Ordinarily, I'm a fan of pink-lovely colour, does smashing things for the complexion. But not when it's the bright, glaring stripe staring back at me on the pregnancy test. Then, pink is the colour of major oops, of morning sickness, of boyfriends who seemed decent but now are part of some Jerk Witness Protection Program. Still, I've got a few things going for me-bitter humour, a divine right to eat till I'm the size of Marlon Brando, and good friends who've managed to get me a job interview with one Damien Sharpton: in need of a personal assistant, and some say, a good, swift kick in the arse. If you want to make a lasting impression, by all means, toss your cookies in your future boss' wastebasket, which is located directly between his excruciatingly sexy legs. Apparently, Mr. Gorgeous-But-Unbearably-Anti-Social must like personal assistants who violate his trash can, because I got the job. And if I can avoid him via text messaging for the next seven months of health insurance, everything will be just fine. Except that he's just asked-no, insisted-that I go with him on a business trip to the Caribbean. Gulp. Ordinarily, this would be cause for celebration. Ordinarily, I'd shave my legs, pack my bikini, revel in day-glo drinks and my seething lust for Mr. Swarthy-And-Secretive. But there's nothing ordinary about this situation...which means it could be absolutely extraordinary...

When it comes to sizzling hot romance coupled with outrageous hilarity, nobody delivers like Erin McCarthy. Now she's back with a delicious story where nothing's on the level, everybody's got something to hide, and the only thing honest is the slow, hard pull of irresistible attraction... Love. Sex. Destiny. And A Six-Foot-Four Psychic In A Bridesmaid’s Dress? Honey, You Don’t Know Jack... Jamie Peters no longer believes in true love. True idiots, true scumbags, true moochers - these she believes in wholeheartedly, and she’s got the checkered dating history to prove it. So she’s more than a little skeptical when her cross-dressing psychic tells her she’s about to meet her soul mate - during an accident. Yeah, sounds about right. And then it happens. A knight in shining armor steps between her and a mugger on a subway platform. Just a regular, honest, upright Jack. The kind they don’t make anymore... Jonathon Davidson doesn't believe in destiny - or lying to beautiful women as a rule. But now that Jamie thinks he’s just an ordinary guy, how can he possibly tell her that he’s really, (A) her roommate’s brother, (B) a millionaire to boot, and (C) the jerk who’s investigating her application to his grandfather’s charitable trust because she may be involved in something illegal? Yeah, rhetorical question. He can’t. Not until he knows what’s going on. Besides, it would require being able to resist Jamie’s luscious curves long enough to say, “Hi, my name is Big Liar. Let’s get naked.” Sometimes, destiny sucks... Somewhere between truth and flat-out-let’s-talk-about-this-waaay-later fiction, between fate and delicious accidental insanity, lies a whole lot of mind-blowing sex, delirious passion, unfortunate sundresses, fighting, deception, big mistakes and small hopes, and two people are about to discover that everything happens for a reason...

Sometimes there is more than one way to get lucky… Allison Parker knows winning the New York state lottery is impossible for a retail slave and fashion designer wanna-be who doesn’t, uh, play the lottery. But after a particularly bad day at work and a random prediction from a quirky psychic, she does just that, and wins. Money. Lots of it. So what does any sane woman do? She tells off her boss, quits her job, breaks the lease on her apartment, buys a round at the bar, and takes the dare to make out with the hottest guy in the room. Marco Lucky is exhausted and over his bandmates and their diva antics. The drugs, the tantrums, are all so juvenile and self-destructive he finds himself looking for an escape. Yet finding a quiet spot in New York City is damn near impossible and he’s already tired of the women hitting on him strictly because he’s famous. But then the crazy brunette with the winning lottery ticket kisses him and he finds himself impulsively taking her home. It’s been years since he felt chemistry that intense and her snarky wit makes him laugh. When morning rolls around he knows it can’t be anything more than one night given that he’s headed out on tour soon, but when Allison realizes her winning ticket is gone he’s pretty damn sure it’s his fault. Allison figures it’s only fitting that she be the first woman in the history of ever to hit the lottery and score a smoking hot rock star all in one night, only to wake up with her entire life destroyed a mere eighteen hours later. Marco’s offer of help makes her feel like the biggest lame ass loser, and she can’t get away from him fast enough. But when the Worst Day Ever comes to an end, will Marco and Allison be ready to put the issue of money to bed? Because being lucky in love just might be hitting the jackpot after all…