “Or is that too quirky farm wife?”“Knowing you,” I say, smearing cobalt blue across my latest canvas, “it’s exactly the right amount of quirky farm wife.”She grins and tosses the lemon knob into her tool bag. “Perfect. If Scott hates it, I’ll tell him to take it up with my creative genius.”The studio feels especially bright today, sunlight spilling through the windows, illuminating the organized chaos we’ve turned it into. My corner smells like oil paint and turpentine. McKenzy’s side smells like sawdust and wood stain.McKenzy spins on her stool, eyeing my painting. “That’s new.”“Just started it last night,” I say. “It’s about Melody. Sort of.”She leans closer, frowning slightly. “It’s angry.”“It’s complica
*Harper*My third cup of coffee sits half-finished on the table, paint still clinging to the edges of my nails from a morning spent lost in my latest piece. McKenzy’s out running errands, the apartment is quiet, and I’m riding the kind of creative high that only comes when everything just clicks.I’m about to dip my brush into a streak of deep teal when my phone buzzes. I grab it without thinking, expecting McKenzy or Scott or maybe one of the guys.It’s the gallery in Chicago.My stomach flips.“Hello?” I answer, trying not to sound like someone who just inhaled a cinnamon roll while juggling a paintbrush between her teeth.“Harper! It’s Stephanie at the Whitney.” Her voice is bright, almost bubbly. That’s already a good sign.“Hi!” I tuck the phone between my ear and shoulder, scrambling for a notepad in case I need to write anything down.“I hope I’m not interrupting, but I wanted to call personally,” Stephanie says. “We’ve had some really wonderful interest in your work after that
*Scott*The house feels too quiet when Harper’s not here. Even with Milo chasing his tail in the living room and the soft hum of the radio in the kitchen, it’s not the same. There’s no burst of laughter from the next room, no clatter of her paintbrushes or the sound of her humming off-key while she raids my fridge.I knew when we started this wild, unconventional, what-the-hell-are-we-even-doing relationship that Harper would never belong to just me, and I accepted that. Most days, I’m fine with it. But when she’s in San Francisco, it’s impossible not to feel like I’m missing a part of her. Still, that’s my problem, not hers.So the second I hear she’s back in town, I text her.Me: Dinner at my place? Home-cooked. I promise.Her response comes almost immediately.Harper: Does this include puppy snuggles? Because I miss Milo. (And you, I guess.)I laugh out loud, shaking my head.Me: I’ll allow it. Be ready at six.When she slides into my truck, Milo goes ballistic, wiggling all over t
*Harper*Flying with Damien never stops feeling opulent. The jet is sleek and perfect, just like everything he owns. The leather seats are softer than my actual bed, and the flight attendant knows my drink order before I even ask.Damien’s beside me, dressed too well for travel, effortlessly handsome in that “I own the world” way that still leaves me slightly breathless.I sip my champagne, curling my legs under me as the clouds drift past the window. “So, just out of curiosity, what do you think regular people do when they want to visit their boyfriend in another state?”Damien grins, stretching an arm across the back of my seat. “I have no idea.”I laugh, leaning into him, the bubbles already fizzing pleasantly in my bloodstream.Before long, we’ve landed and made our way through town to Levi’s Stadium. The place is loud and alive, fans decked out in red and gold, chanting and waving banners. Damien’s private box is, as always, the best seat in the house.Rafe looks incredible on th
*Harper*My phone rings as I’m balancing a coffee mug in one hand and my sketchpad in the other. I almost ignore it, but the Chicago area code catches my eye. It’s the Whitney Gallery. I set everything down and grab my phone just before the call rolls to voicemail. “Hello?”“Hi, is this Harper Ward?”“This is she.”“This is Stephanie from the Whitney Gallery in Chicago. I’m calling with some incredible news.”I blink, my heart leaping into my throat. “Go on,” I squeak out, annoyed by how amateur I sound. “We sold your piece,” she says, her voice bubbling with excitement. “It went for considerably more than the asking price. You’ll be receiving a huge check from us.”“Oh, my God,” I breathe, my knees weakening until I have to lean against the counter. “That’s… wow. That’s amazing.”“It’s well deserved,” Stephanie says warmly. “We’d love to have more of your work if you’re interested.”“I’m definitely interested,” I manage, my mind spinning.We wrap up the call, and when I hang up, I j
*Tomas*I don’t plan to take Harper to the salsa club tonight. It’s our place, our little pocket of rhythm and heat where we move together like our bodies were made to match. But it’s also somewhere Carmen knows I’ll be. And lately, I can’t shake the feeling that she isn’t done making trouble for us. So I call Harper and suggest something different.“A jazz club?” she repeats, sounding both surprised and intrigued.“Sí,” I say, smiling into the phone. “It’s not as spicy, but it has its own kind of heat. You’ll see.”She laughs, soft and sweet, and I already know tonight is going to be perfect.When I pull up to her apartment, she’s already waiting outside, wearing a silky black dress that clings to her curves like it was painted on. Her hair tumbles over her shoulders in soft waves, her lips painted a deep red that’s already staining my imagination.“Dios mío,” I murmur, stepping out to open the passenger door for her. “You are dangerous, mi preciosa.”She smiles, slow and knowing, an
*Harper*A few days later, Rafe calls mid-morning, his voice soft and a little guilty, like he’s been sitting with something too heavy for too long.“Hey,” he says when I answer. “You got a minute?”I sink into the couch, tucking my legs under me and feeling oddly nervous.“Of course.”There’s a short pause, but long enough for me to know this isn’t just a casual check-in.“I’ve been thinking about the party,” he says. “About McNaught.”I close my eyes briefly. “Rafe—”“No, just let me say this.” His voice is firm, but there’s worry underneath. “I should’ve shut that down before it even started. I knew he was weird about me taking the starting spot, and I saw how he was looking at you when I introduced you. I just didn’t think–”“That he’d corner me?” I finish for him.“Yeah.” His sigh is heavy. “That’s on me.”“No,” I say, keeping my voice gentle. “That’s on him. You’re not responsible for what some jealous creep does after too many drinks.”He goes quiet for a second. “I still feel
Harper“You should totally do it. My sister made loads of money. I think she paid off all her student loans!” McKenzy says, tapping the ‘Apply’ button on the screen insistently.I look at https://atalooseend.com like it’s a snake that’s going to bite me. How did it come to this?!“You’re a poor, starving artist who doesn’t sell enough pieces to cover the rent,” she answers my unspoken question, her tone flat. “You have student loans so far up your ass you can taste the red ink! Trust me, this is your best option.”“But… what if they want sex?” I question, wondering if I have it in me to become an escort. I’ve never done anything like that before, though I’m certainly not a virgin.McKenzy stabs her finger at the bold, red, 64-font words on the ‘About’ page. “‘Dates are NOT required to or encouraged to provide sex or engage in sexual acts’. It’s even in the legalese we read in the sample contract. Big and bold. In fact, if we go to the home page…” She reaches over my shoulder and maneu...
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