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My life was simple until Vincent Cove, an (annoyingly hot) American billionaire, arrived. He wants to convert the stately home where I live and work it into a glitzy hotel. Over my dead body. I'm just a small-town girl, up against Vincent's goliath fortune, but I won't go down without a fight. I'm taking on this billionaire bulldozer. If I'd known his plans I definitely (maybe) wouldn't have slept with him. And I'm determined to ignore the chemistry growing between us. Except his charm is distracting, his persistence is irritating and his forearms, sharp jaw and devilish smile are downright infuriating. At least I don't have to worry about him sticking around. A self-confessed rolling stone, he can't commit to a lunch order before noon, so there's no way he'll hang around long enough for me to fall in love with him. A standalone, enemies to lovers, small town romance.

What's a heartbroken American to do when she's in London trying to get over her ex? Find herself a fake fiancé. Obviously.¿I'm walking past Big Ben, trying to get over the world's worst break up, when I slam into a hot hunk of British man.And pour scorching hot coffee all over him.My caffeine casualty not only forgives me for ruining his shirt, but when I ramble on about needing to distract the press from my recent heartbreak, he agrees to be my pretend prince charming faster than you can say 'espresso'. Our agreement is clear: nothing is real.Except the more time we spend pretending to be a couple, the harder it is to keep my side of the bargain. And his smoldering stare tells me he might be having the same problem.And then we have a game night. Maybe it's naked Twister that pushes us over the edge.I'm starting to think my fake fiancé might be husband material. For real.