Three Darcy-obsessed sisters.
Three messy roads to happily ever after.
Miss Austen really should have included an instruction manual.
Take three sisters armed with sarcasm and sharp tongues, a few questionable decisions, the belief that Jane Austen taught them everything they needed to know about romance, and the realization that Miss Austen failed to address one significant complication: celebrity athletes. In Miss Austen’s defense, pro hockey players with cocky grins, bad-boy reputations a mile long, enough swagger to require its own zip code, and multimillion-dollar contracts weren’t exactly cramming Regency ballrooms.
Then fold in a generous serving of sexy as hell celebrity athlete heroes who know how to handle a stick. A hockey stick, of course. Think: abs, egos, a healthy dose of brooding, a liberal dose of profanity, master’s degrees in dirty talk, verbal sparring skills to match, and no idea who (or what) is about to hit them.
Finally, sprinkle in bedroom skills that would’ve gotten our heroes banned from Regency drawing rooms and enough emotional baggage to incur an airline surcharge. What do you get?
The Darcy Diaries.
Jane never could’ve predicted hockey players, billionaires, anonymous gossip blogs, viral scandals, sisterly chaos, men with abs that should come with warning labels, and enough sexual tension to scandalize the ton.
No, Jane Austen provided the blueprint. Modern men declined to read it. Or did they?
A Darcy-obsessed writer with a twenty-two-item What wouldn’t Jane Austen do? list.
A shamelessly shirtless hockey bad boy with a smile that should be illegal.
The one thing Jane Austen didn’t prepare her for?
Him.
Emmy: I’ve lived by the motto What would Jane Austen do? And where has it gotten me? To career-crippling plot paralysis and a looming deadline. So, with nothing left to lose, I flip the script by creating a What wouldn’t Jane Austen do? list in the hope that it will reignite my muse. The problem? Joshua Noble, my ridiculously sexy Wickham next door, has made it his personal mission to help me complete my list. McHotAbs isn’t a distraction. He’s temptation. And he sees through every defense I throw his way. Suddenly, my rules become negotiable.
Josh: I’m known for anticipating plays and dismantling my opponents, yet none of it has prepared me for Emmy Woods, my smart, stubborn, hot as hell neighbor with eight freckles, one dimple, and an I don’t care that you’re rich and famous attitude. Somewhere between her first sarcastic verbal strike and rescuing her from the Atlantic, I’ve fallen. Hard. Concerning? Yeah. Because I’ve built walls for a reason. Every instinct tells me to protect my heart. Instead, all I want to do is kiss her. Which is either the worst game plan I’ve ever devised or the only one worth following. Who knew Emmy would be the only win that truly matters?
