Liam McLaren: London's most ruthless financial hotshot and the big boss at Ashbury Thornton Equity Group. Just whisper his name and even the city’s toughest traders break out in a cold sweat. And lucky me, Gemma Jones, as the head of HR at his company, I’ve got a front-row seat to the McLaren Show. Brooding intensity, perfectionist demands, and a glare that could stop your heart mid-beat. Every. Damn. Day.

I'm not the kind of girl who has one-night stands. Except...I did. What can I say? After a few drinks with a gorgeous man who made me feel alive for the first time since losing my mom, I was powerless to say no. And I didn't regret it. Not one minute of our hot, mind-melting night together. But he wasn't a forever kind of guy. So I walked away. I wasn't supposed to ever see him again. Then I did. Turns out my sexy one-night stand is Dr. Jacob Mitchell - and he's the cardiothoracic surgeon who just saved my dad's life.

My entire life changed when he walked into my father’s café in Tuscany…Il Mostro. The monster. The devilishly handsome mafia don Dario Rosolini. He and his brothers run this region… and they take everything they want. Including me. Although Dario has made clear that I am his and ONLY his. But I’ll fight back, no matter how hard it is. Not just because I’m afraid of him (although I am)… But because, deep down, I WANT him… And I know that giving in to him will ruin me forever.

Whip King cannot be the man for me. Cocky, pierced firefighters are perfect for late-night rom-coms, but in real life they’re nothing but trouble. Especially when you find out they work for your dad—after you’ve already slept with them. Moving to my parents’ small town was supposed to be the fresh start I was looking for. When a disastrous Valentine’s Day leads to an unexpected encounter with a sexy stranger, and ends with the hottest night of my life, I didn’t think I would ever see Whip again.

Our first meeting was at a nightclub, and it was something straight out of my most romantic fantasies. My ovaries exploded at the sight of the Russian God. And by God, I mean he was ripped, tall, dark, and deadly attractive. There were enough sparks between us to light up a city. Then an explosion blasted through the nightclub, and we got trapped together for three hours, sharing our most personal details...everything but our names. Two years later, our second meeting is the complete opposite of the first. It's clear Misha Petrov, a Russian enforcer for the bratva, despises me.