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Like an avenging, purple-haired Jedi bringing balance to the mansplained universe, Bee Königswasser lives by a simple code: What would Marie Curie do? If NASA offered her the lead on a neuroengineering project—a literal dream come true after years scraping by on the crumbs of academia—Marie would accept without hesitation. Duh. But the mother of modern physics never had to co-lead with Levi Ward.

I don’t care what other people think as long, as they leave me alone to focus on my research on soil microbiology. Plus, I walk with a cane thanks to a childhood accident. I have scars on my face. And if that isn’t enough to scare people off, my bad attitude and general grumpiness seal the deal. Which is just the way I like it. Except, I’ve been short listed for one of the most prestigious academic fellowships around. To win it, I’ll have to give a series of speeches. On a stage. With an audience. While being filmed.

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.

It was only supposed to be a marriage of convenience. Let me just say, this whole part-time lover thing was her idea. I’d have gone all in from the start, but hey, when a gorgeous, brilliant woman invites you into her bed, and only her bed...well, I said yes. But then, one hysterical phone call from my brother later, begging me to find myself a wife so grandfather’s business stays in the family, and I need a promotion with Elise. Turns out a full-time husband suits her needs too, and a temporary marriage of convenience ought to do the trick, until we can simply untie the knot....

Once upon a time, there was a girl who dressed up and went to a big party at the palace. When she was there, she met a prince. They danced and fell in love. Damn good line. Too bad I don’t believe a word of it anymore. My name is Claire Montgomery, and I’m not a princess. I’m a fighter. I worked hard to earn my place on the emergency image repair team for one of the biggest public relations companies in the country. We’ve been called to the renowned Chicago headquarters of Stone Global Corporation, where it’s our job to clean up a heap of the Stone family’s filthiest laundry.

Paint your toes. Pick up the wrong coffee and bagel order. Drive from Brooklyn to Jersey in traffic so slow you want to tear your hair out. It’s amazing all the useless things I can accomplish while on hold for three hours with customer service. Three hours when I should be getting the Date-in-a-Box website ready to launch at the big business expo in a few days. Except my shiny new website is glitching, and my inner rage-monster is ready to scorch some earth...when he finally picks up. Not the robot voice I expected but a real live human named Kal.

His idyllic estate is falling down from neglect, and nightmares of war give him no rest. Then Devlin St. Just meets his new neighbor.... With her confident manner hiding a devastating secret, his lovely neighbor commands all of his attention, and protecting Emmaline becomes Devlin's most urgent mission.

At the Duke’s Pleasure is Tracy Anne Warren’s sexiest, most winning romantic Byron misadventure to date - an arranged-marriage-gone-awry winner combining the deft humor and stunning sensuality of Victoria Alexander with delightfully human and unforgettable upper-crust characters reminiscent of Julia Quinn.

Marry a young woman because he lost a bet? Unreformed rake Lord Jack Byron would do anything to get out of it. But the rich merchant who holds his debt insists Jack lead his on-the-shelf daughter to the altar...and make her believe it's a love match. With no options, Jack agrees, thinking he'll be shackled to a closed-in spinster. But Grace Danvers is no milk-and-water miss....

A good cop can always spot trouble. That’s why my senses started pinging the moment I met the hottie next door. The neighborhood may never be the same. First, she confuses me for a male stripper and tries to remove my uniform. (The guys on the force will never let me live that down.) And then there’s the breaking and entering. I don’t know what to do with her. My libido has a few ideas of its own, though. Bad, bad ideas.