In my life as a single, thirty-two year old woman. I had a good job, wonderful friends, my independence.I also hadn't got laid in three years. Hadn't been on a date in two. Had stopped counting calories and wearing makeup... a while ago.Then Brett Jacobs waltzed in. Caressed my thigh, dug rough fingers into my hair, lowered his soft mouth to my skin, took sexual control of my mind and stirred it all around with what he packed in his pants. He flipped my quiet life upside down and crawled into a place in my heart I thought was dead.The issue is his secret.The issue is her.The issue is that I don't even know she exists, and he thinks she's dead.The issue is that shit is about to hit the fan and I can't hold on to him tight enough.

    Trapped with her emotionally distant father, over-eager stepmother, and a brother who only wants to hook up with European hotties, Becca is miserable. That is until she meets Nikolai, a guy as mysterious as he is handsome. And she unknowingly finds herself with a runaway prince.Nikolai has everything a guy could ask for-he's crown prince, heir to the throne, and girls adore him. But the one thing he doesn't have...is freedom. Staging a coup, he flees his kingdom and goes undercover on his own European tour.When Nikolai and Becca meet, it’s their differences that draw them together. Sparks fly as they share a whirlwind of adventures, all the while dodging his royal guard. But Becca's family vacation ends in a matter of days. Will Nikolai and Becca be forced to say goodbye forever, will his destiny catch up to him, or will they change history forever?

    He isn’t what she expects the heir to a small European nation to be: he's affable, witty, and isn’t put off by her tell-it-like-it-is demeanor. Their flirtation should be short lived, but a force stronger than fate—Hatty’s newspaper editor—assigns her to cover the royals. After spending time together, she and John soon begin dating, and Hatty finds herself making headlines instead of writing them. But challenges loom that are even more complicated than figuring out how to mesh Hatty's journalism career with life at Belvoir Palace. Hatty and John soon find themselves embroiled in an unusual sex scandal: they can't produce an heir. Tabloids dub Hatty a “Barren-ess,” and the royals become irate. Hatty politely tells them to shove it. But beneath her confident exterior, she struggles to cope with a heartbreak that invades her most intimate moments with John. Pressured to choose between invasive medical procedures and abandoning John’s claim to the throne, the couple feels trapped until a trip to Ethiopia shows them happy endings sometimes arrive long after saying “I do.”

    Easy. Wear designer clothing and sip champagne? Don’t mind if I do. Flirting with Grant? It’s so delicious I should be paying him. Nothing can go wrong as long as I can keep my hands off of him. But that’s the hard part. And I do mean hard. Because Grant is sexy. And bossy. And surprisingly sweet, a real rarity in his pretentious family. Oops. I’m not as good at faking it as I thought. Or maybe they call this method acting. Because it’s getting harder to figure out where my character ends and I begin… It just might be the role of a lifetime. Weekend Wife is a standalone romantic comedy with a sexy billionaire, a sassy heroine, and a Happily Ever After.

    Some might even say perfect. They say that I’m a pretty girl. They say I should be happy. They say that I have nothing to be angry about. That I’m popular. A cheerleader. That I’m perfect. Perfect. Perfect. Perfect. But all they see is what’s on the outside. On the inside I’m raw, open, bleeding. Scars that can’t seem to heal the wounds. Carrying dark secrets about who I really am.How afraid I am to tell the truth.And it’s slowly killing me. RylerTattoos. Piercing. Scars. The guy who can’t speak. Gothic freak. Mute. Punk. I’ve heard it all. They say that I’m probably dangerous. They say people should stay away from me. They say. They say. They say.But who are they anyway? To decide what I am. They don’t know what’s hidden beneath the scars. Beneath the piercings and tattoos. The secrets I keep hidden beneath the silence.Maybe if they knew, they wouldn’t fear me so much. Then again, maybe they’d fear me more.