Lowen Ashleigh is a struggling writer on the brink of financial ruin when she accepts the job offer of a lifetime. Jeremy Crawford, husband of best-selling author Verity Crawford, has hired Lowen to complete the remaining books in a successful series his injured wife is unable to finish. Lowen arrives at the Crawford home, ready to sort through years of Verity's notes and outlines, hoping to find enough material to get her started. What Lowen doesn't expect to uncover in the chaotic office is an unfinished autobiography Verity never intended for anyone to read.

Ryder, Garrett, Kenzo, and Diesel - The Vipers. Their deals are as sordid as their business, and their reputation is enough to bring a grown man to his knees, forcing him to beg for mercy. They are not people you mess with, yet my dad did. The old man ran up a debt with them and then sold me to cover his losses. Yes, sold me. They own me now. I’m theirs in every sense of the word. But I’ve never been meek and compliant.

Five Years Earlier: Henry Dunne knows three things: that agreeing to host this raucous house party was a terrible idea, that he absolutely cannot show up to his nursing shift tomorrow with a hangover, and that the beautiful redhead in the corner will be sleeping in his bed tonight.

Obituary writer Nadine Barbault doesn’t mind being called “Lady Death”. It suits the ice queen persona she’s cultivated to survive the fast-paced Toronto Herald. So when Nadine learns that famous (and reclusive) author Dot Voline has died, she doesn’t hesitate to run the obituary…only to discover that Dot is very much alive. Nadine’s screw-up has brought Wesley Chen of the rival Spear no end of joy—she’s been a thorn in his extremely ambitious side for years. But the renewed interest in Dot also surfaced chatter about a mysterious past scandal.

We're not free to give into this. She's 19, and I'm 38. And I'm her boyfriend's father. Unfortunately, they both just moved into my house.

Everything in my life is an experiment. Something to study. Even this—my attraction to the psychology professor. I’ve never had a crush before. Never wanted a man so badly my stomach aches. But here I am at 22, with long-dormant parts of me coming alive. The professor is dry. Distant. Difficult to read. And though we move in the same circles, he still keeps me at arm’s length. That won’t do. Not when I have all these new sensations, new desires to study in myself. He’s always saying we should seek knowledge. Well, I’m about to know him. After Class is a steamy professor-student ...

Tyler Thompson is a bona fide rock star. He went on tour at seventeen and never looked back. And now, fifteen years later, he has more fame, fortune, and success than he ever imagined. He's the bass player for a new band, Nobody's Fool, and all he wants to do is get back on tour. But business and personal issues are blocking his next move.

He’s not supposed to be here. I’m not supposed to see him naked. I’m not supposed to stand here, mouth wide open, staring, admiring. He’s my best friend’s dad. When Kayla asks me to come for a getaway at her dad’s place outside the city, I figure, why not? We’re supposed to have the place to ourselves. Then I see him, Lukas. All of him! Clearly, he doesn’t know we’re here. Did he see me? I don’t know. I’d die of embarrassment if he did. He keeps dropping hints that he knows I saw him swimming naked, seeming to enjoy it. I soon wonder if he has the hots for me, which ...

I knew him only as Van Gogh. A tortured artist who owned the night as he moved through the shadows, cloaked in hate and madness. He was a vicious vigilante—a serial arsonist who thrived on the fear he triggered with a single match between his tattooed knuckles. We were told to lock our doors and stay inside. I wanted to. I really did. But then I saw his eyes, burning like embers as he watched me through the smoke. And like the flames at his feet, I delighted in his attention. I became his muse. His passion. His obsession. His perfectly flawed flower. But that was years ago.

Having to attend my sister's wedding with a pretend boyfriend was bad enough, but when that fake date left me stranded an hour before the ceremony, I thought my life was over. No one wore disappointment as poorly as my mother, and I'd already given her a thousand reasons to wish I'd never been born. Which was why, when a random stranger sat beside me at the bus stop, wearing a crisp suit and a winning smile as though God himself had heard my woeful prayers, I wasted no time in making a rushed deal with the devil: A night of his time in exchange for money I didn't have.