She’s the last woman on earth I’d marry...again. Yet here I am. Saying my vows. Again. To save an alpaca. At least, that’s my story. But the truth might be a little more complicated. I didn’t want to let her go the first time. But now I have a second chance to win over my wife. We’re older. Wiser. And hornier. This time, I won’t fail. Hitched is a red-hot enemies-to-lovers laugh-a-palooza featuring a girl in need of a marriage of convenience and a man in need of a cold shower to keep from falling for his fake wife.

The world’s sexiest firefighter is about to get a second chance with the virgin next door.... He’s bossy, arrogant, and so ridiculously hot that he should come with a warning label and a pair of flame-retardant coveralls. He’s also the boy who broke my heart when we were in high school. I want to move in next door to Ryan O’Dell the way I want to be the virgin gamer geek suddenly in charge of running my sister’s sex-toy factory. Too bad both are written in my stars.

He’s the world’s most alpha Marine and the last man I should be letting jingle my bells this holiday season. But when Clint steps in to rescue me - from a murderous goose, a rogue reindeer, and the ghost of Christmas Right Now causing trouble in my bakery - I can’t help but wonder if we’re meant to be more than friends.

Anything your tongue desires, I can bake it. Scones? Child's play. Cupcakes? I'll frost them so good you won't know what hit you. Donuts? Please! You're talking to a master baker. But there's one egg I've never been able to crack. My best friend. Correction: my former best friend. She's the apple in my pie. The whip in my cream. The lemon in my meringue. The wish in my bone. She's the one who got away.

There are two kinds of women in the world - those I can bang, and those I can’t. My teammate’s sister? She’s a can’t. I moved in with her to protect her from a nasty ex, not to be the next guy in line. She’s the brains. I’m the brawn. She’s the fruit. I’m the sausage. She talks too much. I don’t talk at all, if I don’t have to. Should be easy to resist her.

Remember that time you accidentally sexted your in-laws? Yeah. I just did that. Except worse. Now my million social media followers are reading and sharing the rude, smartass message I meant to send privately to my little sister...and I'm officially public enemy number one. I'm Beck Ryder. Former boy bander. Underwear model. Fashion mogul. And I just buried my entire leg in my mouth - not just my foot - modern internet style, and publicly insulted my sister's neighbor.

Note to self - do not bang your best guy friend in the limo on the way to the swanky Vegas hotel. I give myself very good advice. Too bad I suck at taking it. If only Colin and I hadn't drunk so much whiskey, if only I'd kept that red bikini in my suitcase, if only his evil ex-girlfriend hadn't come sniffing around making me feel territorial and protective. Not that my bad boy rock star best friend is any help. Walking around looking ridiculously sexy, telling me I'm perfect in that panty-melting voice of his when we both swore we’d never do anything to put our friendship at risk.

If people have polar opposites, Luca Rossi is mine. His butt is in the baseball hall of fame. Mine's comfortably seated in the hall of lame. When he's not snagging fly balls out in center field, he's modeling in shampoo commercials. I once jammed my own finger while stirring cookie dough, and sometimes I forget shampoo is a thing. He's a total cynic when it comes to love. I make a living writing love stories. But after my latest broken engagement (no, I don't want to talk about how many times that's happened), it's clear he's exactly the man I need.

Call it superstition, but when a guy bats as hot as Brooks Elliott, you don’t mess with what’s working. And what’s working is him keeping his pants zipped and doing all of his scoring on the field. So when I hear he’s planning to ditch his V-card now that he’s been traded to baseball’s lovable losers - a.k.a. my home team and my reason for living every March through October - I do what any rational, dedicated, obsessed fan would do. I make a plan to stop him. But the thing about stopping him is that it requires spending time with him. Lots. And lots. And lots of time.

A rock star kidnaps a runaway bride...Kidnapping the bride seemed like a good idea at the time. Her fiancé stole my fortune, so I stole his woman. Tit for tat. Or tat for tit. However you want to look at it. The one thing I didn’t expect? Willow Honeycutt, preschool teacher, boy band super fan, is completely crazy. And somehow she’s turned the tables on me.

Large and in charge? Honey, I'm the biggest, baddest, mother pucking-est machine to ever own the ice. I shoot. I score. In and out of the rink. I don't come early, but I come often, if you know what I mean. And I always leave the ladies wanting more. Until that chick last night. I'm no one-thrust wonder, and you're damn right I'm going to prove to her I can do better. But every time I think I'm finally on my way back into her pants, she one-ups and out-balls me. I should cut my losses, lick my wounds, and walk away. But Zeus Berger doesn't walk away from anything.

Dean Moser is a cocky stock market savant whose friends are all settling down, leaving Boulder's infamous ladies' man all alone. When Norah needs a fake date for her parents' anniversary party, her new silent investor is the perfect guy for the job. It seems like a foolproof plan.... That is until Norah decides to break her biggest rule and lock lips with Dean in the middle of the party to spite her meddling mother.

There’s a fine line between lust and hate. I don’t care that Drew Merritt spent the last year transforming himself from grungy slob to sexy playboy. With messy, dirty blond hair and gorgeous eyes, his looks aren’t the problem. His mouth is. And the stupid things that come out of it. But after an emergency strands us together, and he does his damnedest to take care of me.... Let’s just say there’s one thing we don’t clash on. And it doesn’t involve talking. 

He has the muscles of Adonis, an ego bigger than the sun, and a very clear desire to get back in my pants. Which would be fantastic if he weren't a SEAL and I wasn't a criminal. Although, I prefer the term avenger. I'm a hacktivist, cleaning up the cesspool of cyberspace one scam artist and troll at a time, and I sometimes bend a few rules to get justice done. He's a military man with abs of glory, sworn to uphold the letter of the law no matter its shortcomings. And if he'd known who - or what - I was, I doubt he would've banged me at my best friend's wedding reception.

Never borrow pants from your brother. Especially if he’s a size smaller than you are, because all that pressure in the junk will short-circuit your brain. And you’ll lie to a woman in a club about your real name. Leave her unsatisfied after making out in a bathroom. Then find out that she’s the one thing standing in the way of your dreams. And she very much doesn’t like being lied to. Now I have to convince Lila Valentine - the woman I can’t stop thinking about, my biggest regret, and my new boss - that I’m what’s best for the baseball team she’s inherited.