One minute you’re a struggling graphic designer in L.A. who's finally coming to terms with being single forever, and the next, you're flying to New York in a private jet to get engaged to your ex-boyfriend’s older brother. At least...that’s what everyone thinks. Forced to clean up his playboy image in order to protect his company, Beckham Sinclair, the city’s most eligible billionaire bachelor, wants me to be his fake fiancée and personal assistant. Now I'm spending every spare second with a man I thought I’d never see again.

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.

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?

As kids, they hated each other. Macon Saint was beautiful, but despite his name, Delilah knew he was the devil. That he dated her slightly evil sister, Samantha, was no picnic either. When they broke up, it was a dream come true: Delilah never had to see him again. Ten years later, her old enemy sends a text. Delilah's sister has stolen a valuable heirloom from Macon, now a rising Hollywood star, and he intends to collect his due. One problem: Sam has skipped town.

It started out like any other morning on the train - until I became mesmerized by the guy sitting across the aisle. He was barking at someone on his phone like he ruled the world. Who did the stuck-up suit think he was...God? Actually, he looked like a god. That was about it.

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.

Living in Dalton, Montana, was not what I had planned for this winter. But after my father’s sudden death, I uprooted my life to move into his tiny lakeside cabin and settle his estate. My friends tell me to sell his place and move on. But this winter is my chance to say goodbye. To remember a man who’d loved tales of Montana lore.

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.

Left without a job and evicted from the house she so carefully turned into a home, Aria is offered two choices: move back in with her brother . . . or take the job her brother's best friend offers her.

We're not free to give into this. She's 19, and I'm 38. And I'm her boyfriend's father. Unfortunately, they both just moved into my house.

It's not a regular party, but instead, my wedding. To Angelo Rizzo. A coldhearted man who's feared by all. Including me. Turns out my stepbrother owes the Cosa Nostra money, and I'm being used to repay his debt to Angelo Rizzo. Do I have a choice? No. Not when it comes to matters concerning the Cosa Nostra. Three hours later, I have a new shiny wedding ring on my finger and a husband I'm terrified of standing by my side. Yep, my life just took a turn for the worse.

It was supposed to be a harmless kiss at a lavish debutante ball. A clandestine moment with a handsome stranger. But unlike his namesake, my Romeo isn’t driven by love. He’s fueled by revenge. To him, I’m a chess piece. Leverage. His rival’s betrothed. To me, he is a man deserving of poison. A dark prince I refuse to marry. He thinks I’ll accept my fate. Well, I plan to rewrite it. And in my story, Juliet doesn’t die. But Romeo? He perishes.

Jason Thorn...my brother's childhood friend. Oh, how stupidly in love with that boy I was. He was the first boy who made me blush, my first official crush. Sounds beautiful so far, right? That excitement that bubbles up inside you, those famous butterflies you feel for the very first time - he was the reason for them all. But you get to live in that fairy tale world only until they crush your hopes and dreams and then stomp on your heart for good measure. And boy did he crush my little heart into pieces.

There's rich. Then there's the Ellsworth family. The Kensingtons. American royalty. Money buys power, and power always has a price. The fear of those who already possess both? Losing it. The best way to ensure keeping it? Alliances. And elites don't marry down—they marry equal. For Scarlett Ellsworth and Crew Kensington, that leaves one option: each other. Accepting that inevitability is very different from embracing it. That's the only thing they agree upon. It was meant to be a union for better and for business.

My love story all started with a letter. Only it wasn’t from the man I’d eventually fall in love with. It was from his daughter. A sweet little girl named Birdie Maxwell who’d written to the magazine that I worked for. You see, once a year my employer fulfilled a few wishes for readers. Only that column didn’t start up again for months. So I fulfilled some of her wishes myself. It was harmless…so I thought. Until one day I took things too far. While anonymously granting yet another of Birdie’s wishes, I got a look at her father.

The first time I met Brody Easton was in the men's locker room. It was my first interview as a professional sportscaster. The famed quarterback decided to bare all. And by all, I don't mean he told me any of his secrets. No. The arrogant ass decided to drop his towel just as I asked the first question. On camera.

In fifth grade my teacher set us up with pen pals from a different school. Thinking I was a girl, with a name like Misha, the other teacher paired me up with her student Ryen. My teacher, believing Ryen was a boy like me, agreed. It didn't take long for us to figure out the mistake. And in no time at all, we were arguing about everything. The best take-out pizza. Android vs. iPhone. Whether or not Eminem is the greatest rapper ever. For the next seven years, it was us. She's the only one who keeps me on track, talks me down, and accepts everything I am.

Carter Beckett is the NHL’s resident bad boy, top player both on the ice and in the bedroom, and quite possibly the sexiest man to ever grace my field of vision. But worst of all? He knows it. He’s arrogant, self-centered, and the man doesn’t seem to know what a filter is, let alone how to use one. He’s had everything served to him on a silver platter, including endless strings of women, and apparently, I’m up next. I have the solution to all my sexual frustrations in a drawer at home, and it’s far less complicated than Carter Beckett.

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.

I’d never forgotten him - a man I’d yet to meet. Griffin Quinn was my childhood pen pal, the British boy who couldn’t have been more different from me. Over the years, through hundreds of letters, we became best friends, sharing our deepest, darkest secrets and forming a connection I never thought could break. Until one day, it did. Then, out of the blue, a new letter arrived. A scathing one - one with eight years of pent-up anger. I had no choice but to finally come clean as to why I stopped writing. Griffin forgave me, and we were able to rekindle our childhood connection.

With one glance at her in the club, I’m ready to claim her for the night. Dark, flowing hair. A smile that causes my heart to pound. Eyes that pierce my soul. And a perfect body that makes every part of me pulse. She’s addictive. Electrifying. Consuming. I’ve never wanted anyone more. Our eyes meet, but she looks right past me. She isn’t here for me. She’s here for the music. For the first time in my life, a woman makes me work for it. Her indifference fuels the fire inside me. The result? One night. No names. No introductions.

Money or love? Which would you choose? You probably just answered the question in your head, thinking it's an easy decision. For me, it's not. Did I mention it's a lot of money? A hell of a lot. I needed to go far away to think it through. As I embarked on an impulsive trip, I hit a detour when I met sexy Carter in the airport lounge. We struck up a heated conversation. Then, he left. I thought I'd never see him again. But fate had other plans. Surprise! He was the pilot of my flight.

It all started with a bet. When my young son inherited half of his great grandfather’s historic inn, I decided to move us both to the place where I grew up. Notice I said half of the Inn. The other half now belonged to Levi Miller, the famous quarterback who had other ideas about what we should do with the property. We won’t mention that I accidentally injured him during our first meeting, causing him to get eight stitches. You could say we got off on the wrong foot. We bickered a lot as we both moved into the property while we figured things out.

He's destined for the White House and engaged to be married next month. Except he just married me instead. While drunk in Vegas. Bradford Black. He's powerful. Rich as sin. And he's now my husband. His fiancée hates me. His political advisors want me gone. The world can't get enough of me and the scandal we've caused. I want to run. I want to hide. I want to pretend none of this is happening. But, oh God. My husband doesn't care about the scandal because all he cares about is me. He's possessive, grumpy, and determined for us to stay married.

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.