Carlton: Ramona Monk says I used to tease her when we were kids, but honestly, I barely even remember the curvy girl. All I know is that: (1) she’s hot; (2) she works for me; and (3) I want her, hard and brutal. Of course, Ramona says that what I’m doing is illegal. She says I could go to jail for blah blah blah yada yada yada. Clearly, I don’t care because if she isn’t on her knees in about ten seconds, then she can kiss her paycheck goodbye! Ramona: Carlton James thinks I’m going to plead? On my knees? Please, Mr. Bad Boy CEO. You’re the one who’ll be begging by the time I'm...

My dad is in big trouble. He owes money to the most powerful man on the East Coast, and he can't pay. When I approach Mr. Connolly and try to take over the loan, he has a different idea. He's willing to wipe off the debt if I submit to him. I have to do what he commands, when he commands it. I think this over-the-top alpha male is a little obsessed with me. Good thing I love every second of it...

Aurelia Whitlock is an ex-stepsister I forgot long ago. Until she shows up as a design intern at my fashion company. And that's the easy part. The part where she heats my blood, drawing me away from my grumpy, miserable side is another. She has no business being here. The more I learn about how she got this job, the more perilous things become for me and my company. I can't trust her. I can't fire her. And I can't claim her full lips with mine.

I’ve sworn off men to focus on my dream job that starts on Monday. But my best friend talks me into a final night of fun—a blind date. I only agree because the guy is going to work as a doctor in Africa. It’s the best date of my life. Dr. Africa makes me laugh and swoon, and I want to give him a thorough physical examination. He turns into Dr. One Night Stand, and I’m not sad about it. Monday morning, I’m enthusiastic and excited, until I bump into...you guessed it.

"You may now kiss your bride". They were the last words my mother heard before she collapsed on the church steps, poison ending her pitifully short life. When her new husband dies minutes later, all eyes turn to me. There are whispers. Accusations. The verdict is split. I murdered them both. Or I'm the next to die.

Lowen Ashleigh is a struggling writer on the brink of financial ruin when she accepts the job offer of a lifetime. Jeremy Crawford, husband of best-selling author Verity Crawford, has hired Lowen to complete the remaining books in a successful series his injured wife is unable to finish. Lowen arrives at the Crawford home, ready to sort through years of Verity's notes and outlines, hoping to find enough material to get her started. What Lowen doesn't expect to uncover in the chaotic office is an unfinished autobiography Verity never intended for anyone to read.

Ryder, Garrett, Kenzo, and Diesel - The Vipers. Their deals are as sordid as their business, and their reputation is enough to bring a grown man to his knees, forcing him to beg for mercy. They are not people you mess with, yet my dad did. The old man ran up a debt with them and then sold me to cover his losses. Yes, sold me. They own me now. I’m theirs in every sense of the word. But I’ve never been meek and compliant.

Beckett: If you’re reading this, well, you know the last-letter drill. You made it. I didn’t. Get off the guilt train, because I know if there was any chance you could have saved me, you would have. I need one thing from you: get out of the army and get to Telluride. My little sister Ella’s raising the twins alone. She’s too independent and won’t accept help easily, but she has lost our grandmother, our parents, and now me. It’s too much for anyone to endure. And here’s the kicker: there’s something else you don’t know that’s tearing her family apart.

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.

After watching my mother succumb to a mysterious illness, I promised myself two things. I'd find the cure for what ravaged her and leave the godforsaken city where she abandoned me. Four years later, I received an acceptance letter from Dracadia University, one of the oldest most prestigious schools in the country. Nestled on a secluded island off the coast of Maine, it's rumored to be haunted by the souls of the mental patients exiled there centuries before, those whose bones are said to make up the island's white sandy shores. And restless ghosts aren't even its most daunting peculiarity.