Big-hearted and bold, Unapologetic Love Story is the dazzling debut adult romance novel from bestselling author Elle McNicoll. For fans of Olivia Dade and Talia Hibbert.
Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Unapologetic Love Story by Elle McNicoll, which releases on October 13th 2026.
He’s looking for a headline. She’s about to become his whole story . . .
Raina Lewis is at the top of her game. As the creator of a smash-hit podcast celebrating neurodivergent women, she’s taking the world by storm, and doesn’t need anything – or anyone – slowing her down.
Tom Branimir has a reputation for cynicism. As an investigative journalist, his career has been built on exposing anything that seems too good to be true – and now, he’s set his sights on Raina.
When Tom pitches Raina as the subject of his next project, she’s determined to keep him at arm’s length. But as their professional arrangement blurs into a sizzling romance, Raina faces a tough decision. Retreat to the safety of the hard-won life she’s built herself, or risk her heart for the unapologetic love she never planned for?
EXCERPT
From Unapologetic Love Story by Elle McNicoll. Copyright © 2026 by the author, and reprinted with permission of St. Martin’s Publishing Group.
Chapter Four
“You’ve been holding out on me!”
Raina laughed at the outraged tone in her friend’s voice. They both turned in their seats to look back at the museum, which was far behind them now.
“What the hell was all that?”
“I actually don’t even know,” Raina said, sliding down in the leather seat of the car. “That guy! I think he’s casing me for a story. Arrogant, cold-blooded shark. He’s not getting shit from me.”
“Nuh-uh,” Pepper scolded in disbelief. “Every time I’ve seen that man, he’s been working on some story, and he always looks as serious as a heart attack. I’ve never seen him look like that.”
“What, a guy can’t be horny on top of a grift? Never mind about him,” Raina said wearily. “I won’t see him again. You might, but I won’t.”
“Why won’t you?”
“Didn’t give him my number.”
“Are you serious?”
“As a heart attack,” Raina said, turning her head to smile at her best friend as she echoed her previous words. She didn’t know why, but she suddenly felt a pang of regret.
“Rai,” Pepper said gently. “What’s wrong with him? I mean, I’ve heard he’s a bit of a dick . . .”
“He’s not, actually,” Raina said thoughtfully, more to herself than to Pepper. “He says what he thinks, and sometimes doesn’t tidy it up first.”
She laughed at the memory of his fumbling attempts to apologize. It was weirdly refreshing. She knew better than anyone what it felt like to say the socially unacceptable thing. She might have learned to mask very well, but she was no stranger to fucking up in a social situation.
She suddenly felt the ghost of his gentle fingers on the base of her spine, and it caused her to jerk in her seat. Nice hands didn’t erase sneaky agendas.
“Let’s get burgers,” she suddenly said to Pepper. “The food they served wouldn’t have fed a rabbit.
“All right,” Pepper said loftily. “But I want it noted that I’m allowing you to drop the subject.”
Raina let her head fall against the window of the car. She closed her eyes, the lights of the bright city still flickering behind her lids. London could be so brash, so loud, so overpowering. Her heightened senses welcomed every breath of it whether she wanted to or not.
Yet now, all she could smell was the lingering scent of him.
. . .
“Welcome back to another episode of The Disability Track. I’m your host, Raina Lewis, and if you’ve met one of us, you’ve only met one of us. I hope you’re all having a good morning.”
Raina sipped a quick mouthful of warm water with lemon and then returned her attention to the expensive microphone. She’d turned the small office room of her house in Barnes into a recording room. The late April sunshine gently spilled into the room, and with the warm carpet beneath her bare feet, Raina felt content.
“So, today,” she said brightly, “we’re hearing from June, all about her wedding. June, girl. Tell us everything.”
“Hi, Raina,” said a cheerful disembodied voice.
“June! Married lady.” Raina felt everything uneasy inside her settle as she spoke to one of her listeners. The space she’d created for other women like her had become her church. A community of people she felt at peace with, who knew her story as well as they did their own. “Welcome back. We’re all listening.”
“Well, the toxic brother-in-law never came.”
“Oh, praise God!”
“I know! He made sure to leave lots of surly voice notes when he realized we were all having a brilliant day without him.”
“Ah, well,” Raina said. “Narcissists hate being denied a stage.”
“That’s what my wife said!”
The episode went smoothly. June recounted her day to Raina and thanked her profusely for connecting her with a dressmaker who specialized in plus-size couture. They discussed the unseen wedding tax for disabled brides and how best to plan an accessible reception. As Raina listened to the elation in June’s voice, she felt a soft pain. Hearing about happy families and a perfect day made Raina slightly envious.
She wasn’t the sort of woman who needed another person or material things to validate her. She was proud of her achievements. She’d been proud as a cleaner; she was proud now.
And maybe her job wasn’t something her parents’ friends understood, but she was satisfied with it. No office politics, no boss with wandering hands. She loved what she got to do each day. She loved talking to listeners on a split screen, or reading out their comments.
But sometimes it was lonely. Just sometimes.
She pressed her toes into the soft carpet and sighed. In her little recording room, she could fool herself. She could pretend that the world was the way it should be. She wasn’t in the minority. She didn’t have to expose her scars. There was a shorthand.
She checked her phone. A voicemail. Something that, in her line of work, had the potential to ruin her day.
“Hello, Raina? This is Samantha from Autumn Hobbs Productions? We spoke at an event a few weeks ago. Look, I’m producing a new dating show for next season and it’s disability focused. We would love to have you as one of our on-screen subjects. The working title is ‘Unpretty’ and we’d love as many neurodivergent women as possible. Call me back. I’d love to tell you more about the project.”
Raina pressed “delete” with calm conviction.
Programs like that were voyeuristic. At worst, they treated people like circus performers. At best, they were patronizing in their quest to portray all neurodivergent love stories as only ever wholesome and pure. Almost childlike.
Raina’s trysts had never fit that description.
This thought brought a face into her mind, and she grimaced. The face of an arrogant, cold-blooded shark.
And then she did what she’d ordered herself not to do. She googled Tom Branimir and his work. She had to admit he was infuriatingly good. His pieces were long, in-depth and dry. One was for The New Yorker. He exposed his subjects with a detached coolness, but Raina was forced to admire the steely principles under lying each article.
His thinly veiled disgust for a woman who said essential oils could cure cancer took a back seat to his need to present all the facts first. His pieces were, she hated to say, unapologetically excellent.
“Bastard,” she muttered, smirking.
She’d thought about the Hathaway Dinner more than she cared to admit. She’d thought about it as she dressed a small blister on the heel of her foot. She’d thought about it as she organized her make up bag. She’d thought about it while on a virtual call with her accountant. She’d thought about it while buying olives.
She thought about it in bed at night.
Enough. He’s an arrogant muckraker with a hidden agenda.
She quickly logged off her computer and grabbed her keys. She needed to walk, get away from the intrusive thoughts.
One last memory crept into her mind, a memory of a porcelain-blue tie.
Liberty. She would go and wander around Liberty.
