My first mistake? Causing the h-o-t Frenchman a concussion. My second? Telling the hospital staff that I was his girlfriend. In my defense, he didn’t speak English. My third? Taking him home and letting him sleep in my bed. I never said I was Florence Nightingale. He gave me a night I’ll never forget, but when I wake, he’s already gone. I tell myself it’s his loss, that I wasn’t expecting him to stay forever anyway, and my life moves on. Until those striking green eyes meet mine across the office, and it all comes rushing back. 

When I turn up on Whit’s doorstep, résumé in hand, I’m expecting an informal interview, not a honey-dripped seduction, But that doesn’t mean I won’t grab it with both hands… My older brother’s best friend doesn’t recognize me. To him, I’m still the kid he sends a gift card to every Christmas. He doesn’t want to hear I spend them on fancy lingerie, Or that I dress up and fantasize about him. He’s determined not to employ me.

He says he has the power to destroy my company. I say with a husband like him, who needs enemies. But I can survive this six month calamity. All I have to do is keep hating him....

It’s a tale as old as time: girl meets boy (cute face, charisma, killer suit), a wild night is had, and girl later finds out she’s pregnant. Girl goes home. She doesn’t finish college. She makes her living serving coffee, smiling when she’s feeling stabby. But she does it all for her boy, the only man she’ll ever need in her life—until fate decides otherwise...and she finds herself looking into those twilight-colored eyes again.

Once upon a time, in a more carefree life, I met a man. Our gazes connected over the top of his newspaper as he watched me suffer through the most embarrassing moment of my life. Older, sophisticated, and so very hot, he saved me from that awkward encounter, then tried to send me away with a pat on my head. But I wasn’t going anywhere—and the rest, as the saying goes, is history...passionate, heart-stopping, the night-of-my-life kind of history. There was just one tiny problem: I lied to him.

I'm not interested in starting something deep and meaningful, but what I am interested in is the way your body reacts to mine when we're in the same room. You probably assume the concentration on my face is work-related, when in reality, I'm figuring out which I want more: to nail you against the wall, or to bend you over my desk.

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.

I've been dreading this for a year. Okay, that's a lie. I've been dreading this reunion since we graduated high school 10 years ago. So why am I here, standing outside the door like the eternal wallflower I am? I'd say it's because my younger sister browbeat me into it, but the truth is, I'm tired of being a nobody. Of never taking a risk with myself and my life. And...well...maybe I'm also hoping to see him. The tall, insanely gorgeous man walking my way now. Oliver Fritz is regarded as one of Boston's sexiest doctors. I know him as the former god of our school.

Once I saw Marnie Long, a sassy, sultry, charismatic older woman in a bar, I couldn’t peel my eyes off her. I wanted her. At least, for one night. I’m way too busy with my career these days for anything more. As it turned out, after recently getting burned, Marnie was on the same page as me—all she wanted was one night of fun. I was happy to be of service. What I didn’t expect during our night together, however, was how deeply we connected. And how much I was dying to see her again the next morning.

Thinking outside the box resulted in the best night of my life. Until I discover the man I spent it with is my new boss. Attending a secret party where clothes are optional wasn’t a life goal of mine. But when the exclusive invitation ends up in my mailbox by accident...well. Who wouldn't be curious? It's not like I'm going to do anything. The handsome stranger I meet has different plans. One glance across the crowded party and an hour later we're stretched out on silk. No names and no regrets. But I’d forgotten there’s always a price to pay for pleasure.

He’s the devil himself: Damon Copeland (he practically carries a pitchfork), fiery-hot, a torturously sexy body, and a killer smile (if he ever smiled). He’s also the top dog at my father’s company and my brother’s best friend. Oh, and someone I accidentally slept with. In my defense, that was before I knew who he was and before he hired me. Now, my one-night stand has turned into my boss. What’s worse, he’s Mr. Bosshole Superior: brutish, broody, and impatient. He’s also 6’4". And I’m pretty sure he hates me. But it’s not as if I planned any of this.

I was upgraded to first class on a flight from London to New York. The food, champagne, and service were impeccable. The blue-eyed man sitting next to me, even better. He was suave and intelligent. We talked and laughed, and something clicked. Fate took over and the plane was grounded, and we had an unexpected stopover for the night. With no plans, we made our own.

The first time I met Merrick Crawford was during my job interview. Well, technically, I’d met him 20 minutes earlier when he’d barged into a fitting room a few doors down from my appointment. I yelled. He yelled. After an argument while standing in my bra, I proceeded to smash the door into the gorgeous jerk, trying to yank it shut. As you might imagine, I was freaked out when I discovered that the rude guy was my potential new boss. Yet he didn’t seem to recognize me. Or so I thought.... Until we wound up bickering again during my interview and he told me to go sniff my armpit.

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.

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.