Have you ever seen a fireman who's so insanely sexy you'd actually consider DIY-ing a little at-home arson just so he'd show up at your front door? Dramatic, I know, but hear me out. Chiseled hot body, bright blue eyes, and the sexiest smile I've ever seen - the first time I saw Garrett Alexander in my exam room, it took everything inside me not to do something crazy like mount him during his yearly physical. Not only is he a total babe, but he's charming, hilarious, and the kind of single dad that would make your ovaries explode.

Raquel and Harrison sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G. First comes love. Then comes marriage. Then comes a baby in the baby carriage. That's how her brother used to sing it when we were kids - a simple ploy to get under my skin and make me stick my fist in his face - but man oh man, did he get the order wrong.

When it comes to life's fun and games, always know: The rules. What's at stake. When to quit. Wise words from...well...my fortune cookie. But wise words, nonetheless.

My friend Raquel didn't pull any punches when she warned me about my brand-new costar and his notoriously player-esque ways. Apparently, my most important mission on my first role in a feature film is to stay immune to his charms. Are you kidding me? Production costs on this movie are in the hundreds of thousands a day, and staying away from him is supposed to be at the top of my list? Pfft. Puh-lease.

A successful writer accidentally sends her new (and super-dreamy) editor the wrong manuscript. Instead of the full-length paranormal novel she promised Longstrand Publishing, she sends the fan fiction she’s written about her crush…on him—including every detail of the hot, steamy “physical activity” she’s fantasized about happening between them.

Raise your hand if you’ve ever done this. Written a racy message and sent it to—oops—the wrong person. Yeah, me too. Except, I sent my latest Tales of a Naughty Virgin column detailing my fantasies about my hot, charming, thoroughly bangable next-door-neighbor to…my entire company. Did I mention I’m a children’s book editor? Well, I was. *Facepalm.* At least the column goes viral, but I’m still the gal who gets fired for her not-safe-for-work thoughts about the so-called “Mister Sexy Pants”.

He’s the last person I want to get stuck anywhere with—it’s bad enough that I have to see him every day at work—and yet, because of a booking error (or curse of the universe, as I like to call it), I’m stuck in the same vacation rental with him for an entire week.

There are a million reasons why I shouldn’t date Fletcher Huxley. He’s a growly-faced, stubborn-streaked, international rugby legend trying to revive his flailing career in the US after being canned by his team overseas. While he might have the good kind of thunder thighs, intriguing tattoos, and a booty of steel, he also holds the top position on my very short nemesis list thanks to what happened the first time we met.

It started out like any other Tuesday. I spent 12 hours writing algorithms for one of the largest companies in the world and then came home to work on a pet project of mine—feeding facts about the men I knew into a formula to find my perfect match before my twenties came barreling to a close.

Riggs “Chappy” Chapman didn’t expect to be disrupted at his remote cabin in the woods. But when a stray dog arrives on his porch, he winds up finding a stray woman, too, trudging through the snowstorm in search of shelter. His military days may be behind him, but Chappy is hardwired to protect her from the storm and whatever it is she’s running from.