Boys of Bishop Mountain

Jess: Meet Mark Donovan. Ex-Army sniper. CEO of a multi-billion dollar global empire. Chiseled to the nth degree. And a man I want nothing to do with. I know the type. Dangerous. Sexy. A bad-boy who fills out a Tom Ford suit or pair of Calvin's in equally drool-worthy ways. At his core, the worst kind of heartbreaker. The kind who doesn't even know he did it. Mark: Eight years ago I nearly died. And it wasn't that I didn't remember her. I didn't recognize her. There's a difference. She was a kid. And I was a soldier . . . Two seconds from deploying with her brother for our third, and final, tour. One I wasn't sure I'd be coming back from. She thinks I don't remember. That kiss was beautiful. Innocent. It kept me alive when I thought it might be my last. How could I ever forget? I came back broken. Heartless. Ruthless. I grew rich beyond my wildest dreams by burying the best parts of myself. Who I was. What I'd been through. Killing away all the pieces of me that mattered . . . everything except that kiss. So, shove me off all you want, country girl. Because you've just landed in my sights, and you're about to be mine. Contains mature themes.

Hannah: The second I saw him walk through that door, I knew he was trouble. Men like him always are. The dark hair. The smoldering stubble. Those piercing green eyes that might as well be a flame thrower between women's legs. Oh, and the fact that he's in a gentlemen's club. What am I doing here, you ask? It's my job to be here. No, not that job. My job is to put away bad guys, like the elusive mob hitman I've been tracking for months who's now somewhere in this very club. Zac: For heaven's sake, I was hosting my brother's bachelor party, is that a crime? (Seriously, asking for a friend.) And sure, technically, it's a gentlemen's club . . . A private, exclusive, highly coveted one where everyone is supposed to be protected and completely anonymous. Oh, and did I mention that it's six-figure stupid expensive? Whatever. At least there's one silver lining to this cluster of a night . . .Agent Hannah Evans. Even as she slides the cuffs around my wrists, and her fiery eyes meet mine, it's clear we both know the truth: My name isn't James Smith. My attorney will have me free in under an hour. And that kiss. . . The one I couldn't help stealing . . . Won't be our last. Contains mature themes.