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.

Mission: Survive my best friend's wedding, where I must play nice with my ex and his perfect new girlfriend. Strategy: Bring the hottest fake boyfriend on the planet. Target: Grady Rock. Master baker. Dimples. Muscles. The unicorn of fake boyfriends. Complication: Wyatt Morgan. My brother's best friend. My sworn enemy. Military man. Sexy as hell single dad. The man I let into my panties for one night of hot hate sex after my ex dumped me. 

Mister McHottie is the hilariously sexy prequel to the Copper Valley Thrusters series, where you’ll first meet the twin tank hockey players who inspired the next books. It comes complete with an organic happy-ever-after (or seven), a Bratwurst Wagon, ill-advised office pranks between a billionaire boss and the woman he tormented as a child, and no cheating or cliffhangers.

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.

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.

If the Upper East Side had an evil twin, it would be Tickled Pink, Wisconsin. This run-down, backwoods town isn’t worthy of the footprint of my Louboutins, never mind all of me. But when my grandmother has a near-death experience and realizes we Lightlys can’t buy our way into heaven, she relocates the family to Tickled Pink to work on improving our souls. And that’s how I trade my heiress existence for gigantic bugs, dishwater coffee, and a cranky single dad named Teague Miller.

He's a billionaire heir. A grump supreme. Hater of people. Bigger hater of peopling with people. And my new fake boyfriend. "Emotionally unavailable" doesn’t even begin to describe Hayes Rutherford. He has more defenses than a nuclear missile silo. And he’s the ultimate catch of the century. At least, according to his bank statement. My job’s simple: Keep all interested ladies away from the walled-off heir, by pretending to be his one true love. But you know what they say about fake-dating a billionaire: It’s all fun and games, until the scandals start.

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.

Four steamy, feel-good, laugh-out-loud romantic adventures featuring swoon-worthy rock-star heroes and the fabulous ladies who love them. Also includes a brand-new holiday novella!

Cameron Whitbury is used to engineering her way out of any problem. But someone is after her, and she doesn’t know who or why. Throw in the threat of a sex scandal and the frustrating antics of the entitled son of her company’s founder, and she might be in over her head. But sacrifice her privacy to an overprotective bodyguard? No thanks. She doesn’t need a six-foot-five, motorcycle-riding, square-jawed, hazel-eyed man-beast shadowing her every move.

When romance novelist Kate Smith suddenly gets writer's block as she's beginning the final installment of her international best-selling erotic Bed 'n Breakfast series, she'll do pretty much anything to get her groove back. Like sneak into a Tire Depot waiting room because her words flow there just like complimentary coffee - smooth, sweet, and scorchingly hot. She manages to fly under the radar until the rugged and charming mechanic, Miles Hudson, notices the quirky redhead slinking in and out of the employees-only entrance. But she's way too intriguing to blow the whistle on.

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.

It started when I hosted a little party for a bunch of new friends. Though “friends” might not be the right word since the invitees were all the women I’d found out my boyfriend was talking to behind my back. When the guest of honor walked in—aka my now ex—things took a turn…. Unfortunately, a stranger witnessed the whole blowout. I was in a mood that night and ended up giving this gorgeous guy an attitude, too. As if my night could get any worse, before he stormed off, he informed me he was actually my landlord.

If I had to pick a bride of convenience, my first choice would not be Peach Maloney. My 50th choice would not be Peach. Top spot on my list of occupational hazards? Yes. Royal pain in the crumpets? Yes. A bride of convenience? No. But I've unexpectedly gone from royal bodyguard to monarch, having inherited a crown that was stolen from my family long before my birth. The kicker? In order to take the throne, I must find a wife. Have I mentioned Peach would not have been my 100th choice? But I've no other options, and she needs a favor that my new position can fulfill quite nicely.

There are three things I hate: Bratwurst in any form, my neighbors boinking like farm animals at 3 AM, and Chase Jett. Mostly I hate Chase Jett. It's been 10 years since he took my virginity - I'd make a bratwurst joke, but the unfortunate truth is that it would have to be a brat-best joke, and yes, it kills me to admit that - and now he's not only a billionaire, he's also my new boss.