"Don't get any ideas," he warns me, like he can hear the whole internal monologue.
"Shouldn't I be the one saying that?" I gesture between us. Between his face and my everything. "You were the one who invited me up, not the other way around."
"You have a disturbing tendency to read something in nothing."
"Ouch. That's mean." I press a hand to my borrowed heart, wounded. "Is that your way of saying unappealing?"
"What do you want to drink?" he asks, already turning toward a bar cart worth more than everything I own put together, and I have to physically stop myself from pocketing something off it for the memory. Also--
"Since you didn't say no, then that means the opposite, right?"
I know he's already warned me against reading something into nothing, but c'mon now.
"You find me attractive!"
"Water, then." It's so cute when Mr. H tries playing it cool like this, and it has me smiling while I watch him pour with the unbothered economy of a man who's never once spilled anything in his life, and hand the glass over without letting our fingers touch. Which I notice because lately I notice everything about him, and that's rapidly becoming a full-time job nobody's paying me for.
"Have you eaten?"
"Actually, I wanted to invite you for dinner." And here it comes, the whole reason, bubbling up out of me. "I got the job! My first one! There was an audition and everything, this director, he had me read in his suite at the—"
"You went inside the hotel room of a man."
The temperature of the room drops about forty degrees.
"I mean, when you put it like that—"
"How stupid can you get?" His jaw has gone to stone. "You could have been raped."
"I have pepper spray," I offer.
"And what if he has a gun?"
"It was broad daylight."
"You really think sunlight will keep a psychopath from hurting you if he wanted to?"
And here's the truly unfair, upside-down thing about me. He's furious. Properly furious, the kind that has a man like him spending a word like raped in that expensive unbothered voice. And he's furious because he doesn't want me hurt. A smart girl would be chastened. Instead my whole traitor chest goes warm and my heart does its little unauthorized skip because apparently his temper is just one more thing to love about him, which is the exact opposite of the lesson I'm supposed to be learning here.
"You're right," I admit, all the fight going out of me. "I was foolish and careless. Forgive me?"
His mouth works. He looks at the ceiling like it owes him money. "Do whatever you want."
"Thank you for forgiving me." "I didn't say—" He stops himself. Closes his eyes. Opens them. "Never mind. What do you want to eat?"
"What do you want to eat? My treat."
"You should be more prudent with managing your earnings."
"But I love spending my money on someone hot and honorable."
He glares at me. It's a truly world-class glare.
"And mine," I add.
Silence.
I let it stretch because I'm brave, and stupid, and both of those things are having a wonderful time.
"This is the part," I inform him, "where you shut me up with a kiss."
"Or I can just kick you out.”

For a decade, Sienah Cannizzaro has been the perfect Formula One wife. Invisible at parties, flawless at galas, devoted to a husband who sees their marriage as smoothly maintained as his racing team. She’s been his pit crew of one, keeping his life running while he chases championships. She fell for him at nineteen. Now at twenty-nine, she’s done waiting.

Three-time world champion Aivan Cannizzaro has everything timed to the millisecond. Marriage to Sienah? Just another perfectly tuned component in his race to the top. Until his wife says three words that send him spinning off track: “I want out.”

Note: An emotional marriage-in-crisis romance featuring a hero who discovers that the real prize was never on the podium. HEA guaranteed, tissues recommended.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

My Greek billionaire husband never saw me…until I asked for a divorce.​

Everyone thinks I’m living the dream—married to Leonidas Gazis, a former racing champion who looks like a modern-day god and commands empires with a single glance.
But they don’t know about the eight years of separate bedrooms. The mistress in Milan. The marriage that was never anything more than a pit stop for him.
I asked my husband for a divorce, thinking he’d wave the checkered flag and let me go.
Instead, Leonidas refuses to sign—and demands I give him a chance to make our marriage real.
The only problem? He didn’t want me until he found out I invented the technology that could get him back on the track.

Note: This book also includes a bonus copy of The Greek Billionaire’s Email Bride.