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Cat Carmine

Be careful who you spill your secrets to . . . 

Some women just have it-that combination of stunning looks and sexual confidence that brings men to their knees.

Not me. 

My last boyfriend once fell asleep while we were . . . you know. Not my proudest moment.

And my crush on my hot, arrogant, and oh-so-unattainable CEO? Never going to happen.

But one night, after too much wine, I find myself online, creating a profile for a sex kitten called SweetVixen. Safe behind my computer screen, I'm suddenly the seductive goddess of my wildest imagination. 

Next thing I know, I've spent a month sharing every filthy fantasy I've ever had with a man I know only as Mister Bigshot. A man who can make my toes curl with just a few keystrokes. A man who brings new meaning to the eggplant emoji. 

A man who now wants to meet in person. 

Dressed in my rarely-used little black dress and heels higher than my expectations, I gather my courage and cross the restaurant toward the stranger who's been teasing me mercilessly all month. 

But then I come to a dead stop. Right in the middle of the restaurant. Frozen in place like a deer in the candlelight.

Because the man sitting there waiting on me is no stranger.

The man I've bared everything to-and I do mean everything-is none other than my hot, arrogant, and oh-so-unattainable CEO.

Mister Bigshot is . . . my boss. 

And trust me, there's no emoji for the look he's giving me right now . . .

Contains mature themes.

Rock Engle

Kendall Taylor

Tantor Media, Inc.

The Whittaker Brothers

Bigshot Boss

A good-girl lawyer walks into a bar . . .

Throwing muffins at my ex in the office break room wasn't exactly on today's agenda. Neither was getting asked to take a not-so-voluntary leave from my job as a corporate lawyer. Just until I could get my personal life in order, they said, which you know is code for get your sh*t together. 

But when life hands you lemons-well, you make for the nearest dive bar and drown your sorrows in wine and gooey grilled cheese. 

Of course, it doesn't hurt if they're being served by Manhattan's hottest bartender, Jace Whittaker. Taking him home with me wasn't on my agenda either, but hey . . . those are some lemons I don't mind squeezing.

But it turns out Jace wants more than a one-night stand. He needs a fiancee-for a week. Just long enough to put on a show for his estranged brother's wedding, and convince his family he's cleaned up his act.

Going to Chicago for a week with a man I barely know is yet another item that wasn't on my to-do list right now, but the week of mind-blowing pleasure Jace promises in return in something I can't turn down. So against my better judgement, I agree to help him out. 

All we need to do is not get caught. And not let any pesky feelings get in the way, of course. Because falling for this bad boy bartender-even one who serves up such earth-shattering . . . cocktails-is definitely not on the agenda.

Then again, maybe it's time I let my life get shaken, not stirred . . . and maybe Jace is just the man to do it.

Contains mature themes.

Filthy Fiance

The competition's heating up. You might even say it's about to get . . . red hot.

When my father died, I lost a hero and a role model-and inherited a floundering furniture company. 

So I do what any dutiful (and slightly guilt-ridden) daughter would do-I leave behind my burgeoning fashion label and come home to Chicago to sit at the helm of Bailey Living, the company my father spent his life building. 

But righting a sinking ship is hard work, so when I meet an unbelievably hot guy at an industry party, it seems like a perfect (and perfectly innocent) way to let off a little steam.

It's supposed to be a one-night stand. Simple, uncomplicated, completely forgettable. 

Except nothing about Luke or the night we spend together is even remotely forgettable. It's unbelievable, is what it is. The kind of night you want to stop strangers on the street to rave about. You know, if that didn't make you seem completely crazy. 

That's why I'm convinced I must be hallucinating when I see him sitting across the boardroom table from me a few days later. Surely this is some kind of pleasure-induced delusion. 

But it isn't. 

It turns out Luke isn't just the guy with the magic fingers and the magic tongue and the magic 
 . . . wand. He's Luke Whittaker, and he happens to be the head of Bailey Living's biggest competitor. 

Which makes him my number one rival. 

The one man I can't have . . . is the one man I can't forget. 

And the look Luke's giving me from across the table right now is one I can't forget either. Something tells me that man isn't going to mind giving me some stiff competition . . .

Contains mature themes.

Red Hot Rival