The average song is three and a half minutes long; those three and a half minutes could lead to a slow blink, a glimpse of the past, or catapult the soul into heart-shattering nostalgia. At the height of my career, I had the life I wanted, the life I’d always envisioned. I’d found my tempo, my rhythm. Then I received a phone call that left me off key. You see, my favorite songs had a way of playing simultaneously. I was in love with one man’s beats and another’s lyrics. But when it came to the soundtrack of a life, how could anyone choose a favorite song?

I met West Haven when I was eight years old. He taught me to play poker when I was nine, and we made paper airplanes together when I was eleven. He kissed me when I was sixteen. He was the best part about my family’s summer vacations to Montana. He was the boy who stole my heart. I was twenty-three when life ripped us apart. Years later, I’m breaking my vow and returning to the ranch, not as a guest but its new owner. West might want me gone, but even he has to admit the only way to save his family’s legacy is with my help.

The last time I saw him, I’d just turned eighteen. Six years later we’re face-to-face again. Neither of us wanted the night to end. The next morning, we made a pact. Each of us going our separate ways. Until two pink lines changed everything.

I'm naturally gifted on the field and between the sheets. With flashy cars and enough media attention to put the Royal Family to shame, I’m the definition of Most Eligible Bachelor. Every man wants to be me and every woman wants to tame me. Until Camila. The moment I lay eyes on her, I know I have to have her. She wants to keep me at arm's length. I want her naked in my bed. She thinks our worlds are too different. All I want her to think about is screaming my name. She says I’m bad news. I have three weeks to prove her wrong.

You’ve heard of these groups–the secretive ones that only the crème de la crème are invited into, the ones outsiders speculate about for centuries–I’m the second in my family invited to attend, but to them, I’m fresh meat. New blood. New money, too. They think they’ll elbow past me, that I’m here for their amusement, for them to walk all over, they’ll find out soon enough that I’m not. I may look like one of them, with my designer bags and clothes straight from the Parisian runways, but I’m not.

Running away from home at 17 wasn't easy. Let's face it, though, nothing before or in the ten years since has ever been easy for me. And I'm doing okay—sorta. I just need to keep scraping by, living under the radar. Staying out of people's way, off people's minds. When a man walks through my open patio door, stepping boldly into my home and my life, I should be scared, frightened, terrified. I must be more broken than I realized because I'm none of those things. I'm intrigued—and I'm wondering if the way to take control of my life is by giving in to him.

I found Killian drunk and sprawled out on my lawn like some lost prince. With the face of a god and the arrogance to match, the pest won't leave. Sexy, charming, and just a little bit dirty, he's slowly wearing me down, making me crave more. He could be mine if I dare to claim him. Problem is, the world thinks he's theirs. How do you keep an idol when everyone is intent on taking him away?

Conceited, unattainable, and downright delicious, renowned Michelin-starred chef Ambrose Casablancas has one passion in life: food. Women are a distraction, and he doesn’t do those. Especially Cal Litvin, his baby sister’s best friend. Her entire existence is a complication; she’s awkward, eccentric, infuriating… And, much to his chagrin, hotter than his kitchen. Ambrose has a lot on his plate: a new restaurant to open, a multi-million-dollar property deal to execute, and a violent stalker to tame. Then Cal shows up at his doorstep.

It all started with a mysterious blue note sewn into a wedding dress. Something blue. I’d gone to sell my own unworn bridal gown at a vintage clothing store. That’s when I found another bride’s “something old". Stitched into the lining of a fabulously feathered design was the loveliest message I’d ever read: Thank you for making all of my dreams come true.

I was upgraded to first class on a flight from London to New York. The food, champagne, and service were impeccable. The blue-eyed man sitting next to me, even better. He was suave and intelligent. We talked and laughed, and something clicked. Fate took over and the plane was grounded, and we had an unexpected stopover for the night. With no plans, we made our own.