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436 pages, Kindle Edition
First published April 30, 2017


He may think he knows women, but he doesn't know me, and I'm going to take him down, while possibly winning a Pulitzer in the process.
"Wait," I say gobsmacked. "You think I'm going to fall in love with you?"
"No. I know it." I'm rendered speechless at his ridiculousness, and that just makes him smile more.
"If you think I'll be easily swayed by your charms, you're going to be disappointed."
"Make no mistake, Miss Tate, by the time I'm finished with you, you'll have left behind your cynical husk and be a romance junkie like the rest of us."
"When I'm with you, you're all I see."
He grabs my face with both hands and presses me back into the wall as he captures my lips with his...It's the only time I've ever felt like I was awake and dreaming at the same time."

"Even if this whole thing goes down in flames, you're already the best bad decision I've ever made."


Max Riley is the man of your dreams.
Or at least he will be, for a price...
As his alter-ego Mister Romance, Max is a drop-dead gorgeous escort who makes romantic fantasies come to life. No sex, just swoon-worthy dates to die for, and the cream of New York's socialites can't get enough. Whether they want a dominating billionaire, bad boy with a heart of gold, hot geek, sexy biker, or best friend who loves them from afar, Max can make it all happen, but he's careful to keep his real identity a secret.
Enter investigative journalist Eden Tate. Having caught wind of the urban legend of Mister Romance from a lovestruck client, Eden is determined to publish a scathing expose on Max and his ability to swindle lonely society women out of their fortunes.
Desperate to protect his anonymity and his clients, Max challenges Eden to give him three dates. If she doesn't fall in love with him, she can run her story with his blessing. If she succumbs to his charms, the story dies.
Cynical Eden has no doubt she can resist his fake romance personas, but when the real Max admits he’s falling for her, she has to decide if the professional liar is telling the truth, or if the passionate man with the mysterious past is just one more character designed to con her out of her career-making story...
“So what you’re telling me,” I say, as I pour two cups of fresh Joe, “is that this mythical man-beast [is] some kind of… what? Superhero gigolo?”
“He’s an escort,” Asha clarifies.
“Isn’t that just a fancy label for man-whore?”
“No. He doesn’t have sex with his clients.”
I pass her a tip of coffee. “You just told me he did.”
“No,” she says… “I said he makes their romantic fantasies come to life.”
“And that doesn’t include sex.”
“No.”
“You’re telling me that women hire a man to make their romantic fantasies come to life? Come on. There’s no way that’s a thing.”
“Miss Tate, if you don’t stop and listen for five seconds, I’m going to kiss the hell out of you in front of your gran then drop to one knee and propose. If you think she’s obsessed with marrying you off now, imagine what she’d be like after that.”
He’s so close it takes me a second to get used to the heat of his proximity. “You wouldn’t.”
“Kept talking and find out.”
“And you went on your whole anti-love, fuck-relationships rant, and he still said he’s going to win you over? Was he drunk?”
“He actually said he’s going to make me fall in love with him.”
Surely he hasn’t learned all of this just for his business. It seems too natural. In fact, if someone told me that Caleb is his real personality and Max is the fake one, I’d believe them. His acting is impeccable.
“Do you want me to kiss you, Miss Tate?”
God, yes.
And God, no.
There’s no easy answer to this question. Kissing him would be wonderful and terrible. It would be like claiming a lion as a pet and counting down the days until it mauled me.
“It’s not a hard question,” he says. “Either you want me to or you don’t.”
“Is this your way of seducing me into dropping my story?”
His nose brushes mine, and I shiver as I grip the front of his shirt.
“That’s one explanation. A cynical one, of course, but I’ve come to expect that from you. Maybe I want to kiss you. Find out how your lips taste.”
“It’s ironic,” he says as we sway to the music. “So many women hold me up as the paragon of a perfect man, and they couldn’t be more wrong. If only they knew the truth.”
… “What truth are you talking about?”
He pulls me closer. “Can we just dance? I’d like a little more time before you look at me like I’m a piece of shit.”
“Uh… what’s happening?”
“I’m taking off my shirt.”
“Why?”
“Because we’ve apparently reached the portion of the evening where we get semi-naked to torture the other person.”
He pulls off his shirt and throws in onto the stool with his jacket, and I’ll admit it, I gape… I’ve seen glimpses of his naked torso before now, but never the whole thing. And here he is, standing there wearing only his slim-cut dinner pants and a pissed-off expression, and I can’t remember a single reason why I haven’t licked him yet.
“Have you ever felt true joy, Eden?”
I have to think about it for a few seconds. I’ve spent so long dulling my pain, joy kind of got lost in the mix. “I don’t think so. Or at least if I have, I don’t remember.”
“Me, neither. I’ve found a lot of ways to simulate it over the years, but that’s like renting a fancy car for the day and pretending you’re a millionaire. It’s self-delusion… But standing here, holding you… this feels like the real deal.”
“We’ve all been hurt. We’re all broken in places. But romance gives us a way to forget about that for a while and believe that fairytales can come true.”
“Everything is ordinary until someone loves it, then it transforms. Suddenly it’s beautiful. Incredible. Priceless. Everyone deserves to feel priceless at least once in their lives.”
“Everything else in my life is optional, except you. You’re essential.”

He sets up all these amazing scenarios. You know the tropes: damaged billionaire, sexy bad boy, devoted best friend, hottie contractor. He has this whole range of characters that don’t usually exist outside of romance novels, and the word is he blows his clients’ minds.

This is what loving gets you. This expanding world of pain. Because no one stays forever. They all leave in the end
Being alone for too long isn’t healthy. Loneliness is like a big, empty room inside you that echoes with all the sounds of the life you’re not living. So you fill it with stuff--work, friends, pets--and over the years it becomes bearable, then comfortable. And after many years it’s so safe and warm, it becomes the new normal. And the worst part is, it’s so full of fake comforts, there’s no room for anyone else.


“Will you play something for me?”
He smiles. “I have a better idea. You play something.”
“I doubt your ego could withstand my epic rendition of Chopsticks. It’s twelve minutes long, and I perform part of it with my nose. You’d be shamed beyond belief and never play again.”
He chuckles. “Maybe you should play something less impressive.”
“Everything else in my life is optional, except you. You’re essential.”


















MISTER ROMANCE was the most amazing & beautiful & funny & heartwarming lovestory! I don't have any words to describe why it's worth reading ... just .... run to your nearest amazon for your own Mister Romance (this one is MINE!) - you won't regret it!

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He’s not a friend. He’s not a lover. He’s a walking, breathing erogenous zone who fascinates me and infuriates me in equal measure. He’s like a wild beast that can rip out my internal organs with no effort at all, and now that he’s invading my inner sanctum, I’m horrified to find I enjoy having him here. It’s bizarre and unsettling.
“When I'm with you, you're all I see.”

“Do you still think that happy endings are a myth?”
“I may not believe in happy endings, but happy beginnings are another story.”




“If you think you’re immune to my charms, you’re fooling yourself.”
… “So, you don’t think any woman can resist you?”
“I’m sure plenty of women could. But you? No. You’re so starved of romance in your life, you’re like an emotional skeleton. I intend to put some meat back on your bones. Make you believe in something other than a bleak apocalypse.”
“We all have issues we’re trying to overcome, Miss Tate. Everyone wants to feel special, whether we admit it or not. And loving without limits and allowing ourselves to be loved in return is what life’s all about. Or at least, what it should be about. Everything else just gets in the way.”
“We all need fantasies now and then. Sometimes believing our lives can be different is the only thing that keeps us going.”
“Max?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you ever just take off your shirt and flex in front of a mirror? You know, to perv on your own hotness?”
“No. Do you ever take off your shirt and caress your breasts, just for the hell of it?”
I shrug. “Sometimes. When I get stressed, I cup my boobs and give them a reassuring squeeze.”
“Good information. Next time you’re stressing I’ll have to try that.”
He’s a walking, breathing erogenous zone who fascinates me and infuriates me in equal measures.
“The one thing I’ve learned while doing this work is that as much as I enjoy playing out romantic fantasies, it’s still just pretend, and more and more I’m craving something real.”

“You’re not my client. You never have been. And even if you were, I’d break every fucking rule I’ve ever held sacred just to be inside you right now.”
“You disrupted my entire world, Even Tate. I’m used to being the one in control. The one people fall in love with. I’m not supposed to fall in love.”
It’s been a while since I’ve read such an original story. It was funny, cute and the MMC was so swoon-worthy at times. What I also really liked it’s that the FMC was the one that didn’t want commitment when it’s usually the other way around. Nanabeth was amazing and I liked the other side characters too so I’m definitely going to read the next book in the series. 4 ⭐
PS: I have to disagree with the author/FMC’s sister when it comes to the Fast and Furious movies, I remember clearly all of them.