Forty-five, recently divorced and a certified hot mess. The last thing Fiona needs to start her vacation is a flooded hotel room and a broken-down car. Alas, that’s what she gets. She’s ready to pack it all in and go home - wherever that is - when her knight in a wet T-shirt strides in to save the day. Jaw-dropping, panty-melting Grant Greene takes the 'mess' out of 'certified hot mess' when he walks up to Fiona and offers her a room to stay. No strings attached. Great, right?

I thought my invitation was a birthday present from my best friend. The dress, the limousine, the red carpet...I thought they were meant for me. That was mistake number one. Then my date arrives, all gleaming cufflinks and tousled hair, steely blue eyes, and a body honed to masculine precision. Arrogant. Charming. Panty-melting. And melt, they do. Hanky-panky with a rich hottie in the back room of the event I'm crashing? Don't mind if I do.

With the name Holliday, you’d think I’d be all about the Christmas season. Most years, I am, but this one not so much. Between my ex being a real Scrooge-in-the-backside, re-entering the workforce, wrangling my two children, and evading my eight-year-old’s questions about Santa’s existence, I’m struggling to believe in the magic myself.

I didn’t know bridesmaid was code for babysitter for the bride’s brother, but if that’s what my best friend needs of me for her dream wedding to go off without a hitch, that’s what I’ll do. Even if Theo Monroe has been a pain in my rear since third grade. Even if he should be responsible enough to not wreak havoc at his sister’s destination wedding.

Someone is stalking Audrey Young. And she has no idea why. Complicating matters is her landlord and new neighbor, Josiah Haven. She doesn’t usually go for the big, surly lumberjack type. But there’s something about that broody man. He intimidates her a little, but she kind of likes it. She could totally handle the mess that is her life, except the strange feeling of being watched is just the beginning. Next thing Audrey knows, she’s a target, and she doesn’t know who’s behind it or why. For Josiah Haven, none of that makes her his problem.

He’s an Army Ranger. She’s a baker. He’s organized and ridged. She’s messy and carefree. He doesn’t do relationships. She’s following her heart. His family chat blows up his phone. She just buried her last living relative. The holiday season doesn’t seem so jolly, as they venture from one mode of transportation to the next.

Five hockey players, a cabin in the woods...and little old me, Winnie Berlin. Sounds like the start of a fantasy, right? But it's not. It's my reality. It all started when I got lost in the middle of the Canadian Rockies. A wicked thunderstorm sent my car mud sliding into a ditch, and for a girl whose survival skills involve finding the nearest Starbucks, I was in deep trouble. Forced to abandon my car in search of help, I stumbled upon a cabin in the middle of nowhere.

A successful writer accidentally sends her new (and super-dreamy) editor the wrong manuscript. Instead of the full-length paranormal novel she promised Longstrand Publishing, she sends the fan fiction she’s written about her crush…on him—including every detail of the hot, steamy “physical activity” she’s fantasized about happening between them.

What do a cocky biker and a businesswoman who has sworn off dating bad boys have in common? According to Chloe Mallery, not much. But Justin Wicked has had his eye on her for a long time, and he is sure the inescapable heat between them runs far deeper than just physical attraction. Could their difficult pasts be drawing them together, or will Justin’s protective nature be too much for Chloe’s independent heart to accept? Buckle up for a spectacular ride, and fall in love with Justin and Chloe in A Little Bit Wicked, a fun, sexy standalone romance.

I’d been in Curmudgeon Bakery for one of those lemon baby-Bundt cakes I’d been craving since I found out I was pregnant. The draw had nothing to do with the baker himself. Tall, tatted, and edgy, he looked more like a biker than a man who makes baked goods. I hardly knew him other than taking a tumble in a rainstorm in front of his shop... and then tossing myself at him after he rescued me. We shared a moment, but it’s not what you’d think. Months later, he delivered my baby among his cookies and cakes. Talk about a second chance encounter.

Declan Hardy, All-American heartthrob and retired NFL billionaire, is my complete opposite. He's commanding where I'm cooperative. Spontaneous while I am deliberate. Loud when I stay quiet. The only thing we have in common is that both our names are on my father's will.

Once I saw Marnie Long, a sassy, sultry, charismatic older woman in a bar, I couldn’t peel my eyes off her. I wanted her. At least, for one night. I’m way too busy with my career these days for anything more. As it turned out, after recently getting burned, Marnie was on the same page as me—all she wanted was one night of fun. I was happy to be of service. What I didn’t expect during our night together, however, was how deeply we connected. Also, how much I was dying to see her again the next morning.

I haven’t been having much luck on the dating scene lately, ever since my breakup with my longtime college girlfriend. I thought being 25 and single would be a blast, but dating apps are trash, and I’ve managed to get nothing but three fake numbers at my favorite bar. Thankfully, the actual owner of the third fake number was kind enough to reply to let me know I’d texted the wrong number. She was warm and open and expressed curiosity about the fake number I’d been given, so we got to texting.

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.

When my brother’s best friend asks me to fake marry him to secure a business deal he desperately needs, I laugh in his face. Me, help Carter Harrington? That’s split-your-pants, rip-roaring hilarious. I don’t even like him.