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Amy Bello’s such a flirt that she should come with her own buyer-beware warning. Dante Fagioli, a Italian F1 Team Owner happens to think she’s nothing but trouble.

So, when small-town sass meets billionaire discipline… let’s just say, the real heat isn’t just coming from the track.

Coming soon in May. Buckle up! Get YOUR Pre-order Copy Today!

If you are new to my books—WELCOME!

I write #1 best selling new releases where love is both tender and thrilling, My books are spicy and sweet, immersive and heartfelt romances packed with intense heat and unforgettable chemistry. Please check out these Billionaire Protectors! They are waiting for you!

Off-Limits Billionaire Enemy Protector When a sexy, lonely athlete meets a fierce, compassionate and curvy social worker, their undeniable attraction blurs every boundary—and neither of them is ready to surrender. Enemies with combustible sparks? Oh, you know there’s a wildfire coming.

Off-Limits Billionaire Bossy Protector When he’s the boss both in and out of the office, things get hot fast with his sister's curvy best friend . Warning: This billionaire doesn’t just break the rules—he rewrites them.

Faking It with the Billionaire Alpha Protector When an alpha hockey legend has to pose and seduce his best friend's curvy, brilliant sister for a charity photoshoot, funds aren’t the only thing being raised. Quickies aren’t enough to quench their desires, and their scorching chemistry threatens to turn this fake relationship into a very real, very irresistible happily ever after.

Nanny for the Billionaire Grumpy Protector When a curvy, virgin nanny collides with a brooding, irresistible MLB pitcher, sparks fly. She’s more than a handful—and a mouthful—and this dreamy ace quickly discovers that home runs aren’t just for the field.

PUCK Buddy When a cocky, sinfully hot NHL goalie finds himself playing roommate with his curvy, tomboy, virgin best friend, things get messy—Fast! She’s his favorite sparring partner, his late-night craving, and the one woman he can’t cross the line with… until keeping his hands to himself is no longer an option. Friends to lovers? More like best friends turned student and teacher in the hottest game of their lives.

My tales of irresistible attraction, loyalty, and the undeniable pull of true love is perfect for those who adore powerful billionaires falling hopelessly in love with their one and only woman.

My greatest wish is that you felt the sincerity and passion I poured into creating this story—a tale filled with heart, heat, and a touch of light.

Psst! Here’s a sneak peek of Chapter 1 of PUCK Buddy—the book that started it all.

Before Noah and June, there was Lily and Levi: best friends who found out it's more than okay to be the HOTTEST Mistake of their lives… when one innocent lesson plan spiraled way out of control!

Chapter One: Thin Walls

Lily Midnight in Cedar Falls, and I’m wide awake, courtesy of the symphony of passion coming from upstairs.

Every muffled gasp, every creak rattles through my paper-thin walls, a masterclass in pleasure I didn’t ask for.

Why? Because this two-hundred-year-old building at 24 Maple Lane is one of those quirky historic structures Cedar Falls loves to brag about, brimming with “character” and “history”—realtor-speak for: the walls are so thin you can’t hide a sneeze from hear your neighbors, let alone anything… spicier.

It used to be an auxiliary building of an actual sugar mill back in the day, with its weathered red bricks and those giant arched windows that everyone in town swears give it charm.

Now, it's called Sugar Mills Lofts, and tonight, it’s moonlighting as an amplifier for Sofia and Daniel’s vigorous marital bliss.

To be fair, the building is my pride and joy, even if it tests my patience. It’s a work-in- constant -progress in restoration.

Thirty years ago, my dad expanded his modest confectionary business, Candy Jar, into the first floor of this three-storied landmark property on Maple Lane.

First, he leased it. Then, by the time my parents were married, and I was born, he had already purchased the entire first floor outright from its previous owner, and Candy Jar became our permanent home.

Two years ago, I scraped together every ounce of my courage, business savvy, and adulthood to purchase the entire three-storied brick beauty, intent on preserving my dad’s legacy after he was gone.

Owning the shop had meant stepping into his big shoes—but it also gave me a chance to make my mark.

It gave me the perfect excuse to leave Wall Street.

I made the choice to return to the town that felt more like home and to a slower pace of life that better suited my small-town soul.

While I’d thrived in the cutthroat world of high finance, my tomboyish, laid-back personality had never quite meshed with the glitz and spectacle of it all.

But there was a part of me that loved the challenge of numbers and strategy, a part that missed the thrill of being a finance prodigy.

So, when I came back to take over the Candy Jar after my dad’s passing three years ago, I made a deal with myself to embrace both sides of me. Preserving my dad’s legacy? Check.

And I decided to lend my financial skills to Janice and Mark, the aging owners of Cornerstone Financial Services in Cedar Falls, the very mentors who had first ignited my passion for money management.

Helping them keep their business thriving allows me to flex some of my Wall Street chops and keep my love for finance alive.

Over the last two years, I turned the top floor into a rental, while I occupy the second floor. And Candy Jar remains on the first floor as our storefront.

So, by day, I’m the queen of confections, spinning sugar and air into edible candied masterpieces, and raking in sweet profits.

By night, whenever needed, I tackle the tricky, complex cases for Janice and Mark, ensuring the town’s only mom-and-pop finance service stays on track.

And tonight? I'm unfortunately, an unwilling audience, my ears held hostage by the high-octane rhapsody playing upstairs.

It is also a stark reminder that while I've perfected the art of sugar, I’ve overlooked an equally important part of my own life.

The honest truth? At twenty-four years old, I am as inexperienced at love as a nun at a biker rally.

Virgin Tomboy— a title I wear just as comfortably as my ratty oversized sweaters and scuffed combat boots.

My curves didn’t make their debut until I was seventeen, and by then, I was too busy chasing my college dream of becoming the youngest graduate with a master’s in finance while helping my dad at the Candy Jar every spare moment.

The part of life that involves men, dates, or even meaningful flirting? That got pushed to the back burner.

And when I say back burner, I mean a cold back burner. Like, I’d-need-a-defrost-cycle cold.

You know that whole “sex, drugs, and rock and roll” phase everyone has in college? My practical side didn’t leave much room for... experimentation.

And as slow as my curves were to arrive, my breasts seem determined to make up for lost time—especially over the past two years, when they went from a B to an F cup.

Honestly? I don’t get it. And I am not sure what to do with them!

So here I am, a virgin as the untouched as the sheets of sugar I temper each morning, my sexual exploration stunted by my delayed puberty and my tomboy ways.

A particularly enthusiastic thump from my tenants rattles the ceiling, followed by Sofia’s breathless plea, “Harder, Dan!”

My breath hitches—not because I want to hear this, but because, suddenly, I’m the one turned on.

Great. Just what I need: another reminder that even my hormones haven’t gotten the memo—I’m supposed to be focused on my life goals.

My traitorous hand drifts, my fingers, hesitant but curious, and when they brush the soft swell of my breast, I can't help the hitch in my breath.

My skin is fevered, alive in a way I don't understand yet can’t seem to resist.

It’s a discovery I’ve stumbled upon before—the sensitivity of my own body—something I’ve always chalked up to late-blooming hormones.

Focus, Lily, You’re above this!

But the pace upstairs quickens, the sound of skin against skin filling the silence like a slap, and—oh my—I clench my thighs involuntarily. Maybe if I just ignore it—

Another moan. “Yes, yes, yes!”

Nope, not ignoring it.

There’s a warm, delicious ache building low in my belly, and I press my thighs together, hoping to snuff it out.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t work. I feel hotter and more bothered.

I sigh and throw back the covers as I stare up at the ceiling.

My wayward thoughts betray me, imagining what’s happening above me in vivid detail: the heat between them, the way their hands probably roam over each other’s skin, the breathless way they call out each other’s names…

My fingers twitch against my stomach.

No, don’t do it. This is ridiculous.

But the ache refuses to go away, and the sounds from above keep feeding it.

I press my hand lightly against my lower belly, just to see if that helps, but my breath catches instead.

That tiny bit of pressure sends a spark through my entire body, and I realize just how tense I’ve been all night.

The loud, feminine screech that roused me from my sleep ten minutes ago morphs into a series of moans. “Yes, Dan, yes, I need more!” Sofia screams, and I can’t hold back anymore.

I slip my hands up my tank top again and caress my breasts once more.

I shouldn’t be touching myself to the sound of my tenants having sex but I can’t seem to stop myself.

Sofia and Dan are a newly wedded couple, and when they came to rent the upstairs loft three weeks ago, my initial thought had been “What a lovely, sweet couple.”

Clearly, I misjudged them. Those two are the loudest sex fiends I’ve ever met.

From what I’ve heard so far, their love repertoire ranges from dirty talk that could make a sailor blush to role-playing, bondage, and spanking…

I’m even fairly sure I heard a third voice up there once—though I try not to dwell on it too much.

Usually, I’d plug my ears to drown out the sound of them going at it, and sometimes I’m so tired from work that I sleep through it. But tonight is different.

Probably because ever since that tall, blue-eyed, golden-haired Adonis stepped into my candy shop this afternoon with his tailored clothes and a jawline that could cut glass, I’ve forgotten how to adult.

My nipples tighten further at the memory of what kickstarted this hormonal rebellion.

Him. Jules Kingsley. The new-in-town realtor who stopped a candy gift box from falling off a high shelf and onto my head earlier.

As he shoved the box inward to avoid it tipping over again, his body pressed against the back of mine… So hard and delicious … I could feel the outline of the muscles hidden beneath his clothes.

He had my heart fluttering with awareness.

It’s all I can think about, that and the feel of his large palm on the small of my waist as he gently led me away from the shelves.

His fingers were strong—warm and wide and pressing just enough to send a little shiver down my spine.

And the way he smelled? Like Cedar and ambition.

I was half convinced he’d strolled in from some GQ shoot and gotten lost en route to Colorado's millionaire ski lodges.

“More, Daniel. Harder!” Sofia screams again, and her husband heeds her pleas to the point where my wall rattles.

Grunts mixed with moans of pleasure pierce through the ceiling of my bedroom.

Sofia’s cries resonate within me, a siren call to the part of me I've never paid attention to nor indulged.

Heat coils low in my belly, my legs pressing together on instinct.

There's a wetness there that's mine, and it's begging for attention I'm too nervous to give.

And why not? Isn’t this normal? Or at least should be?

Yet this feels terrifying, like I’m breaking some unwritten contract I’ve made with myself to remain untouched until I find... what? Someone perfect? Someone who doesn’t exist?

I'm torn between desire and inexperience, a virgin's curiosity battling within me.

My fingers dance over my breasts, each touch, a note in a song of self-discovery.

The warmth builds low in my belly, rising in waves that I can’t quite suppress.

My fingers trail along my breasts and I bite my lip as heat floods through me, hesitant, needy, but impossible to resist.

It’s not just about the sounds upstairs anymore. It’s about me, finally giving myself permission to feel.

Like a thousand tiny suns are flaring inside me, my body lights up as I squeeze my large sensitive breasts.

A flicker of heat spread across my skin and as I flick a nipple between my thumb and finger.

I immediately feel a flutter in my stomach and a growing wetness pooling between my thighs.

My heartbeat drums in my ears, quickening as the sounds from upstairs grow more intense and insistent.

Instinctively, I pinch my nipple so hard that a moan slips out of my mouth.

My chest rises as I breathe heavily, imagining that it is Jules’ hands stroking my breasts instead.

The rhythmic slap of skin against skin, the raw passion and urgency spilling from Sofia and Daniel, has me squeezing my thighs, heat pooling low in my belly.

I wish I were brave enough to let my hand slide lower, to explore the ache building within me.

I’ve never touched myself there before—never felt the need.

Breast play alone has always been enough to leave me panting, my body trembling.

But Jules’ presence stirred something in me today, something I can’t ignore.

The heavy ache I’ve learned to ignore is so prominent now that it’s like a dam in me has broken, accompanied by a rush of desire.

“Oh, oh, I’m coming, Dan. I’m coming!” The screams come again, and I know that Sofia has reached her climax.

I pull my blanket tighter around myself, going from one nipple to another.

Eyes tightly shut; I bite my lips to stop myself from moaning out loud when I feel my legs start to shake.

In a matter of seconds, all the pressure building up inside me is released, and it’s the most wonderful feeling ever.

The throbbing deep in me doesn’t fade, and I feel myself heading towards something I’ve never experienced.

It's like a sweet rush of sugar to the bloodstream, heady and intoxicating.

My body bows under the weight of my own inexperienced touch.

But in the quiet aftermath, as sleep pulls me under, it’s not cornflower blue eyes I see—it’s stormy gray ones.

I bolt upright in bed, heart hammering, as a noise echoes through the silent candy shop downstairs. It’s faint but unmistakable—a stealthy shuffle, followed by a muffled scrape and the clatter of something hitting the floor. I’m wide awake now, every muscle taut, listening.

There it is again.

It has to be that stray cat I spent hours trying to catch earlier today. The little pest had proven to be too elusive for me. I make a mental note to call animal control first thing in the morning.

Still, I can’t shake the unease prickling up my spine. What if it’s not a cat?

My imagination starts to run wild. An intruder? A serial killer with a sweet tooth?

I grab my trusty, beat-up baseball bat from the corner. It’s not exactly an heirloom—it was a practical dad-to-daughter graduation gift when I moved to NYC for my internship on Wall Street, a “just in case.” And tonight? Case in point.

It’s solid, reassuring, and absolutely necessary right now.

Better safe than sorry.

Gripping it tightly, I creep down the narrow staircase. My heart pounding like a kick drum. Moonlight streams through the arched windows, painting silvery streaks across the countertops and shelves. The cheerful candy jars gleam like innocent bystanders, oblivious to the unease pooling in my gut.

I creep past the displays, my breaths coming in short, shaky puffs. I should’ve called the police. But no, I can’t risk them laughing at me for being scared of a cat. A scaredy cat.

Brilliant, Lily. Now you can die as the punniest, bravest woman on the planet.

Something tumbles over near the register. My pulse goes into overdrive. Against every ounce of logic in my body screaming at me to call the cops, I keep moving.

Shadows slither across the shop windows, and the air feels heavy, pressing in around me. Everyone in Cedar Falls would call me insane if I died defending a sugar sculpture display, but at least I'd die on theme.

Focusing on the task at hand, I tiptoe closer to the counter, and a shadow shifts in the corner. My grip tightens on the bat, and when I raise it above my head, I’m suddenly hit with the feeling of déjà vu.

“Hey!” I shout, raising the bat above my head, voice trembling but resolute. “Whoever you are, you better—”

The shadow lunges, and I swing.

A hand shoots out and knocks the bat out of my hand mid-swing with startling precision. A strong arm wraps around me, pulling me flush against a solid chest, effectively pinning me in place. I struggle for a moment, but his grip is firm, unyielding.

“Easy, Winslow,” comes a low, teasing drawl that’s annoyingly familiar. “You know, we really should stop meeting like this.”

My body relaxes as a faint glow illuminates the space between us. He’s holding up his cell phone, its light casting shadows across his face. My stomach flips as a familiar pair of gray eyes, sharp and laced with amusement, meet mine.

“Levi?” I blurt out, disbelief threading through my voice as I stare at him in the dim light. My pulse pounds as I struggle to reconcile how this moment is even happening. “What the heck are you doing here?”

~ Chapter One of Emma Bloom's Hilarious, Sexy and Oo.. so Steamy PUCK Buddy !