But all that changes when the reindeer-antlered Fabio drags in a very desperate, on-the-run detective who decides to take refuge in her house.

    Right waiting for her. No, wait… Mr. Clean.A gentleman professional killer with a bad case of OCD and zero tolerance for unsorted laundry, March isn’t there to kill her… yet. He wants the diamond her late mother stole for a sinister criminal organization. Island agrees to help him find it, facing the kind of adversaries who dismember first and ask questions later. Good thing she’s got March to show her the ropes. And the guns. And the knives.The buttoned-up Island is soon having a blast racing from Paris to Tokyo following the clues in her mother’s will, and for the first time, she’s ready to get close to someone. But falling for a hit man may be the very definition of loving dangerously.…Spotless marks the beginning of Island and March’s ongoing adventures.

    So when a super hot guy boards the plane and flashes his rock hard abs, I pay attention. When he sits next to me and offers me his nuts, I can’t resist. But when I choke on them and he tells me I need to work on my gag reflex, I realize I might be in over my head. Before I know it we’re in the lavatory and attempting to join the Mile High Club. Let me just say this...anyone who tells you it’s easy to get it on at 37,000 feet isn’t telling you the truth. After the flight attendant busts us for getting frisky in the air, the only thing that can ease my total and complete mortification is the simple fact that I am never going to see him again. Hours later, I can’t help but wonder if fate will ever allow me to become a new version of myself. Because Fate, she’s a fickle bitch. Case in point...my seatmate is my new next-door neighbor. Even with the whole fate thing we have going on, we are so not meant to be together. He’s all cool and sexy in that make love not war kind of way. Guys like him are dangerous. With that bring-you-to-your-knees body, that handsome-as-hell face, and that dirty, dirty mouth, I guarantee one glance from him wets every girl's bikini bottoms. And then there’s me…the quirky girl looking to find herself in California. All I want to do is learn to let loose. Say words like peace and groovy. Bury my toes in the sand. Who knows, maybe even have sex on the beach. Unable to get him out of my head, I entertain the thought of being more than just friends. I know the idea is absurd. And yet, I go with it. You see Camden Waters gets me. Really gets me. Like no other guy has before.On this 7-mile stretch of paradise, I decide to keep things simple and just have fun...that is until fate decides to screw with me, again. Can two people hell-bent on finding themselves realize the search should have ended the day they met? Find out in No Pants Required—a sexy, funny, romantic stand-alone, that will have you hurrying to grab your bathing suit and rushing to the beach to check out every lifeguard on duty. ***Want more of the men of Laguna? You can find Keen in Bedwrecker and Brooklyn in Hollywood Prince. These books can be read as stand-alones or as a series.

    Landing a job on campus as an irreverent radio personality, she uses the anonymity to air all the campus dirty laundry—earning the infamous Sunday Lane more than a few enemies. But her true passion is spinning records, even if Drunk Earl is her biggest fan. Sydney’s junior year kicks off with the promise to be amazing. Or at least it does until Gray Peters, hotshot quarterback, unexpectedly reenters the scene. His presence threatens to destroy everything she has going, as well as resurrecting a night Sydney never wants to remember or repeat. She’d run away like a coward, but this time she's determined to stay and fight. A twisted battle of wit and trickery ensues, with one common goal—vengeance. Sydney and Gray set out to make each other miserable. But misery loves company, and soon, walls are destroyed and truths are revealed that could change their future forever. *** Contains mature situations and language ***

    This road trip wasn't to be just any road trip, but a very special one indeed. An adventure with an acutely specific purpose - to find our other halves. The peanut butter to our jelly. The i to our Phone. The stripper to our pole. If our romantic desires were a personal ad, they would read something like this: ** Two sassy women (Ages twenty-seven and forty-nine respectively - Ouch. Okay, ages twenty-seven and thirty - with nineteen years experience - respectively) seeking Alpha Males to love us with zeal and kiss us with skill. Gorgeous face and sexy, tattooed, hard body a must. If you aren't a dangerous bad*ss with the x-rated skills and virility to match, don't bother. Must be willing to protect us from danger, value our quirkiness, and keep your mouth shut when said quirkiness is what leads to said danger. Momma's boys named Dan Smith need not apply.** I know. It's a bit wordy. In fact, it would probably cost a fortune. Luckily, we're not ready for the personal ad. We're not that desperate... yet. This is my story. Warning: Some explicit language and sexual content.