Layla Robinson is not crazy. She is suffering from unrequited love. But it's time to move on. No more stalking, no more obsessive calling. What she needs is a distraction. The blue-eyed guy she keeps seeing around campus could be a great one - only he is the new poetry professor - the married poetry professor.

Abducted and taken to a remote cabin in Alaska, Frankie finds herself at the mercy of four feral men, each with his own dark secrets and twisted desires. With nowhere to run, she must rely on her wits to survive the harsh winter trapped with them. As she delves into their mysterious pasts, she uncovers an insidious evil that feeds on loyalty and uses love as a weapon.

He’s dark. Dirty. Dangerous. A brother in my dad’s MC. Everything Mom told me to avoid. Everything I shouldn’t want. But his dark, his dirty, and his dangerous are like catnip to me. He stirs fear into the hearts of men, but I hear his rage. I feel it like it’s my own. He’s a killer. Shameless. Some might even call him a psycho. I just call him soul mate. We were born to raise hell together.

I didn't mean to star in a sex tape, okay? It was just one of those unexplainable things. Like Stonehenge, Police Academy 2, and morning glory clouds. It just happened. Now, my ball-busting father is sentencing me to six months of celibacy, sobriety, and morbid boredom under the roof of Boston's nerdiest girl alive, Sailor Brennan. The virginal archer is supposed to babysit my ass while I learn to take my place in Royal Pipelines, my family's oil company. Little does she know, that's not the only pipe I'll be laying....

Running away from home at 17 wasn't easy. Let's face it, though, nothing before or in the ten years since has ever been easy for me. And I'm doing okay—sorta. I just need to keep scraping by, living under the radar. Staying out of people's way, off people's minds. When a man walks through my open patio door, stepping boldly into my home and my life, I should be scared, frightened, terrified. I must be more broken than I realized because I'm none of those things. I'm intrigued—and I'm wondering if the way to take control of my life is by giving in to him.

Theo Graham is charming. Sweet. Absolutely gorgeous. But I’m not a little girl anymore. I shouldn’t want him. I can’t have him. I should know better than to want my best friend’s dad. My best friend is Theo’s son, who may or may not have had feelings for me on and off for the past eight years. Wanting my best friend’s dad was the one secret that was never supposed to come out. Except now, he wants me too.

She's back. We were kids the last time I saw her, but my innocent crush from childhood is full-grown now. And it's not so innocent anymore. She's a breath of fresh air from the series of one-night stands since being drafted into the NHL. I've only got one shot with her, and I'm not taking it for granted. I may give her the passion she's been craving, but she's the intimacy I've waited for my whole life.

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.

When Jamie Andrews moves in with a house full of firefighters, things start heating up fast. Battling the wilderness of rural Montana, these guys are always charging into danger—for a living, for duty, for the rush—and since Jamie is a psychiatric nurse, they fascinate her analytic mind. She can’t help but fixate on Calvin, a grumpy, enigmatic smoke jumper ten years her senior. She makes playfully tormenting him her pet project, trying to get him to open up. It turns out he gives as good as he gets.

Brutal, cold, and illegally gorgeous, Dante Sartorre isn't just mafia royalty. He's also the tyrant owner of the infamously deviant and members-only Club Venom. He's also my new husband. In my defense, I wasn't supposed to be the bride. But I sealed my fate when I saved my friend by signing the Venom Devil's marriage contract myself. Now, he owns me. All of me…

Love. Sucks. I don’t know where I went wrong. Whether it was letting a man convince me that suddenly, the things I’ve never wanted are right for me, or if simply believing the best in the person who I wasted three years of my life on was what lead me here.

Carter Beckett is the NHL’s resident bad boy, top player both on the ice and in the bedroom, and quite possibly the sexiest man to ever grace my field of vision. But worst of all? He knows it. He’s arrogant, self-centered, and the man doesn’t seem to know what a filter is, let alone how to use one. He’s had everything served to him on a silver platter, including endless strings of women, and apparently, I’m up next. I have the solution to all my sexual frustrations in a drawer at home, and it’s far less complicated than Carter Beckett.

He was the mysterious dark knight, always swooping in to save me when I needed it the most. I was the troubled girl with scars and a bleeding heart. He was the gifted guitarist destined for big things. I was the small-town girl battling her demons. He was my earth, always keeping me grounded. I was his sky, always just out of his reach. Our love was everything I wished for—until I destroyed it.

Three unforgettable full-length steamy, suspenseful, small-town romance novels from NYT and USA Today bestselling author A.L. Jackson....

Marrying the 70-something head of the Cosa Nostra to save my father is the only good deed I’ve ever done. I’m burning and bitter under the fake smile and tight dresses, but I was keeping it together. Was. Until my fiancé’s nephew turns up to dinner uninvited. Angelo "Vicious" Visconti. A beautiful monster with cheekbones as sharp as his tongue. They say I shouldn’t be scared of him, because nine years ago, he went straight. He’s barely a Made Man anymore. But I say, he’s the most dangerous Visconti of all.