Sometimes you need to crash a funeral to experience happiness. At least Kissimmee Singh, aerial artist for Singh Circus, the most sought-after traveling circus of all time, keeps telling herself that’s why she crashes funerals. In reality, she’s lost and confused. Sometimes it’s nice to experience other people’s grief and be reminded that life isn’t as bad as it could be.

I should have known I was in trouble when I backed my old, beat-up truck into the shiny Range Rover. The driver looked like a gorgeous fallen angel–one who’d been booted right out of paradise for being a giant prick. Good thing I’ll never have to see him again.

Kincaid: Hero complex? Possessive? Not afraid to speak my mind? Check, check, and check. I'm also president of the Cerberus MC, a former Marine, and Emmalyn Mikaelson doesn't have a clue what she's gotten herself into by jumping on the back of my bike. Shadow: I'm no stranger to a woman warming my bed. What's new for me is being the one ghosted. So imagine my surprise when the girl who decided I wasn't enough shows up on my doorstep burdened with the consequences of her own lies and deceit.

I might have been born and raised in a motorcycle club, but until my father and MC prez calls me home, the guitar is my mistress, my band is my temporary family, and fame is my drug of choice. I wasn’t expecting Mallory. She provokes every one of my protective instincts. Anyone who tries to extinguish her spark will answer to my fists. Unfortunately, this is Hollywood where sleazeballs are crawling over each other to tarnish girls like Mallory.

I’m falling for the father of the baby I’m carrying. The problem is: it’s not my baby. And the broody widower is not looking for a long-term partner. As a surrogate, the deal was that I’d only be in England long enough to give birth. At first, the man seemed as pretentious as his name: Sigmund Benedictus. He and I butted heads. Sig challenged my intentions, accused me of just wanting to do this for the money. Gradually, he learned to trust me.