Fresh off a divorce from a Hollywood hotshot, Madison Atwood needs an escape. With the paparazzi fresh on her heels and her love life splashed on every tabloid, she runs away to a swanky retreat in Northern California. Avalon Springs is the mountainside haven she needs to find herself again. Luke Dawson lives off the grid, preferring solitude to society. When he finds a beautiful woman soaking in the hot springs on his property, he can't stop himself from watching her. She captures his attention, but she's just a city girl - a beautiful distraction disturbing the peace.

I'm Maxon Reed - real estate mogul, shark, asshole. If a deal isn't high-profile and big-money, I pass. Now that I've found the property of a lifetime, I'm jumping. But one tenacious bastard stands between me and success - my brother. I'll need one hell of a devious ploy to distract cynical Griff. Then fate drops a luscious redhead in my lap who's just his type.

Raise your hand if you’ve ever done this. Written a racy message and sent it to—oops—the wrong person. Yeah, me too. Except, I sent my latest Tales of a Naughty Virgin column detailing my fantasies about my hot, charming, thoroughly bangable next-door-neighbor to…my entire company. Did I mention I’m a children’s book editor? Well, I was. *Facepalm.* At least the column goes viral, but I’m still the gal who gets fired for her not-safe-for-work thoughts about the so-called “Mister Sexy Pants”.

Growing up, I knew my older brother’s best friend thought of me as “Logan’s kid sister”. For me, though, our next-door neighbor Colin felt like anything but a sibling. Whenever I spied on him through my bedroom window, as he banged away, shirtless, on his drum kit, I felt sensations inside me I’d never felt for my actual brother. But when we moved away and Colin’s band took off like a rocket, I knew my tweener fantasies would never become a reality.

I have two responsibilities as the new heir to the throne: Get married and ave babies. Sure, becoming queen one day is part of those new responsibilities, but as long as King Theo is in charge, I don't have to add a coronation to my list.

I'm not interested in starting something deep and meaningful, but what I am interested in is the way your body reacts to mine when we're in the same room. You probably assume the concentration on my face is work-related, when in reality, I'm figuring out which I want more: to nail you against the wall, or to bend you over my desk.

For the last year, I’ve wanted someone I can’t have. The man my father built his latest multimillion-dollar business with. He’s nearly a decade older than I am, and he’s entirely forbidden. The fact that he’s never given me a second glance only makes me long for him more.

There are three words most men can’t resist - I dare you. So as you can see, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I had no choice when my buddies said, “I bet you can’t get that brunette beauty to kiss you before the night ends.” I proved them wrong, and oh how good it felt to be right when I swept the quick-tongued woman into my arms and kissed the breath out of her at the party. But, I made a slight miscalculation. Turns out she’s my brand new enemy.

I should have known I was in trouble when I backed my old, beat-up truck into the shiny Range Rover. The driver looked like a gorgeous fallen angel–one who’d been booted right out of paradise for being a giant prick. Good thing I’ll never have to see him again.

For Everly Dalton, it’s a bit like trying to walk in stilettos - while drunk, blindfolded, and wearing the wrong size shoes. She hasn’t exactly been lucky in love. In fact, she just might be cursed. A guy who only dates lookalikes of his ex? Pass. An alpha-male businessman who bolts in a moment of crisis? No, thanks. A date that turns into the creepiest interview in the history of ever? Where does she find these guys? Join Everly as she dishes to her friends about the surprising, unpredictable, and sometimes crazy adventure that is modern dating.

Laila: I've tried to like Adrian Savage, the mercurial frontman for Fugitive Summer, while serving as his band's opening act on tour. But it's proved impossible. Global thirst trap that he is, however, I can't resist having some fun at his expense. Specifically, I've decided not only to give Savage the sound tongue lashing his cocky ass deserves--one nobody else has the balls to deliver--I'm also determined to bring that brooding bad boy to his knees.

Essie Smith-Scott, the author known as SS, has been the number one erotic romance writer in the world for the past ten years. Movie deals, merchandise, dozens of books on the New York Times bestseller’s list, and the founder of the biggest romance convention to ever hit the planet. Scoring an invitation to the Sin With Us Romance Convention in Las Vegas is the big break every romance author hopes for, and Cynthia Lear’s name just made it to the top of the waitlist. She’s in. And she’s gonna make the most of it. This is her chance to shine and propel her career into the stratosphere.

I was never supposed to see him again. Him being the man wearing the perfectly tailored suit, who oozed an intoxicating mixture of wealth, rebellion, and sex appeal. One night. No strings. No names. Still riding the high from last night, I walk in to meet my new client, and he’s wearing that same dangerous smirk. Yes, I’m consulting for Callahan Sharpe. That Callahan Sharpe. Billionaire heir who abides by no rules, bucks convention, and is determined to complete one final project to honor his late father’s legacy. Luckily, and unluckily for me, I’m tasked to help.

Marry the girl I've had a crush on my whole life? Check. Inherit a hundred-billion-dollar company? Check. Produce an heir.... Wait, what? I have 90 days to knock up my brand-new fake wife. There's only one problem - she hates my guts. And in the fine print of the contract is the requirement that we produce an heir. She can't stand to be in the same room with me. She says she'll never be in my bed. But I've never backed down from a challenge, and I'm not about to start now.

It all started with a sexy selfie. Texted to the wrong number. Oops. Not my finest moment - but I have nothing to be ashamed of. She thought I was no better, and I quote, than the knuckle-dragging douchebags she was never dating again. It was a stupid dare from a girl I’d met online, but since she’d given me a fake number, I didn’t feel bad that my interests were suddenly focused elsewhere - on the fiery and sharp-tongued Peyton that I found myself sparring with over text. The following day, my case of mistaken identity came back to bite me in the banana.