A good girl. A bad boy. Business and pleasure collide.
I can’t stand Clinton Alvarez.
My life was meticulously organized, painstakingly structured, and impeccably sanitary . . . until he rolled into town with his bad manners, his short temper and his cocky smirk. Now, he’s opened up his grungy barbershop right next door to my pristine cupcake shop, bringing along his clientele of sketchy, leather-loving motorcycle guys with broken noses.
He’s infuriating. Having him around brings out the worst in me. All of a sudden, I’m acting on impulse. First, I’m flinging a handful of over-ripe raspberries at his back. Then, I’m screwing him on the countertop between the cash register and the cakepop display.
Waking up with a blanked-out memory on his threadbare sheets is unquestionably the low-point of my life. Except now, the only thing I hate more than Clinton himself is the fact that I’m starting to fall head over heels for him.
He has a secret that will rock the foundation of all the things I believe in. But it’s foolish to jump to conclusions because, in some stories, it’s not easy figuring out exactly who the bad guy is.
Contains mature themes.

“Come up to my room with me . . . ” The invitation came in a deep, husky voice as I was sobbing into my floral arrangement and consuming all the alcohol during the lowest night of my life. I should have said ‘no’. It was wrong to accept the handsome soldier’s offer. But I was hurting. I wanted those rough hands and those soft lips and that sculpted body on me.
I was never supposed to see him again. But two years later, he’s here-in Copper Heights-just as tall, rugged, and charming as the night we met. Meanwhile, I’ve got green pea puree in my hair, dark circles around my eyes, and I can’t remember the last time I changed out of these yoga pants. I’m different now. I’m a mother. Overworked, sleep deprived, and running on an empty tank. Plus, I have a business to run and I’m determined to prove that I can do it on my own. But he’s a distraction. He’s staring at me, his dark, compelling eyes raking my rumpled figure like I just stepped off a runway. I must be dreaming because there’s no way he’s attracted to me.
The charming tower of a man has his secrets and I’ve got mine. This is going to be a nightmare . . . so why is he watching me like I’m his dream come true?
Contains mature themes.

Ben Riggs says he loves me. He says he hasn’t stopped thinking about me since he broke my heart and chased me out of town all those years ago . . .
I say, liar liar pants on fire.
And boy, do those bright yellow, flame-resistant fireman pants look good on him. I’m aching to feel those big, rough hands clenching on my hips and to collect on the illicit promises burning in his dark blue eyes.
Self-control goes up in flames every time he flashes that arrogant smile. So I give in-because a woman has needs. (Am I right, ladies?) He can have my body but my heart is off-limits. I’ve worked hard over the past few years to prove to myself that I can be successful without him in my life.
But Ben says he won’t stop until he wins me back-mind, body, and heart. He says I’d better stop trying to resist him. He may be a fireman but I’m the one fighting like hell against the inferno of lust and nostalgia closing in on us.
And it’s a fight I can’t afford to lose . . .
Contains mature themes.

He’s the hot single dad next door. My brother’s best friend . . . And I want him to be my lover.
From the first time I meet Leo Montgomery, I know that I’m in trouble. His dark, heated gaze skittering down my body sets my skin on fire. A rare sighting of his elusive, heart-stopping smile and-dear lord-I think I just ovulated. But then, he hires me to babysit his adorable little troublemaker after school and now my maternal instincts are working overtime.
It was never supposed to be more than a harmless crush on my older brother’s best friend. But (accidentally) showing him my enormous, red granny panties was probably my first mistake. (Apparently, he’s into that sort of thing.) That slow, sensual kiss on the back porch didn’t help matters, either.
We need an outlet for the combustible sexual tension between us. There’s no denying it. But he says he can’t be my boyfriend. He won’t let me into his closely guarded heart.
I tell him that’s okay. After all, we don’t need a title. We don’t need to be together. We can just be lovers. Can’t we?
Well, as it turns out, the road to hell is paved with good intentions . . . and enormous, red granny panties.
Contains mature themes.

He’s my best friend. He’s a player . . . And now, he wants me in his bed.
Charlie Hartley is the thing that addictions are made of. At least that’s what I’ve heard from the parade of desperate women who’ve gone through his bedroom’s revolving door. Brash and unapologetic, tattooed and insanely handsome. I’m sure there’s a Charlie Addicts Anonymous meeting taking place somewhere in the great state of Illinois as we speak.
I’ve become really good at keeping him at arm’s length and keeping my silly crush under control. After all, it’s a skill I’ve been perfecting since the first time he stood up to a bully for me back in the 8th grade.
But when he offers to escort me to my 83-year-old grandmother’s wedding, I start seeing him in a new light. Maybe there’s more to him than that smoking hot body and those playful, flirtatious eyes.
Now, we’re growing closer, crossing lines, shattering boundaries. I’ve strutted out of the friend zone and straight into his bed. But that’s perfectly fine because I’m a tough girl. I can manage a juvenile, little crush. And there’s no chance that a guy like Charlie will start catching feelings for me.
One drunken night of hot sex won’t change our friendship . . . Will it?
Contains mature themes.

I probably didn’t make a great first impression. Rushing through his apartment door-practically naked aside from the plastic shower cap on my head-and charging for his bathroom as if my skin was on fire.
What was I supposed to do? Wait around for a white knight to swoop through my bathroom window with a wrench and a toilet plunger to save me from my faulty plumbing situation? Insert eye roll here.
Anyway, that’s the story of how I met my new landlord . . .
But Xavier George Andrew Henry Cambridge is more than just the guy who swings by on the first of the month to collect the rent. He’s a real-life prince. Second in line to the throne of a country no one’s ever heard of. Hiding out in this middle-of-nowhere small town to avoid his princely duties.
He’s a charming bastard with an intoxicating accent, a potent smile, and muscles. Many, many muscles. He’s also the perfect gentleman when he needs to be. He makes me laugh despite myself. And he sees right through the tough facade I show the world.
I’m falling. I can’t help myself. And I know he wants me, too. But something’s holding him back. He won’t give in and it’s driving me crazy.
Contains mature themes.