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When she was in third grade, Megan Hart fell in love for the first time. Not with a boy (that would wait until fourth grade), but with a story. Homecoming by Ray Bradbury leaped out at her from the pages of a library book, and she tumbled head over heels. In the dark ages, before the days of photocopiers, the only way for her to keep a copy of this story was to copy it out by hand so she could read it over and over again. Something funny happened, though, as she carefully printed it on lined notebook paper.

She made "improvements."

At age twelve, reading Stephen King's The Stand for the first time one memorable summer, it occurred to her that people really did write books for a living. That's when she decided to become an author.

Megan began writing short fantasy, horror and science fiction before graduating to novel-length romances. In 1998, now a stay-home mom, Megan took up writing in earnest, attending her first writing conference and getting her first request for a full manuscript. In 2002 she saw her first book in print, and she hasn't stopped since.

She's published in almost every genre of romantic fiction, including historical, contemporary, romantic suspense, romantic comedy, futuristic, fantasy and perhaps most notably, erotic. She also writes non-erotic fantasy and science fiction, as well as continuing to occasionally dabble in horror.

Megan's goal is to continue writing spicy, thrilling love stories with a twist. Her dream is to have a movie made of every one of her novels, starring herself as the heroine and Keanu Reeves as the hero. Megan lives in the deep, dark woods with her husband and two monsters…er…children.

Don't think.

Don't question.

Just do.

The anonymous note wasn't for me.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not in the habit of reading other people's mail, but it was just a piece of paper with a few lines scrawled on it, clearly meant for the apartment upstairs. It looked so innocent, but decidedly— deliciously—it was not.

Before replacing the note—and the ones that followed— in its rightful slot, I devoured its contents: suggestions, instructions, commands. Each was more daring, more intricate and more arousing than the last… and I followed them all to the letter.

Before the notes, if a man had told me what to do, I'd have told him where to go. But submission is an art, and there's something oddly freeing about doing someone's bidding…especially when it feels so very, very good. But I find that the more I surrender, the more powerful I feel—so it's time to switch up roles.

We play by my rules now.