Henry Carter Hull

My mother wants all her kids and grandkids to spend Christmas Eve at her house and wake up on Christmas morning together. Sounds reasonable, right? And it would be. If it weren't my mother. My husband, Declan, is protesting any involvement, though he's openly intrigued by the idea of claiming his territory by having sex in my childhood bed. And by intrigued, I mean a series of really hot suggestions that make me whimper when I have to say no. Wait...

A confusing fight, a garbage-covered car, and a mom who shares her past as a stripper all drive Shannon to the edge of madness. When her big shot at mystery shopping luxury properties leads to another crazy toilet incident, it's Declan to the rescue...but can they take the "plunge"? The Shopping series from New York Times bestselling author Julia Kent reaches its conclusion with heart, heat, and hilarity.

You know what's even better than marrying a billionaire? Having his baby. We're ready. We've studied and planned, read all the birth and labor books, researched parenting classes, consulted our schedules, and it's time. And by we I mean me. Declan's just ready for the "have lots of sex" part. More than ready. But there's just one problem: my husband and his brother have this little obsession with competition. And by little, I mean stupid. That's...

I'm thrilled to be the maid of honor in my friend's wedding, but the best man, Andrew McCormick, is a chauvinistic pig with a God complex. And I can't stop kissing him in closets. (Don't ask.) He's the brother of the groom and the CEO of my biggest mystery shopping account, but suddenly he's refusing to be in the wedding. He won't talk about it. Won't see reason. He's such a man. And he still won't stop kissing me in random closets. (Thank goodness.) I'm...

He is addicted to his phone and his new role as CEO. I'm addicted to getting some on my own honeymoon. One of these things is not like the other. I am pretty sure a serial killer's lair is the only place in the world where I could stash my new husband so he can't manage the acquisition of our new company. And that seems a little drastic. But only a little... All I want is one week alone with him. Hours in bed, legs tangled together...

Who needs a SWAT team to escape from their own wedding? Me. My Momzilla turned us into hostages at our own ceremony, so Declan and I are getting married the good old-fashioned way, just like everybody else. By calling in his private security team, stealing away before the ceremony by helicopter, connecting to his corporate jet and heading for Las Vegas. The Boston wedding of the year is about to become a trashy Elvis drive-thru ceremony. Until...

All of our best dates end up in the emergency room.... I planned the perfect proposal. Plenty of lobster, caviar, champagne and-her favorite-tiramisu. The perfect setting. The perfect woman. The perfect everything. My dad gave me my late mother's engagement ring, platinum and diamonds galore. Of course, my Shannon wouldn't care if I slid a giant hard-candy ring on her finger instead of a three-carat diamond designed to impress. But my future mother-in-law,...

Ten years ago, my high school crush found me during senior finals week in the student parking lot with my car decorated with items you find behind a drugstore counter and a "Most Likely to..." banner that would make a pro blush. And by "pro," I don't mean golf. In under an hour, everything I knew about myself was turned upside down and inside out, just as our high school career was in its final hours. Then again, he's the high school quarterback....

I swear I am not the kind of person who gets her cell phone caught in places that require an ER trip and an OBGYN. But, apparently, I am. I'm also not the kind of person who spends all her time thinking about the guy who got away. But, apparently, I am, too. Starting a new life in Boston isn't supposed to include repeatedly embarrassing myself in public, meeting a crazy blond woman who has ties to the band Random Acts of Crazy, and definitely isn't...

It all started with the wrong Help Wanted ad. Of course it did. I'm a professional fluffer. It's NOT what you think. I stage homes for a living. Real estate agents love me, and my work stands on its own merits. Sigh. Get your mind out of the gutter. Go ahead. Laugh. I'll wait. See? That's the problem. My career has used the term "fluffer" for decades. I didn't even know there was a more... lascivious definition of the term. Until it was...