BOOK ONE in the Chronicles of Mischief saga


When Sylvester Morgan had signed the contract, agreeing to become Jackson Palmer's baby boy, it had been unclear what to expect.

Bottles, diapers and stuffed animals had never been the kind of things that had appealed to Sly. 

Yet, when Twenty thousand is offered to act like a baby for a month, as odd as it sounded to him, he found himself willing to try it.

He just didn't expect to enjoy it.

Baby Of The Month

The sky, though beautiful in its waves of tentative blue and creamy, whipped cream squirts for clouds, was not nearly as interesting as Sly's attention made it out to be. Eyeballing the heavens, his gaze trailing after the misty contrails, it became a point of fascination only because it offered a relief from the alternative: Ronan.

Six foot tall, gorgeous in the kind of way that had model agencies beckoning their greedy little fingers, and an attitude that would have knocked the tiara off of any diva's head, his best friend was uncharacteristically quiet.

It wasn't so much as he couldn't feel the burn of Ronan's nervous gaze against the side of his face as he was trying to ignore it; Jackson had given him ten minutes warning before their mutual friend's arrival, and it had disrupted a domino effect of emotions. He wasn't sure how he was feeling. Or, rather, he wasn't sure which emotion was winning.

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