Books by Kelley St. John

Liar, liar…

Collette Campbell wants to be good…to win Bill Brannon’s heart. But she has no idea how to tell him the truth about her position. She isn’t a computer graphics training specialist; she’s an alibi consultant for My Alibi.  And her current contact, the person on the receiving end of her talented prevarication skills, is Bill.

Pants on fire…

Bill Brannon is ready to take his friendship with Lettie Campbell to an entirely new level. He loves her for her ability to tell the truth, even about her colorful past; however, when he learns she isn’t as honest as he’d believed, he isn’t certain he can live with the reality. No matter how thoroughly they burn up the sheets…or how completely she captured his heart.

Real Women Don’t Wear Size 2

When the big 3-0 comes and goes, Clarise Robinson finds she isn’t all that disheartened with the curves life has thrown her way. As a matter of fact, she’s learned to work with those curves, literally. As head of the women’s department at Eubanks Elegant Apparel, she’s known for her style, her sass and her abundant curves. Yes, the female once deemed “cautious” by her college buddies has unquestionably left that wallflower image behind to grasp a new label: “confidently curvy.”

But even though she’s found her niche in the world, Clarise knows the truth. Deep down, she’s still holding back, still playing it safe, particularly when it comes to her best friend, boss and darkest fantasy, Ethan Eubanks. And now, it’s time to throw caution to the wind, to take off the gloves, and perhaps, everything else…

After a futile pass down one side of the street, Ethan Eubanks crossed between two floats and headed down the other. By the time he neared the end of the block, he’d nearly given up hope of finding Clarise in the overactive and imaginative crowd. How many swords were utilized in a single Gasparilla parade anyway? How was he supposed to find one woman in this madness? And why hadn’t he seen even one of his employees, people who would undoubtedly be able to tell him where to find Clarise?

Screams of excitement pulsed through the air, beads soared from the top tiers of elaborate floats and women lifted their shirts all over the place. The latter would’ve normally caught his attention and held it, at least momentarily, but not today. Today, he was only looking for one woman’s display, and he’d rather it not be a public viewing, thank you very much. Ethan moved to the street corner and prepared to pass to the other side again when a man’s eager proclamation piqued his interest, as well as the interest of every other male within earshot.

“Have mercy! It’s coming off!” he bellowed.

Ethan turned toward the guy, a bearded swashbuckler, at least six-foot-five, who evidently could see the entire span of the crowd on the opposite side. With Ethan’s six-two, he didn’t have as abundant of an advantage, but he followed the man’s gaze to see where his attention had landed. The site made his stomach clench. How the hell would he stop her now?

A kaleidoscope, that was the way Gasparilla affected Clarise Robinson’s senses, like a kaleidoscope with swiftly changing colors and shapes and patterns, pirates and beads and masks, music and dancing and fun. She sucked on the straw of the monster-sized drink, but the potent red wonder was gone. “Dang,” she said, frowning at the cup.

The guy next to her, well, one of the guys next to her—there were several now—laughed. “Here, babe. Let me throw that away for ya.” He stretched a hand in the air to snag a glittery strand of emerald beads.

“I want some,” she said, eyeing the loop he draped around his neck. He had several now; Clarise had none. You’d think he’d offer to share. Another of her new best friends brought a beefy arm around her back and leaned close. His breath was hot and smelled like rotten fruit, or really strong alcohol. She attempted a baby step back.

“Honey, you show what you’ve got hidden under there, and I guarantee you’ll get your share of beads.”

Clarise looked down. Her top was still on? And after all that practicing at home? “Oh, right.” She moved her fingers, which were quite fumbly, to the top of her chest and waited for the next float to come. The front of it resembled a mermaid, her long, flowing blond hair trailing behind her to form the body of the structure, where crew members tossed beads to chest-baring women. As if signaling her approval of the action, the mermaid’s breasts also bulged forward, bare and bountiful, with big pink nipples that looked like rosebuds. Clarise decided she was practically the only woman here whose boobs hadn’t seen the light of day, or night, as the case may be, and it was high time for that to change. She held her breath as the front wheels of the trailer passed, then watched a good-looking man on the top tier give her a nod of encouragement.