hot wallpapers hd photos: Hi Def Wallpaper

Source(google.com.pk)
Hi Def Wallpaper Biography
Love sucks.

Lola Carmichael's known it since her boyfriend broke up with her the night she expected him to propose. Only with a deadline looming for her next romance novel, she better find inspiration fast.

Enter arrogant sports radio DJ Sam Touchdown Taylor. Who'd have thought a playboy ex-jock would be just what she needs to get her creative juices flowing…and her heart beating again.

When Lola discovers Sam is using her to win back his dream job, she knows she should give up on Happily Ever After, but part of her hopes heroes do exist…and dreams do come true.

Get a sneak peek of Kate Perry's Dream of You (available today!) with this EXCLUSIVE scene from Chapter 4!

The door to the sound booth opened, and a blonde with big blue eyes poked her head in. He couldn't see anything below her shoulders, but everything above looked right.

“Excuse me, is this Ladies' Night?” she asked.

Did the rest of her match that sexy voice? He sat up at attention. “Yeah. I'm the host.”

“You?” She looked him up and down.

What? He frowned. “What's wrong with me?”

“Nothing's wrong with you. If I wanted someone to beat up my ex-boyfriend, you're the one I'd call.”

It should have been a compliment, but coming from her bowed lips, it sounded more like a slam. Which was damn disappointing, because he really liked the look of her.

“I thought Sam Taylor was a woman,” she said.

“I'm all male, sweetheart.”

“I can see that.” She gave him an all-over, candid appraisal that would've had a lesser man blushing.

Okay, she wasn't immune to him either. That was good.

He had a feeling that'd be a hard resolve to keep around this blonde. “Look, I have a show to run, so if you tell me who you're looking for I can help you find him.”

“I'm looking for you.” She stepped inside.

He'd been right—she was hot. Tall. Curvy in all the right places and then some. She wore white jeans, a red top, and heels that made her already long legs obscene.

They were the type of legs that men imagined wrapped around their waist.

Sam moved his tongue in his mouth to make sure he hadn't swallowed it.

As if she could read his thoughts, she heaved a sigh. She sounded more exasperated than flattered—and why not? She was the type of gorgeous that probably dealt with men ogling her all the time.

He didn't like that thought.

Then she surprised him by saying, “I'm Lola Carmichael, your guest.”

“The romance writer?”

She rolled her eyes. “Duh.”

He grinned, liking her spirit. For the first time all day he felt hopeful. Maybe this program was going to be more entertaining than he'd thought. He pointed to the chair across from him. “Please have a seat.”

She arched her brows at his polite request. He expected her to make a wise-ass remark, but she surprised him by taking the chair, all calm grace.

“We're on in thirty,” he said. He felt energized and alive, which was shocking after dreading the new program all week. He put on his headphones. “Speak into your mic, and this will be over soon.”

“That's what she said.” She adjusted her seat closer to the console.

“Welcome to Ladies' Night,” he managed to say without gagging. “I'm your host, Touchdown Taylor—”

“Touchdown?” Lola repeated incredulously.

Only she said it right into her microphone, just like he'd instructed. He frowned at her. “And this is Lola Carmichael, writer of bodice rippers, friend of Fabio, and our guest for tonight's show.”

“Thank you, Touchdown.” She stuck her tongue out at him.

God save him from high-and-mighty women. “It was a college nickname.”

“It's just if you're hosting Ladies' Night, maybe you'll want a different nickname. Touchdown gives the wrong impression. Unless you score a lot.” She leaned into the microphone. “Don't you think so, ladies?”

He pulled her microphone away from her. “We're here to find out about you, Ms. Carmichael, not to talk about me.”

She grabbed the microphone back. “But I'm sure your audience wants to get to know you too. Isn't this your first show?”

“For Ladies' Night? Yes.”

“So what's a macho man like you doing in a place like this?”

He had the urge to shake her—or push her down and kiss her to shut her up.

Before he could reply, she turned her husky voice into the microphone and said, “It's too bad you can't see him, ladies. He's just like a hero from one of my novels. Tall, dark, and handsome. His hair is mussed up enough to be sexy without being unkempt, and he has those broad shoulders that make all of us sigh in lust.”

He only wanted one woman to sigh in lust, and she was seated across from him.

“He has a strong chin too.” She looked at him thoughtfully, but then she shook her head. “I'm telling you, he's wasted in radio.”

“And you?”

She blinked at him, suspicious. “Me?”

“You don't look like any writer I've ever seen.”

“And how many romance writers have you seen?”

Actually, none. “Danielle Steele lives in San Francisco. You don't look like her.”

“Of course not. She's old enough to be my mother.” Lola wrinkled her nose. “So what do I look like?”

Like his own personal heaven and hell. “Like a showgirl, yellow feathers in your hair and a dress cut down to there.”

She leaned forward and pointed a threatening finger at him. “Do not quote Barry Manilow to me.”

He grinned, wondering if he could find that track to play sometime in the next hour. “Is Lola Carmichael your real name?”

“Yes, Lola Carmichael is my real name.”

He could tell it was a sore subject for her by the way her eyes went both icy and hot. He felt bad for poking her in a soft spot so he changed the subject. “Tell us about your latest book, Here and Forever.”

For a moment he didn't think she'd reply, but then she said, “It's the story of a man and woman who are rivals for the same job, but in their competition find love.”

Sam snorted.

“What?” She frowned at him.

“Who got the job?”

“What does that matter?”

“No guy is going to hook up with a woman who wins out over him.”

Lola stuck her pretty nose in the air. “That's not true.”

“Yeah, it is. You might as well cut his balls off. But then I doubt you write about real men.”

“I do, too.”

“Sure, sweetheart, whatever you say. They probably bring flowers and candy in order to woo women,” he said scornfully.

“What's wrong with that?”

“It's bull”—he cleared his throat and pulled back—“it's hokey, is what it is. You're giving women a false sense of reality.”

“I write about romance and true love. That's real.”