Angela Ingalls

My name is Greer Karas, and I should never be allowed near another bottle of booze again. Because when I drink, my friend and I do stupid things. Like take a page out of my older brother Creighton’s playbook and post something completely asinine on the Internet. Waking up with a giant hangover to find my humiliating personal ad has gone viral is not my finest moment. Cue my look of shock when one of the movie industry’s hottest new bad boys, Cavanaugh Westman, comes knocking at my door.

I have everything a guy could want - a new single burning up the charts, more money than a man could spend, and a woman I’m planning to marry. Until she doesn’t show up for my proposal. The life I thought was so perfect, isn’t. The guy who thought he had everything, doesn’t. I’ve got my heart on lockdown, but life sends me straight into the path of a mouthy bartender who puts me in my place. Now the only place I want to put her is under me. I thought I was done with love, but maybe I’m just getting started....

Nicholas Harris is a professional badass. Ex-Army Ranger, former personal security for the one and only Valentine Roth, mercenary, assassin, pilot, and my lover. After Roth and Kyrie holed up in their island fortress estate in the Caribbean, Nick started a private security contracting company: Alpha One Security. He hired the best of the best, the scariest, nastiest, toughest - and sexiest - security experts in the business.

Roth and I are on an open-ended tour of the world. Roth being Roth, this means missionary in Morocco, reverse cowgirl in Calcutta, bent over the bow of a houseboat in Hanoi, slow and sleepy on St. John. Anywhere and everywhere, in every conceivable position and some I didn't know were possible. Life is pretty incredible. Until I wake up in his chateau in France alone. On the bed next to me is a note. There are only four words: "He belongs to me."

When you make an enemy of a man like Vitaly Karahalios, there is nowhere on Earth you can go to escape his wrath. He'll find you. He found me; he found Roth. He found Layla. He found us, and now the unthinkable has happened. Someone I love has been kidnapped.

I found an envelope in the mail. No return address. My name on the front, my address. Inside was a check, made out to me, in the amount of 10 thousand dollars. Enough to pay the bills and leave me some left over to live on until I found a job. Enough to let me focus on classes. There was no name on the check, just "VRI Inc.", and a post office box address for somewhere in the city. No hint of identity or reason for the check or anything. No mention of repayment, interest, nothing...except a single word, on the notes line: "You." Just those three letters.

I was a 68 Whiskey - a combat medic. So when I hear someone shout "MEDIC!", training just kicks in. It's automatic, immediate. I don't think I even saw the guy whose leg I tended to, not really. All I saw was him. Zane Badd. His tuxedo fit him like he'd been sewn into it, and his eyes reflected the fury and the hardness of a combat veteran, but when he looked at me, he just...softened. By the time I had his brother patched, Zane and I were both covered in blood, and I knew I had to have him.

Brock Badd is everything except bad. He's sexy, sweet, strong, and every other good thing I never thought I wanted in a man. I always thought I needed the real bad boys, the ones that screw you senseless and pull your hair and aren't there to talk about it in the morning. But one night with Brock, and I was hooked. But hooked doesn't mean ready for a relationship. That's what he wants. And deep down, I'm starting to fear that's what I want too. I'm just not sure I'm ready for it.

Your wedding day is supposed to be the happiest day of your life, right? That's what they say, at least. I went into that day hoping I'd get the happiest day of my life. What I got? The worst. I mean, you really can't get any worse of a day without someone actually dying. So...I may have gotten just a little drunk, and maybe just a tad impetuous...and landed myself in a dive bar somewhere in Alaska, alone, still in my wedding dress, half wasted and heartbroken.

So how did I get myself into this situation, you ask? Simple: desperation. When you're faced with being homeless and hungry or taking off your clothes for money, the choice is easier than you'd imagine. That doesn't make it simple, though. Oh no. I hate it, in fact. There's nothing I'd like more than to quit and never go into another bar again, never hear the techno beat pulsing in my ears again, never feel the lecherous gazes of horny men again. Then, one day, I meet a man. He's in my club, front and center. He watches me do my routine, and his gaze is full of hunger.