Seventeen-year-old Veronica Smith has it all: a loving family, a funky car named Jezebel, and a plan to go to college after graduation. On the first day of senior year, she meets Dimitri Glenn-a mysterious transfer student with gray eyes and a mischievous smile who seems determined to win her heart.
But there’s something odd about Dimitri, leading Veronica to wonder if there’s more to him than meets the eye. Before long she finds herself in a whirlwind romance that seems too good to be true-until a series of devastating events leaves her questioning everything.
It’s not until she chooses to think with her heart instead of her mind that she can rise from the ashes to learn the truth of their connection.

Franco Genovese is the drummer for world-renowned American rock band Rook. He’s got it all. A killer smile. Tattoos. Talent. Razor-sharp wit and humor. And a heart as big, and generous, as they come.
Life is good. Steady. Uncomplicated. Just the way he likes things. Until one night at an unassuming L.A. bar changes everything.
Enter Gemma Hendricks. She’s a successful young architect from Northern England with an adorable smile, sarcasm for days, and an unparalleled trusting heart.
The attraction is instant. So is their friendship.
It’s also temporary because they’ll both be heading home, thousands of miles apart from each other, in a few days.
Or is it?
There’s something Gemma wants more than anything else. And when Franco propositions her to provide what she’s looking for, everything changes.
Will it transform friendship into love, or will it be their ruin?

Love is strange. It comes out of nowhere, and there’s no logic to it. It’s not methodical. It’s not scientific. It’s pure emotion and passion. And emotion and passion can be dangerous because they fuel love . . . and hate.
I’m now a reluctant connoisseur of both-an expert through immersion. I know them intimately.
When I fell in love with Miranda, it was swift and blind. She was the person I’d elevated to mythical status in my head, in my dreams.
Here’s the thing about dreams; they’re smoke. They’re spun as thoughts until they become something we think we want. Something we think we need.
That was Miranda. She was smoke.
I thought I wanted her. I thought I needed her.
Over time reality crept in and slowly dissected and disemboweled my dreams like a predator, leaving behind a rotting carcass.
Reality can be a fierce bitch. So can Miranda.
And I can be a fool . . . who believes in dreams. And people. And love.