Elise Faber Libri

The white dress.The diamond ring.The full church.The . . . missing groom.Molly Miller had become a cliché when Jackson Davis left her at the altar, but she'd crawled back from the heartbreak and embarrassment and was living her dream of running a successful eatery in San Francisco.Well, good riddance. She didn't need Jackson, or any other man in her life. She had Molly's, her restaurant, she had her customers, and she finally had found some happy.Who cared that she had unanswered questions as to why Jackson had left? It didn't matter. He'd gone and that was that. Moving on, grinding out one day in front of another, baking her way through her emotions and generally moving on with her life.Until . . . one early morning Jackson walked through the front door of her restaurant.And her whole world imploded

It began with a collision.Not in the sense of souls colliding or even stars aligning, but in a real-life, totally her fault, bumpers-crunching, frames-bending, airbags-deploying crash.Haley. Oh Haley.Why was she such a mess?And why did she have to be such a mess when it involved really expensive cars and really handsome men? She was an emergency room nurse. She was supposed to have it all together, to be cool under pressure, to be-Not turned into a complete puddle of mush when it came to the man whose car she'd crunched.But Sam was so . . . so nice and sweet and gorgeous and he made Haley's brain just completely poof out of her skull. But Sam was also her past.Or rather, her sister's past.She couldn't be attracted to the person who'd broken her sister's heart. She couldn't want him. It didn't matter that a decade had passed. Plus, Sam had never noticed her before. Haley was the little sister, the annoying tagalong. Sam wasn't attracted to her and he never would be.But what if maybe . . . just maybe that colliding of bumpers had finally knocked some sense into Sam?What if he decided Haley wasn't the annoying little tagalong sister anymore? And what if she gave into the temptation incarnate of all her childhood fantasies? And worse what was Haley going to do if her sister found out?

My life was boring until I met him.Painfully tedious, pathetically lonely, and I absolutely hated it.But I was too scared to do anything about it. Too scared to change . . . at least until I met Kace.I should have been terrified of him-scared of his size (he towered over my short, curvy self), freaked out by the fierce tats covering his arms and torso (they even crawled up his neck), and definitely frightened by the angry scowl he unleashed on anyone who dared to disrupt him (though this happened rarely, it still did happen).Except, Kace seemed to like me-shy, boring, socially inept me. He couldn't change the tats or the towering, but he rarely unleashed his trademark scowl on me.Okay, so maybe it was more like he tolerated me, but regardless, Kace didn't seem to care that I hung around the bar he worked at, putting my night owl tendencies to work as I wrote.See, my work was the only place I explored. My safe place to write as dirty and steamy and kinky of books as I wanted.My readers loved them-loved the hot sex, the tough alphas, the guaranteed happy endings. As thus, I made good money, only somewhat because I was a decent writer, but mostly because my imagination was very active, beyond active . . . some might even say too active.As for me personally? I'd never experienced anything close to the types of things I wrote.But I'd decided it was time to change that.With scowly, sexy, terrifying Kace.

Sera used to believe in happily ever afters.Well, she still believed in them. Just not for her.For Seraphina Delgado, finding a man who loved her for who she was inside, rather than simply appreciating her outward appearance, had proved to be impossible.She wasn't trying to be cocky-cock, ha¬-but she was beautiful. So beautiful, in fact, that she'd spent her childhood and tween years modeling and shooting commercials and . . . well, only being appreciated for the way she looked.And that was more curse than advantage because looks faded. People aged, wrinkles formed, boobs sagged . . .Anyway, none of that mattered because no man ever saw who she truly was on the inside.Until Tate.He was more interested in software than her cup size and had hired her to help him find a house. He didn't care about her looks or her boobs, only her abilities as a real estate agent.But then he showed up in her office with a crazy proposition. One so crazy, it almost made sense.He wanted them to get married.And Sera thought she just might agree.

Healer Suz was known for her cool head, steady presence, and impeccable composure under pressure-a pressure that included magical attacks against her people, the Rengalla, and her on the front lines, healing any injuries they sustained.But her position at the Colony was more than that.If someone twisted their ankle, she repaired the tendons and ligaments.If a baby was being born, she was there, welcoming them into the world.If an idiot soldier got hurt doing idiot soldier things, she yelled at them . . . then healed whatever injury had brought them her way.She took care of people. The need was engrained in her heart and soul.Along with . . . loneliness.She wanted someone of her own she could take care of.The trouble was she wanted a particular someone.And Graham hadn't ever bothered to give her the time of day.

Everyone thought I had it together. That I was tough and powerful and a take-no-prisoners woman at the top of my industry.And I was. At work.I always sealed the deal, nabbed the contract, and I never failed to get someone to sign on the dotted line. At work, I was the best.My personal life, however, was a wreck. A giant, lonely wreck.Until, Cole.Cole was about as far away from my city girl polish as one could get. A retired hockey player, he wore jeans to my power suits, cowboy boots to my heels, ate simple food to my gourmet. Hell, he even lived on a ranch half the year.And yet . . . he also challenged my mind. Never gave me an inch. Not to mention, he was gorgeous, kind, incredibly insightful and always, always, called me on my B.S. He'd done it when I'd been his agent, and continued to do it every time we talked.He was everything I'd dreamed of . . . and also, everything I was terrified to have.*This book was previously published under the title, Bitch*

clusterf*@k noun A mismanaged and chaotic situation A complexly muddled mess A disordered and hectic condition Misty Hansen's life Lonely. Alone. By herself. The top three ways Misty had to describe herself-and it was no coincidence they all meant the same thing. She was single, almost pathetically so. It had been so long since she'd been with a man, she wasn't sure she could even remember what it was like. Hell, dust might float out if she took off her pants in the presence of the opposite sex. She was also well aware that she was lucky to have a place to live, a great brother, and awesome friends. She should just be content. But then she crashed into Chance-literally crashed-into the gorgeous man's SUV, totaling it, and managing to cause damage to her brother's house, all in one fell swoop. It was a total clusterf*@k. Because then the man ended up totaling her heart.

dumpster firenoun1. an utterly calamitous situation2. mismanagement for the ages3. something very difficult no one wants to deal with4. Rob HansenRob was single.That hadn't been the plan. But it turned out that his plan wasn't immune to car accidents. It couldn't stave off death, couldn't stop bad things from happening.Now Carmella-his wife, his best friend, the other half of his heart-was gone. And she'd been gone long enough for the tendrils of loneliness to creep in, for him to risk dipping his toe back into the dating world. The only problem was that dating was a hell of a lot different in this world than when he'd been in college.He wasn't good at apps and profiles, his banter skills were rusty, and his flirting . . . well, some might say it was atrocious. Then came high, high heels.Then came a sharp voice with an impressive repertoire of curse words.Then came a woman who was definitely not Carmella . . . but who might be the possibility of something more.