Calista belongs to me... she just doesn't know it. The first time we met, I wanted her. The next time, I was obsessed. I watched her. I followed her. It only deepened my need to possess her. Once she's mine, I'm never letting her go.

"Give me a second chance, babe . . . and I'll blow your mind." Monroe doesn't know why she answers the text that's obviously meant for someone else. Or why she keeps answering. Maybe it's because she's all alone in a big city and in desperate need of a lifeline. Or maybe it's because each exchange leaves her intrigued and more than a little turned on.

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.

Charming, captivating, seductive—and a cold-blooded killer. I married the Pakhan of the Russian Bratva anyway. I had to, it was part of the deal. Now, I’m faking marital bliss as I tremble with fear, and I cannot wait to be out of the clutches of this ruthless man.

My innocence was ripped from me one fateful night under the starless sky. Resulting in an unwanted teenage pregnancy and a secret the Camorra must bury. My father decided to hand me off to the highest bidder. The lucky winner? Tiernan Callaghan, psychopath extraordinaire. The Irish mafia prince wants me for all the wrong reasons. Alliance. Money. Prestige. War. I am but a pawn in his twisted game. The man who sits on a throne of his enemies' skulls thinks I'm a weakling. Little does he know, in this chess game, the underdog wins. Because the thing about bad bishops? They protect good pawns.

When Cora attends her sister's birthday party, she expects at most a hangover or a walk of shame. She doesn't anticipate a stolen wallet, leaving her stranded and dependent on Dean—her arch nemesis and ultimate thorn in her side. And she really doesn't anticipate waking up in shackles in a madman's basement. To make matters worse, Dean shares the space in his own set of chains. After fifteen years of teasing, insults, and practical jokes, the ultimate joke seems to be on them. The two people who always thought they'd end up killing each other must now work together if they want to survive.

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.

In the dark underbelly of the mob, Tristan Caine has been an anomaly. As the only non-blooded member in the high circle of the Tenebrae Outfit, he is an enigma to all. His skills are unparalleled, his morality is questionable, and his motives are unknown. He is lethal and he knows it. As does Morana Vitalio, the genius extraordinaire daughter of the rival family. What Caine does with weapons, Morana does with computers. When a twenty-year-old mystery resurfaces, Morana infiltrates Caine's house, intent on killing him, unaware of a tie that binds them together.

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.

Once upon a time, there was a little boy. His belly full of laughter, his life full of joy. Until one day, something changed; stripped his innocence away. The hole inside making space for the devil to come and play.

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.

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.

It should have been easy. I needed the money. He needed a babysitter to keep him from snorting himself to death. I was cherry-picked especially for him. Responsible. Optimistic. Warm. Innocent. The worst part is that I should have known better. Alex Winslow. British rock star. Serial heartbreaker. Casanova with whiskey eyes. “Don’t get near the devil in a leather jacket. He’ll chew you up and spit you out.” Guess what? I didn’t listen. I signed the contract. World tour. Three months. Four Continents. 100 shows. My name is Indigo Bellamy, and I sold my soul to a tattooed god.

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.

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 first met Tristan Miles at a meeting where he was trying to take over my late husband’s company. He was powerful, arrogant, and infuriatingly gorgeous, and I hated him with every cell in my body. In the shock of the century, he called me three days later and asked me on a date. I would rather die than date a man like him - though I do have to admit it was good for the ego. Turning him down was the highlight of my year.

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.

My name is Rachel Price, and two months ago, I walked away from the perfect man. Sweet and funny, and so hot it should be illegal—we shared one magical night. No names. No strings. I never thought I'd see him again. I was wrong. It turns out Mr. Perfect is the playboy grinder for the Jacksonville Rays, the NHL's hottest new hockey team . . . and I'm his new physical therapist. Oh, and the jerk doesn't even recognize me!

When Rennick was thirteen, the gods bestowed upon him the name of his fated mate—a human girl. As the sole heir to the Mountain Kingdom, magic bound him to his kingdom until he ascended the throne on his twenty-fifth birthday. As a human, she couldn't cross the magical barrier separating the humans from the fae. Heartsore and consumed with thoughts of her, he did the only thing he could and sent her anonymous letters and gifts… Until he crossed the barrier into her kingdom to claim her as his own.

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.