Anne Malcom

Anne Malcom – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.ilovenovels.com Thu, 26 Feb 2026 08:20:23 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=6.9.4 http://www.ilovenovels.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/favicon.png Anne Malcom – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.ilovenovels.com 32 32 Half Buried Hopes – Jupiter Tides Read Online Anne Malcom http://www.ilovenovels.com/half-buried-hopes-jupiter-tides-read-online-anne-malcom Thu, 26 Feb 2026 08:20:23 +0000 http://www.ilovenovels.com/half-buried-hopes-jupiter-tides-read-online-anne-malcom Genre: Alpha Male, Angst, Bad Boy, Contemporary Authors: Anne Malcom Advertisement

Total pages in book: 179
Estimated words: 170878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 854(@200wpm)___ 684(@250wpm)___ 570(@300wpm)

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HANNAH
Beau Shaw is a Grade-A jerk.
Working for him is hell. Living under his roof is worse.
If it weren’t for Clara, the little girl who’s stolen my heart, I’d have walked away a million times over. But I can’t leave her. She’s given me warmth, magic, and a home I never imagined, even if I’m only the nanny.
That’s a fact Beau reminds me of every day. He shows me what I am—an intruder in their fragile little family.
They’ve only just caught their breath after years of drowning, battling a disease that almost stole Clara’s light. That battle took whatever heart Beau Shaw had and morphed him into what he is now.
Hating Beau should be easy. Instead, behind his icy glares I see a father who almost lost everything—and a hunger that lights me on fire.
If he touches me, we’ll both be ruined.

BEAU
Hannah Morgan is off-limits.

She’s too young. Far too good for me. And she’s my daughter’s nanny.
Hiring her was my first mistake. But the smile she put on my daughter’s face ripped away all notions of self-preservation. I’d destroy myself a million times over to give my daughter an ounce of happiness. Because there was a time, not too long ago, when I thought her smiles were numbered. I’d count her breaths, wondering which would be her last. I still live in the darkness of those days.

Hannah Morgan brings sunshine. Hope. But I can’t let myself want her. Can’t let myself hope sunshine is something I deserve. Make her hate me. That’s the goal.
Every day she’s in my house, I lose my grip. She’s stubborn, brave—she’s magic.
I can’t have her. I shouldn’t want her.
And if I take her … I’ll never let her go

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

one

HANNAH

I woke up dreading the day.

A stone—thick, hard, and cold—had settled in the pit of my stomach the moment I woke. The sheets were soft and comfortable, the comforter plush and cozy. My surroundings were bare, but they were clean. I felt safe. I was safe.

My belly didn’t pang with hunger pains from missing meals the day before.

There was a hot shower waiting for me in the adjoining bathroom.

There was a little girl down the hall who made me smile, who lit up my world.

All of these things should’ve meant I awakened happy, especially given my past. Growing up, my sheets were thin, scratchy, cheap, and rarely clean. I was always cold, hungry, and afraid. In my young adulthood, in a different house, I woke up next to a man who smelled of booze and who was unpredictable at best, dangerous at worst.

Yes, waking up in a small, comfortable, warm house in Jupiter, Maine, should’ve been a treat for me. I should’ve been dancing for joy that my job was literally hanging out with the most wonderful little girl in the world.

But there was a catch.

In my experience, there was always a catch.

This catch was mild, most would say, considering my past. Yet the stone in my stomach was ever-present, dread heavy in my bones at the prospect of facing the day.

Of facing him.

I hated my boss.

I didn’t make a habit of saying I hated anyone. Well, except the people who deserved to be hated.

Kim Jo Hung.

Hitler.

Scumbags like them.

Not the people I interacted with daily—the driver who cut me off, my sister-in-law who controlled my brother and subtly insulted my outfits and general personality whenever we were together—even my ex-husband.

To describe them, I would’ve used the term strongly dislike. Maybe even punctuate it with some creative profanity.

But hatred was not a feeling I let myself possess. Anger corrodes the vessel in which it is held, and the same could be said about hatred. I’d seen it turn my mother bitter, sick, and cruel. I couldn’t say I didn’t get plenty angry at people, especially those on the previous list. But I never felt like I hated them.

Until Beau Shaw.

My boss.

The unbearable asshole.

Who, for whatever reason, decided he didn’t like me the second he saw me and made it his duty in life to be unpleasant whenever we were stuck in the same room. Considering my job was to be his daughter’s nanny and live in his home, we were stuck together pretty fricking often.

Usually, nannying was about looking after children while the parents were away, but Beau didn’t abide by conventional rules. He was often here, hovering, watching me.

At the beginning, I got it. Clara was only four and recovering from leukemia then a bone marrow transplant. She needed to be in intense quarantine; she was vulnerable. So I gave Beau and his assholery a lot of grace.

Of course, he wasn’t going to be all sunshine and rainbows when he’d just spent years of his life watching his little girl fight an unbearable illness. That kind of thing scarred you, disfigured you in ways that I couldn’t comprehend.

I reasoned that’s what made him an asshole.

Then Clara got better and better, words like remission and cured were used. She would soon be able to go to the playground, interact with children, be a normal little girl, and still, Beau’s behavior continued. He wasn’t overly pleasant with anyone but his daughter, and it seemed his true ire was reserved for me.

Granted, we spent a lot of time together these past months, given Clara’s need for strict quarantine for sixty days after her transplant. Though Clara was responding to the treatment exceptionally well—she was stronger than anyone expected, a recovery that could be recorded in medical journals—I was going through hell having to be in such close quarters with such an unpleasant, albeit handsome, man.

Any time I entered a room, he glared at me like I was doing him a personal disservice by existing. He spoke to me as little as possible, keeping his words clipped, his eyes cold and harsh. Whenever I did something wrong—which apparently I did by breathing—he was quick to reprimand me. Shame me.

Again, the time right after the transplant was highly stressful and worrisome, so I’d given him a lot of leeway. More than he deserved. But it had been long enough. Clara had been cleared to go outside, interact with a small number of people, and she had a birthday party coming up—if weather allowed. There were plenty of reasons to be hopeful. If not happy then at least pleasant. But Beau was not.

I was eventually forced to acknowledge Beau for what he truly was. He wasn’t an asshole because his daughter was sick. He was just an asshole.

Quitting was the obvious option. Except despite his assholery, he paid well. And offered benefits. Since my ex cleaned me out, I needed the money. And the benefits. And the place to stay. It seemed offering the live-in option physically pained him since he didn’t like the company of anyone but his daughter and definitely didn’t like me, but that was handy too. I didn’t have the money to throw away on rent, especially in Jupiter, Maine. It was small and quaint, with very few rental properties in my price range.

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The Anchor Holds – Jupiter Tides Read Online Anne Malcom http://www.ilovenovels.com/the-anchor-holds-jupiter-tides-read-online-anne-malcom Mon, 30 Jun 2025 19:07:40 +0000 http://www.ilovenovels.com/the-anchor-holds-jupiter-tides-read-online-anne-malcom Genre: Alpha Male, BDSM, Erotic, Mafia Authors: Anne Malcom Advertisement

Total pages in book: 167
Estimated words: 157162 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >167

Calliope Derrick is in trouble.
Not that she’ll admit it.
She’d sooner go to her grave than ask for help—especially from a man.
Wall Street’s wolf in heels, Calliope built an empire, shattered egos, and earned a reputation as the woman who made grown men cry in their private jets. But after a betrayal that threatens everything she’s worked for, she trades skyscrapers for lighthouses and flees to Jupiter, Maine.
She tells her family it’s just a break. A vacation. A reset.
She’s lying.
She’s here to plot revenge.
Not to fall in love.
And definitely not with a charming fisherman like Elliot Shaw.
He’s not her type—too easygoing, too noble, too sincere.
Or so she thinks… until she discovers the depths beneath his quiet strength.
Until he begins to unravel the cold, calculated woman she spent years becoming.
The carefree fisherman reveals a side of herself she never dared explore.
And the more tangled up she gets, the more she realizes Elliot isn’t just a temptation—
he might be a lifeline.
An anchor. To a better life.
It may be too late to guard her heart, but she’ll do whatever it takes to protect her family—and Elliot—even if it’s from herself.
Because Calliope knows one thing for sure, she doesn’t deserve an easy life with a good man

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

One

Eat Your Young — Hozier

CALLIOPE

There was a monster in my house.

Technically, it was my brother’s house. But I paid rent. Not that he ever accepted it.

I opened an account in his daughter’s name where I deposited the above-market rental income he didn’t know about. She’d get it when she turned eighteen. Something which would likely infuriate my brother. A happy side effect.

Details...

“You’re home late for a town that closes up by 11 p.m.,” the monster observed.

He’d poured himself a glass of scotch, sitting in the armchair that faced the ocean, legs crossed, showcasing alligator loafers below the hem of his perfectly tailored trousers. Though the light from the lamp in the corner only illuminated the room in a dim glow, I knew he was wearing a bespoke suit, black shirt, open collar.

A small brooch in the shape of a dove would be pinned to his lapel.

There would be two handguns in holsters underneath his suit, a knife strapped to his belt.

He wouldn’t need those weapons to kill me, though. Even though I was a black belt and had a gun stashed in the console table to my right, he could take me down with his bare hands in seconds. That was his job, after all.

He was known as ‘The Monster of Manhattan’ in certain circles.

A rather trite and overly dramatic title that made him seem like a serial killer. But I supposed he was a serial killer if you considered his body count.

My heart hammered in my chest at his presence, the scent of pine and spice assaulting my senses.

Any sign of unease, of fear, he’d spot. He was trained to notice these things. Not that he needed training. This man, this monster, knew me. Knew my every tell, my every secret, every inch of my body. He’d learned it. He’d learned me when I was a teenage girl learning herself. He understood me before I understood myself. A trend that followed every change I’d gone through since then. There was no form, no new shape or identity, that he couldn’t learn about me.

My nails dug into the inside of my palms hard enough to break the skin. I took a deep breath then walked to my bar, pouring my own glass of scotch.

“I was babysitting,” I finally responded, my back to him.

My voice didn’t betray an ounce of disquiet. It was calm, cool, as collected as it was in every boardroom I’d ever been in, facing billionaires used to steamrolling women at best and sexually assaulting them at worst.

Not once had I let one of those kinds of men intimidate me. I’d done what I do best; I’d shredded them in those boardrooms, taking all of their self-respect and power while they were busy staring at my tits.

I was paid handsomely for what I did because I was fucking good at it.

Not that those skills meant anything in front of Jasper—The Monster of Manhattan—Hayes.

“Babysitting?” he repeated as I turned, bringing the glass up to my lips. “Things have changed since you moved out of the city.” He said this mildly, as if he hadn’t been watching me, hadn’t known exactly what I’d been doing the second I left the city.

I studied him as I sipped my drink. This wasn’t the first time Jasper had come to visit me. The first time was at my request. I had been drinking with Fiona, feeling adrift in Jupiter, restless for the trouble that couldn’t have been that bad when I’d looked at it in hindsight—through martini goggles.

He’d flown in a jet to see me the minute I’d texted him. Was in a SUV idling outside the bar by the time Kip had arrived to retrieve Fiona. That had made me feel powerful, like I had the monster on a leash.

But that had been stupid, cocky and fueled by vodka. I knew better than to think anyone could leash this creature. But I’d been bored, forced into a false sense of security by the idyllic surroundings of Jupiter.

I’d climbed into his lap then, riding him in the parking lot without care. Had taken him back to this very house, sunk back into old habits that both satisfied and repulsed me.

That night had excited me. Until he unraveled me, exposing all the places I’d been trying to cover, to change about myself. Reminded me why I’d distanced myself from Jasper in the first place.

I didn’t like who I was when I was with him.

“He wants you back at your desk,” Jasper said when I didn’t respond to him.

My blood chilled. We both knew who he was. The man I was running from. The man who ruined everything.

Power games. It was all power games. Me not rushing to fill the silence most people would squirm in.

Though I didn’t let it show, his words sent a cold sliver of fear through my midsection. Jasper was here on an errand for his employer, one of the most powerful and dangerous men in the country. He could have people killed in the blink of an eye. More often than not, it was Jasper doing the killing.

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Captive Souls Read Online Anne Malcom http://www.ilovenovels.com/captive-souls-read-online-anne-malcom Wed, 25 Dec 2024 21:51:55 +0000 http://www.ilovenovels.com/captive-souls-read-online-anne-malcom Genre: Alpha Male, Crime, Dark, Suspense Authors: Anne Malcom Advertisement

Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 127484 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 510(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >135

My job is to break Piper Matthews.
But to leave her breathing afterward.
An important distinction, since I don’t walk away from a job without blood on my hands.
That’s how I like it. How it needs to be.
I’m comfortable with death. Pain. Cruelty.

No conscience troubled me when I took Piper Matthews deep into the Appalachian woods, intending on fracturing her mind, destroying her.
I never imagined she would destroy me instead.
With her smile. Her laughter. Her forgiving heart that isn’t mine to take.
The heart she gives me despite my blackened soul.

My mangled, ruined heart beats only for her. And the feral beast inside of me will tear apart all those who think they can hurt her.
Now my job is to take down the man who employed me to break her so the could own her.
No one in this world will own Piper. No one will hurt her.
Because that pleasure is reserved solely for me.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

One

Knox

The room I stood in reeked of expensive cigars and bespoke aftershave.

My body craved the scent of iron. Blood.

Soon.

The man in front of me was a necessary evil, one who thought controlled me. I’d let him believe that as long as he served a purpose—offering me an endless supply of victims.

“I need you to catch someone for me.”

“Catch?” I repeated, even though I’d heard him just fine.

He nodded once, steepling his fingers as his elbows rested on the oak desk between us. “Catch.”

I was standing in front of him. He’d offered me a chair, as he did every time I was in this room. And as always, I stood. My posture didn’t change, my expression stayed the same—blank, uninterested. But Stone knew me as well as anyone could truly know me. Which meant he understood that I was questioning his request.

He leaned back in his chair, smiling. “When I say catch, I mean alive. And she stays that way until you hand her over to me.”

I felt the dynamics of our relationship shift as I processed this request. “You want me to catch, not kill, a woman?” I wasn’t one to ask rhetorical questions, but this ventured far outside our regular formula. Stone and I had enjoyed a stable, predictable and mutually beneficial relationship over the years. I enjoyed stability. Predictable. Controlling all the variables.

He thought that I worked for him. His rabid, dangerous dog who obeyed his every command and never stretched the leash.

Maybe he thought it was because I was loyal to him or because he paid me well or because I was scared of him.

None of that was true.

Without a leash, I was scared of myself.

His leash kept the world safe from monsters like me.

“Catch, not kill,” Stone said for the third time. “And keep her safe. Whole.”

Irritation bloomed in my gut, yet I didn’t show it, giving him a flat stare. “You want me to babysit. I don’t babysit. And I do not keep people safe.” It annoyed me that he even asked this of me. He was stretching the limits of what I would tolerate.

Stone chuckled. He did that, laughed often and easily. He had a decade on my forty years with creases in his face to show it. The creases did not just signify his age but the variety of expressions this man wore, plenty of them smiles.

He was tall but not overly so, fit but not cut with muscle. His hair was cropped close to his head, a sensible cut. He was always clean-shaven. He wore exquisitely tailored suits, one of the only shows of his wealth. Otherwise, he looked like any other middle-aged banker.

He did not look like the don of one of the most dangerous and lethal organized crime syndicates in the country.

Most of the time, he looked and acted like the American archetype of the ‘fun uncle.’

I’d seen him peel the skin off someone who’d betrayed him without breaking a sweat. You’d be very unwise to let his demeanor lower your guard or think you could best him.

More than one Made Man had been stupid enough to try to steal power from him. I’d killed them myself.

That was my job, after all.

Killing.

He did it when he needed to get the point across, but mostly he didn’t like getting his hands dirty. Literally or figuratively.

Hence our mutually beneficial relationship.

“I know this job may seem beneath you.” He stroked his chin. “But rest assured, there is no one else in my organization I want in charge of this. Of her.”

“Her?” I questioned again. Women were unusual but not unheard of in my role. And the way he spoke of this woman was different. Possessive. My instincts prickled with warning bells.

His smile turned predatory. “Yes. My future wife.”

I didn’t let my surprise show. Stone liked women. He always had them around. Young, shallow, stupid, unaware of how dangerous he was, blinded by his wealth. He used them then discarded them. Alive, luckily. But a little wiser to what the world truly was.

“It’s time,” he told me, as if I’d questioned him. “For me to settle down, make a family.”

Again, I didn’t react, but the idea of this man inflicting himself on a child was vaguely sickening to me. And for me to say that meant something.

“And your wife needs…” I stare off unsure of what my role was to be in this charade, though I could take an educated guess as to why he was involving me. It did not speak of a mutually consenting courtship.

“She needs some convincing that marrying me is the best and safest decision for her.” He spoke carefully, reasonably, as if what he was saying was completely sane. To him, it was. “I need you to break her.”

He needed me to scare the shit out of her and let her know that death was the only way to get out of this marriage.

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Things We Burn Read Online Anne Malcom http://www.ilovenovels.com/things-we-burn-read-online-anne-malcom Sat, 31 Aug 2024 08:13:25 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/things-we-burn-read-online-anne-malcom Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Sports, Virgin Authors: Anne Malcom Advertisement

Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 154728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 619(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >162

Inferno.
The hottest restaurant in Hell’s Kitchen, run by the ‘Ice Queen’, Avery Hart.
She is a revolutionary in the culinary world, earning Michelin Stars and feeding presidents while starving her demons at the same time.
Her life is in her kitchen. Where she controls every ingredient, every sear, every plate.

Kane ‘The Devil’ Rhodes is chaos personified.
He’s famous for his death-defying stunts, for his medals, for his roguish charm.
The moment he sees Avery Hart, he knows what he wants.
He wants her.
To unravel her.
Melt the ice queen.
Make her his.

Avery shouldn’t want Kane. He personifies everything she’s avoided her entire life.
Yet she submits to him. She lets him invade her life.
Even though she knows passion will burn out, leaving nothing but ashes.

When the smoke clears, Avery runs to a small town called Jupiter, with a whole new future ahead of her and a broken heart. But Kane isn’t going to let her go.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

One

“Can we leave yet?”

My best friend side-eyed me. “We only just arrived.”

“Yes, I came, I saw.” I waved my hand at the crowd.

“You’re also supposed to conquer.”

“I haven’t got the energy to conquer,” I whined. “I worked more than I slept this week.”

Exhaustion had settled deep into my bones, making moving my limbs, talking, and worst of all, socializing, seem torturous. I was already fantasizing about my bed and the six hours of sleep I’d be able to grab if I left at that instant.

“Then it’s all the more important for you to be here right now.” Kiera reached forward to a waiter with a tray of champagne, taking two glasses. “You are in dire need of a life.” She handed me a glass.

I took it on reflex more than anything else. Champagne was the last thing I wanted right then. What I really wanted was a warm cup of tea and my bed.

“This isn’t the kind of life I want.” I gestured around the room with my glass.

The room was full of very impressive looking people. People in expensive outfits with glossy hairstyles—both the men and the women—and glowing skin, who were laughing and generally looking fabulous.

I doubted I looked fabulous. Kiera had tried to get me into one of her short, tight, sparkly dresses. Though my best friend was a force of nature, I was not a short, sparkly dress kind of woman. She knew this, yet she pushed me to wear some scrap of fabric I doubted would cover enough of my body to keep me out of a police car for indecent exposure.

Instead, I’d worn a pair of black, low-waisted slacks and a black halter, relenting by wearing a pair of Kiera’s shoes. They were much too high and uncomfortable for someone who had already been on her feet for at least twelve hours today.

I had no idea what I was thinking. About the shoes or letting her drag me to the party.

Oh yeah, I knew what I was thinking. I hadn’t been laid in months, and I was looking for some real human contact and an orgasm that didn’t come from my vibrator.

This party was really the wrong place to go for that.

Sure, the men here were handsome. If you liked them with fake tans, perfect hairstyles, sculpted muscles and a mouth full of teeth too white and straight to be anything but veneers.

I liked my men a little more … rugged. The kind of men who wouldn’t notice that I hadn’t had a haircut or color in months. That my eyebrows weren’t groomed and I was neither tanned nor flawless. That I was not a size zero nor even a size six. The kind of man who didn’t notice all that stuff and really only cared about whether I was borderline attractive—which I thought I was—and consenting—which I also was. Almost every man here had a supermodel type on his arm or was ogling one of the many supermodel types who filled the room.

It was not my night.

At least there was wine.

I sipped it. Expensive wine too.

I wasn’t a big drinker, mostly because I didn’t have time nor the inclination. But some of the perks of my job gave me access to some of the most expensive booze on the planet. Sure, it was good. I enjoyed the ritual of it. The history. The way it paired impeccably with food. But I wasn’t about to spend a thousand bucks on something I was going to pee out later.

Just when I was about to write this party off as a fail, my eyes found silvery-blue ones.

The most striking color I’d seen on a man. Or a person, for that matter.

And they were looking at me.

Me.

In a sea of gorgeous people.

Standing beside Kiera—the tall, stunning woman who had made men walk into walls from staring at her before.

He took my breath away.

And not just because of his eyes.

There was a whole lot more going on.

A face, for starters.

One that was not polished nor tanned like the others in this room. It was olive-colored, though in a more natural way. He looked like he was Italian or Greek and spent hours in the sun. Weathered. Even from across the room, I could see creases on his face.

He had dark, glossy black hair that brushed his eyebrows. It was messy, tousled and long enough to communicate it was overdue for a cut. His nose was crooked. Like it had been broken and then never healed quite right.

There was a scar going through his lips, one that marred them just a little. Not enough to turn his attractive mouth into a grimace. Nor did it obscure his ability to smile. Which he was doing right now.

Though you could call it more of a smirk.

A smirk that did things to my … lady bits.

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New Hope, Old Grudges Read Online Anne Malcom http://www.ilovenovels.com/new-hope-old-grudges-read-online-anne-malcom Mon, 01 Jan 2024 09:40:33 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/new-hope-old-grudges-read-online-anne-malcom Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary Authors: Anne Malcom Advertisement

Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 50759 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >53

Everyone’s rock bottom is different.For Willow Watson, it’s moving back to New Hope, Colorado.The town she promised herself she’d never set foot in again. The place she’s forced to go back to when she has nothing left.Nothing but the family she abandoned.And now she’s back.Right in time for the holiday season.But hitting rock bottom isn’t just about losing everything and being forced back to the small town rife with mountains, rugged beauty and awful memories.No, rock bottom includes entering town limits and realizing that the man she’s hated for years, Brody Adams, her high school bully, is now the sheriff.And he doesn’t remember her.Willow is making sure she steers clear of Brody Adams. Until the night he rescues her in a snowstorm and she’s trapped with him, her memories and the realization that she doesn’t just hate Brody Adams.She wants him too.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

Chapter One

WILLOW

Blue and red lights flashed in my mirror as I crossed the town limits to New Hope, Colorado—population 5,081, according to the sign. Someone had long replaced the one where a bunch of high school kids had graffitied to write ‘No Hope.’ It wasn’t a surprise, since the last time I’d seen that sign in my rearview mirror was over a decade ago, confident that I’d never see it again and that my future was bright.

Now the only bright thing was the lights of a cop car that were flashing in my mirror, illuminating how shitty my luck and life were.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I muttered, turning off to the shoulder.

I took one last slurp of bitter, cold gas station coffee in an attempt to calm myself down. Not really something that worked, considering the entire situation … or shitshow, otherwise known as my life. Especially since I could barely afford shitty gas station coffee let alone the price of this ticket.

I thought wistfully—and bitterly—back to when I’d spend upwards of ten dollars on some fancy latte or smoothie from a famous grocery store in L.A. and didn’t even think twice about it.

Bitter, cold and cheap was the only thing I’d be tasting in the foreseeable future. Perhaps forever, considering I was coming home to the town I’d vowed to never set foot in again.

Never was a funny thing.

It happened more often than you thought. Right about the same time as rock bottom.

My fingers thrummed on the steering wheel as I wound down my window and heard the crunch of the incoming officer’s boots on the gravel of the shoulder.

The crisp air of November in Colorado hit me square in the face. I cringed at it, losing feeling in my ears almost immediately. The cold settled into my blood that had thinned after a decade of rarely experiencing temperatures below sixty.

A tanned and muscled forearm leaned on the ledge of my open car window, “Good morning, ma’am,” the voice drawled as he leaned down to my eye level. “Your brake light is out. Not something I normally would’ve noticed on this stretch of road considering it’s dead straight, it’s a Saturday, and it’s not hunting season, so there is no one driving into New Hope except you and me.” The officer’s tone was warm, friendly, teasing almost.

It set my whole body to stone.

“Hence my surprise at the brake lights with no real reason as to why you’re slowing down going into town at six in the morning,” he continued, obviously not noting my shock. “If I was going to catch anyone, I would’ve thought they would’ve been in a rush to get to wherever they’re going, even if only to get in front of a warm fire with a cup of joe.”

It was a combination of the bitter cold air, the sleep deprivation and my overall sense of despair that shocked me into a few beats of slack-jawed silence. Well, it was not just those things.

It was those things combined with the man wearing the police uniform.

It solidified that my luck was well and truly in the crapper when I saw the square jaw, the tanned skin and the unfortunately familiar, piercing hazel eyes of the man I’d hated for years. Of course, I tried to tell myself I’d forgotten him and all his buddies. But you don’t forget people who tormented you for most of your formative years.

He wasn’t a boy now, of course. He’d aged. And I’d told myself he’d do it shittily. That he’d impregnate Sally Ingles, the head cheerleader, that they’d get stuck in this town, he’d never get higher than being star quarterback, never graduate college, and drown his sorrows in Bud Light, getting a beer gut and balding before thirty.

His tight-fitting uniform showed that there was no beer gut, nothing but muscles that seemed to ripple underneath the fabric. He still had that head of light brown hair, shiny and worn close against his scalp, which only sharpened his angular features. He had something more than a five o’clock shadow but not quite a beard. It looked unkempt and rugged but also somehow worked in a big way. And an angular scar across his strong brow framing coppery eyes. I found myself curious as to who gave him that scar and if I could get their address so I could send them a fruit basket or something.

Not that I could afford to send anyone anything, even a fruit basket.

“You?” I spluttered, finally finding my voice. “Of course.” I hit my palm on the steering wheel. “Of course, the universe isn’t done fucking with me. You’re the welcome brigade, here with the flashing lights, the faux small-town cop charm and the ability to give me a ticket I most definitely cannot afford.”

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Advertisement
Method for Matrimony – Jupiter Tides Read Online Anne Malcom http://www.ilovenovels.com/method-for-matrimony-jupiter-tides-read-online-anne-malcom Sat, 24 Jun 2023 21:47:35 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/method-for-matrimony-jupiter-tides-read-online-anne-malcom Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Suspense Authors: Anne Malcom Advertisement

Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 109843 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >114

Marrying Kip Goodman was a last resort.

But she was desperate. Desperate enough to marry a man she despised.
All she had to do was get through the year married to a cocky alpha male who only thought of women as notches on his bedpost.

She had her reasons.
So did he.

They had to lie to their friends and families, try to survive a year with each other.

It was that simple.

Until it became clear she had to resist him.
Because Kip Goodman wasn’t who she thought he was.
And that was dangerous.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

one

The Proposal

“Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

Not a question I thought I’d ever be asked again in my lifetime.

In fact, when I’d come to this country, I’d made very specific promises to myself about marriage, about belonging to a man in any way.

Namely that I’d never belong to a man again.

But the problem was I was fucking terrible at keeping promises to myself.

“I do,” I said through gritted teeth, not slurring my words, which in and of itself was pretty fucking impressive considering how drunk I was.

Not drunk enough, it seemed.

“Do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

Ocean-blue eyes bored into mine. They were hard, angry, almost communicating that he was doing this, standing here, against his will.

Except he’d gone into this with his full faculties, and this whole thing was his idea.

“I do,” he ground out. The two words sounded like they were painful. Like someone was holding a gun to his head.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

Fuck.

I’d known this part was coming. Which was, in part, why I was so close to being wasted. That and the whole being married thing.

We had to do it. The whole point of the wedding was to make it believable. I feared we hadn’t been doing so well up until this point. I’d stumbled down the aisle, Kip glowered the entire time, and both of us were standing as far away from each other as we could, like we were afraid the other was contagious.

We’d agreed ahead of time that the kiss had to happen. But now that it was right here, I couldn’t make myself move. The man across from me—my husband—looked like he was glued to the spot.

There was a tense moment.

Fuck.

It was going to be over before it started.

That was okay, wasn’t it? This was a ridiculous idea in the first place.

Could we still pull off the whole ‘being in love’ thing without the kiss? I could say I had a cold sore. Or that he didn’t like PDA.

But before I could blurt out something of the like, he kissed me. Grabbed me by the back of the neck and laid one on me.

This was not a chaste peck on the lips to satisfy our tiny audience. No. This was a kiss. With tongue.

A lot of it.

I was so shocked that I responded.

I went into auto-kiss mode. That had to be it.

There would be no other reason why I would essentially make out with the man I kind of hated who I’d just married.

And my body’s response? The heat in every inch of my skin, my thighs clenching together with need… yeah, that had to be the booze. And the fact that I hadn’t gotten laid in three months.

It couldn’t be because I was attracted to my new husband.

No.

How in the fuck did this happen again?

four years earlier

When I first met Kip Goodman, it wasn’t exactly hate at first sight, but it was close. When I first met Kip, he walked in with Rowan. Who was tall, muscled, dark haired and wore broody like it was embedded into his skin. He walked around with a grimace, like he had the world on his shoulders and would literally growl at someone if they looked at him wrong.

Kip sauntered in beside him with an easy smile, straight white teeth, tanned skin and dirty blond hair escaping from his baseball cap.

“Well, I know that this is going to be my new favorite bakery,” Kip said when he made it to the counter. He rested his elbows on the pink surface, his sinewy forearms on display with his flannel shirt rolled up to his elbows.

His azure gaze went lazily up and down my body as he shamelessly checked me out.

“What’s your name, darlin’?” he asked when he finally made it to my eyes, which were narrowed at him.

“Well, it’s certainly not darlin’,” I responded, imitating his accent on the last word, my tone sharp and aggressive.

His eyes flared and his smile widened at my response, not put off in the slightest. “Ah, an accent, Australian, if I’m not mistaken. I’ve never had an Australian before.”

I scowled at him, at his words and the easy, confident way in which he delivered them.

“You certainly won’t be having this one,” I replied, voice tight and hackles up.

He thrummed the counter with his fingers. They were long, slender yet manly.

“I wouldn’t sound so sure,” he murmured. “I’m gonna grow on you.”

I tilted my head as I ran my eyes purposefully up and down his body in the same manner he had to me. He was tall, wearing faded jeans that were stained with paint, work boots and a tee underneath a red flannel. He was wearing a worn baseball cap. His angular jaw was covered in a light dusting of stubble only a shade darker than his dirty blond hair.

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Wrathful Souls (Sons of Templar MC – New Mexico #3) Read Online Anne Malcom http://www.ilovenovels.com/wrathful-souls-sons-of-templar-mc-new-mexico-3-read-online-anne-malcom Thu, 30 Mar 2023 14:03:26 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/wrathful-souls-sons-of-templar-mc-new-mexico-3-read-online-anne-malcom Genre: Biker, Contemporary, Dark, MC Authors: Anne Malcom Series: Sons of Templar MC - New Mexico Series by Anne Malcom
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Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 105506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 422(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >110

She survived the deadliest serial killer of her generation.
Or so everyone thought.
No one knew how many pieces of her he took to the grave with him. She hid her scars, her nightmares. She hid everything until she couldn’t.
Then she ran.
But Colby followed her.
He’d follow her to the ends of the earth. To hell and back. Sariah knew he would…
Because Colby had already wrenched her out of hell once.
Because Colby loved her.
Only Colby loved the girl she was before. The carefree girl she used to be.
She had to show Colby that girl was gone.
By any means necessary.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

PROLOGUE

I told myself I wouldn’t scream.

Wouldn’t beg.

Made promises to myself when it was clear what was happening. When it was clear who he was. What he was.

But although I excelled at keeping my word with my friends, I routinely broke every promise I ever made to myself.

Why should this be any different?

“Please,” I begged, coughing a pitiful, wet sound. The single word was coppery, bitter, coated in the blood that filled my mouth.

His lips stretched out, exposing straight white teeth in a wretched smile.

“You wanted to think that you were different,” he sneered, running the knife coated in my blood along my ruined, naked body. “That you weren’t like the others.” When he leaned in, I could smell the way my blood scented his body. My stomach roiled as I fought to keep from vomiting. Not that there was any left inside me.

“But you’re just like the rest,” he whispered, the tip of his knife pressing against the soft flesh of my stomach. “Just another whore.”

My scream echoed off the walls as he pressed the knife in. He didn’t plunge it in. No. He did it with devastating slowness. Patiently. So he could inflict the worst kind of agony. So I could feel the steel tearing through every layer of skin and flesh before puncturing my organs.

He wanted me to die slowly.

That I knew.

He wanted my last hours on this earth to be bloody, agonizing, horrific.

I’d seen the crime scene photos, hadn’t I? Poured over them with a sick fascination, some kind of warped arrogance that I would be the one to find him.

And I guess I was.

But I wasn’t going to be the one who exposed him. Wasn’t going to be the girl who escaped. I wasn’t special.

I was dying.

The cuffs around my wrists had rubbed the skin raw as I tried to slip my way out of them. I thought that my blood would make them slick, slippery, aid in my escape. But that shit only happened in the movies. When you were cuffed by a serial killer who also happened to be a cop, you didn’t escape. You didn’t outsmart them because you thought that’s what you would do as the heroine of your story.

Every girl who came before me was the heroine of her own story, but that didn’t change a fucking thing. Not when the villain, the real fucking villain, was in front of them, puncturing their skin with a sharpened knife.

“Whores giving their bodies to countless men,” he continued as the blade cut through me. “So many, they don’t even know who the father is when they get pregnant.”

I let out a sob of agony when he ripped the knife out viciously. The pain was white hot. I didn’t dare look down at my torso which must’ve been a shredded mess. I could practically feel the cold warehouse air kissing exposed organs as they slipped through the tears in my skin.

“You shouldn’t be allowed to reproduce,” he hissed, waving the knife at me. My blood flew off the blade, small droplets hitting my face. “Shouldn’t be able to grow life when you abuse your body. Trash it. When you don’t keep your baby safe like you should.”

When the hand not holding the knife reached down to cup me between my legs, bile mixed with blood in my mouth.

His eyes glowed at my revulsion, his face contorting into a shape that didn’t seem human.

“No life will come out of you,” he hissed. “And in death, you’ll be mine.”

The tip of the knife teased along the seam of my thighs, between my legs. For one horrendous moment, I thought he’d put it … inside. I was already in agony, but being cut from the inside out? Maybe my body would protect me, maybe I’d finally pass out. Maybe I’d never wake up. That would be nice.

I tried to grit my teeth, narrow my eyes, rustle up my signature attitude. “Fuck you,” I whispered, the words coming out weak and garbled.

He smirked at me, keeping the tip of the knife at my entrance.

“Oh, I will be fucking you, as you so eloquently put it. But not yet. I’ll wait.”

The knife hovered for a second longer before he stood up, staring at me with disgust before turning on his heel and walking out of the room.

I felt no relief as his footsteps receded. Because he’d come back. And I’d still be here.

They say history is written by the victors. Whoever the fuck ‘they’ are. But really, history is written to immortalize the villains into infamy.

This fucker would be famous. People had finally been catching on to the murders in the last month. Online sleuths were going crazy. Hell, I was the one with all of the fake social media accounts, spreading the word about the man who would eventually murder me. There was going to be a lot more publicity, especially with my death.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >110

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Recipe for Love Read Online Anne Malcom http://www.ilovenovels.com/recipe-for-love-read-online-anne-malcom Fri, 30 Dec 2022 14:40:35 +0000 http://www.teennovels.net/recipe-for-love-read-online-anne-malcom Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary Authors: Anne Malcom Advertisement

Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 111096 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 555(@200wpm)___ 444(@250wpm)___ 370(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >117

Nora Henderson is of the opinion that chocolate cures almost everything.
Which, among a few other reasons, is why she opened her bakery in the small town of Jupiter, Maine five years ago.
People come from miles for her chocolate peanut butter cupcakes. Customers almost come to blows over the last almond croissant. Some even say her chocolate chip cookies help ease the burn of heartbreak.
Nora’s life is good. On the surface, at least.
Underneath the frosting and the sweet décor of her bakery is a broken engagement, doubt and anxiety spirals.

In short, Nora Henderson is a mess.

Not someone Rowan Derrick would ever be interested in. He’s the gruff veteran who owns a construction company, who broods his way around town and can wear the crap out of a backward baseball cap.
He stars in almost every one of her fantasies. She expected him to stay there, to remain her imaginary boyfriend and customer … nothing else.

But Rowan Derrick has had his eye on Nora for a while. Little does she know, she stars in every one of his fantasies too. And now that the beautiful baker is no longer engaged, he’s going to make her his

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

Foreword

I had so much fun writing this book. If you follow me on any of my social media platforms, you may have seen snippets of my messy kitchen while I was baking. I have dubbed myself ‘The Chaotic Baker,’ since whenever I bake, our kitchen explodes. Not literally. Luckily.

An idea bloomed from that. About a story with a woman who has a lot of quirks. Who loves sugar. Who is wildly successful. Who battles with anxiety daily. Who falls for a grumpy badass who has loved her since the moment he laid eyes on her.

Nora was born.

It seemed like a no-brainer to have recipes to go along with each chapter, since I wanted to give my fellow chaotic bakers a chance to try fun and different things. Not all of the recipes are my own. In fact, most of them aren’t. I do tend to make little changes here and there to original recipes, so if I did, I was sure to note it.

If you do want to bake as you read, I highly recommend this book, Dessert Person by Claire Saffitz. Most of the recipes you’ll find come from there.

We’ll start with a treasured favorite, just in case you want some cookie dough with your smut.

I know I do.

Us Kiwis will know and love the humble ‘Santé Biscuit.’ These cookies (as you Americans say) bring so much nostalgia to me. I remember making them with my mum, my nana, my girlfriends. There have been many times in my life when I was heartbroken, sad, stressed, overwhelmed, and I turned to these cookies to get me through it.

Full disclosure: I make the cookies purely so I can eat the dough and very few cookies actually make it into the oven.

This isn’t me recommending you eat raw cookie dough, of course. That’s up to you.

Okay, let’s get to the recipe so we can get to the book.

Also, if you’re making this for a bunch of people (and not just for yourself on a Friday night, which I do regularly) I recommend doubling the recipe for higher yield and more dough to eat during the process.

Santé Biscuits

•1/2 cup of butter, softened

•1/4 cup sugar

•5 Tbsp sweetened condensed milk (the original recipe calls for three, but I always add more)

•1 1/2 cups flour

•1 tsp baking powder

•3/4 cup chocolate chips

•1/2 tsp vanilla

Preheat the oven to 350°. Line a baking tray with wax paper.

Cream together butter, sugar and condensed milk until light and fluffy.

Combine all of the dry ingredients in a separate bowl, then sift them into the creamed mixture, mixing until combined. Add the chocolate chips.

Roll the mixture into balls, place them on the baking tray and then flatten them with a fork.

Bake for 15 mins or until golden at the edges but still soft.

Leave on the tray for 5 minutes, then transfer to a baking tray to cool (even though they are best eaten warm).

Chapter

One

Recipe: Tan Slice

My name is Nora Henderson, and I am currently having a pulmonary embolism.

If you didn’t know, a pulmonary embolism is when a blood clot develops in the body then travels to a lung where it disrupts air flow.

The symptoms are a sudden shortness of breath, chest pain, a feeling of anxiety, lightheadedness, heart palpitations and sweating. If you have deep vein thrombosis you will also have pain, swelling and warmth in your leg.

If not treated, it can cause serious problems, ultimately leading to death.

Death.

Right now, I could be dying.

“Nora, do the muffins have peanuts in them?” a voice asked, interrupting visions of what my funeral might look like.

I thought it would be small but well attended. The flowers would be white. Lilies. Or roses. At the church down by the water, even though I wasn’t a particularly religious person. It was pretty there. A nice place for a funeral.

I blinked my pink, girly, magnificent, orderly kitchen into focus and sharpened my attention on the fresh-faced, blonde-haired Australian who had just asked me a question.

“What?” I asked, my voice scratchy and dry. Likely from the trouble I had breathing. Caused by the blood clot clogging my arteries.

“The muffins,” she said. “I would’ve just lied and said no if the customer in question hadn’t stressed their life-threatening peanut allergy. I don’t want to get sued if they like, keel over and die or something.”

My breathing evened out, my heart slowing now that I had something to focus on.

Fiona was obsessed with being sued. Apparently, you couldn’t sue people in Australia like you could here.

“No, there are no peanuts in the muffins,” I reassured her.

She chewed her lip. “Can you come and tell the customer? I think I kind of shattered my credibility with them. I told them that no one had died from our products… that we know of. It would sound better coming from the person who actually baked the muffins. And liability would shift to you.” She winked before her blue eyes flickered over me. “Plus, you look like you’re spiraling back here. What is it today?”

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Wilting Violets (Sons of Templar MC – New Mexico #2) Read Online Anne Malcom http://www.ilovenovels.com/wilting-violets-sons-of-templar-mc-new-mexico-2-read-online-anne-malcom Wed, 19 Oct 2022 22:42:05 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/wilting-violets-sons-of-templar-mc-new-mexico-2-read-online-anne-malcom Genre: Alpha Male, Biker, Dark, MC Authors: Anne Malcom Series: Sons of Templar MC - New Mexico Series by Anne Malcom
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Total pages in book: 150
Estimated words: 142818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >150

The good girl falls for the bad boy.

Can we name a bigger, or better cliché?

Despite my ideas about the deep misogyny associated with this particular one, I’ve somehow found myself in the middle of it.
Except, I’m not the good girl. I’m exceptional at playing that role. But I’m not. My secrets make sure of that.
And he’s not a boy. He’s a man. Older than me by decades. An outlaw. A villain.
A member of one of the most notorious MCs in the country. The Sons of Templar.
More importantly, my stepfather is one of his brothers. That means I’m off limits.
He’s off limits.
But that doesn’t stop us. Nothing will. Not until there’s nothing left but the charred remains of the lives we once knew.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

Prologue

ELDEN

My brother was holding a gun to my head.

I’d expected this to happen from the second I laid eyes on her.

The second I touched her.

Tasted her.

She tasted like perfection and my eventual demise.

I knew that this was a ticking time bomb. That we were a ticking time bomb. I also knew that it was a matter of when he found out I was fucking his stepdaughter. Not if.

I could’ve avoided this.

If I’d been strong enough to leave her alone. To say no to her. To get the fuck out of this club and as far away from her as I could’ve.

But that had been beyond my control.

Everything to do with Violet was beyond my control.

And on some level, I’d been willing to die for her. If it was a choice between a bullet and never knowing what it felt like to be inside of her, I’d choose the bullet.

Every fucking day.

“I should blow your brains out right here, right now,” Swiss seethed.

I didn’t argue with him, though I did disagree.

Violently.

I knew my brother was hanging by a thread right now and that there was a reason no one had stepped forward to try to do anything. Even though he was a husband and a father, he was still fucked-up, impulsive and unpredictable when he was mad. He was still very fucking dangerous.

And he’d just found out I’d been involved with his stepdaughter for years.

So he was mad.

Therefore, his piece was pointed in my face.

“There was a time in my life when I probably wouldn’t have fought you,” I told him. “A time when I might’ve just let what happened happen. When I didn’t care much if I was living or dying. Because I didn’t have anything to live for.”

I didn’t stare at him. Nor the barrel of the gun he was pointing in my face.

No, I stared at the indigo eyes of the woman I loved. The mother of my child, tears streaming down her face.

“Now I’ve got somethin’ to live for,” I said, not to Swiss but to her. “I’ve got everything to live for. Not gonna argue with you that this got fucked-up. That I made some bad fuckin’ choices in the midst of this. But you’re never gonna get me to wish away what I did. Because if I did, I wouldn’t be standin’ right here.”

I kept my eyes on her as I tensed, waiting. I wouldn’t go down without a fight. Fuck no. But if he was that far gone and was going to pull the trigger, she was going to be the last thing I saw before I left this world.

Chapter One

TWO YEARS EARLIER

VIOLET

I was sitting on a roof at three in the morning with a bottle of Jack Daniels in my left hand, a joint in my right.

The roof of an outlaw biker compound, it’s important to point out.

It was three in the morning.

The witching hour … when the veil between worlds was thin, when demons were more capable of sinking their talons into you, scoring your skin right to the bone… If you believed in such things.

I did, as it happened, believe in such things.

I was somewhat of a cliché for my generation. I liked crystals, astrology—I was a Scorpio rising, Sun in Sagittarius—and loved to read spicy fantasy novels with a strong female lead. I believed in magic, angels, demons, sprites and the Fae.

But my demons were not of the metaphysical variety. They didn’t come from the underworld or from mystical realms either. They were much too common, much more cliché. Uninteresting. Which made everything worse. If I was going to be battling demons, at least life could make them interesting, worthy of a chapter in my autobiography.

Violet Edwards, demon killer… It had a nice ring to it.

As opposed to Violet Edwards, just another fucked-up, rich kid with daddy issues.

I didn’t normally hang out in outlaw biker compounds. Nor did I drink Jack Daniels or any other dark kind of whisky. While in France, I had developed a taste for Pinot Noir, a crip rosé from the South when it was hot out.

But when in Rome and all that.

And my particular situation called for Jack… A crisp rosé wouldn’t do shit to dull the edges.

The night was unusually quiet. Even though I’d only been here a few days, I’d come to understand that silence, even in the middle of the night—especially in the middle of the night—was hard to come by at an outlaw biker compound. All of the married members, my mother’s good friends, lived in houses of their own. Which meant that it was only the single men who lived at the clubhouse. And they liked to party. Party freaking hard. They also liked to do a lot of other stuff that shocked even my not so naïve eyes.

No one seemed worried about sexual acts being performed in public after certain hours. To the contrary, it seemed some of them liked being watched. When that started, I took that as a sign that that was the time to be putting myself to bed—especially considering my current condition. But something had also awakened inside of me, a want to stay. A need. And every time, my eyes had always found blue ones, my body pulsating as we made eye contact, as it became clear he had been watching me too. The weight of that stare and my current condition had me scuttling back to my room, heart beating fast and shame covering me like sweat.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >150

Advertisement
Wretched Love (Sons of Templar MC – New Mexico #1) Read Online Anne Malcom http://www.ilovenovels.com/wretched-love-sons-of-templar-mc-new-mexico-1-read-online-anne-malcom Sat, 30 Jul 2022 10:04:16 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/wretched-love-sons-of-templar-mc-new-mexico-1-read-online-anne-malcom Genre: Alpha Male, Biker, Contemporary, Dark, MC, Romance Authors: Anne Malcom Series: Sons of Templar MC - New Mexico Series by Anne Malcom
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Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 134531 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 673(@200wpm)___ 538(@250wpm)___ 448(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >141

Read Online Books/Novels:	(Sons of Templar MC - New Mexico #1) Wretched Love
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Anne Malcom
Language:	English
ISBN/ ASIN:	B0B2CTG9DZ
Book Information:
Don’t ask me how I got here, I don’t want to lie to you. I’m not a worldly woman. I’m not cultured, well-traveled or well educated. I’m just a housewife. A mother. I’m the woman with the handsome husband, beautiful daughter, the large house. If you saw it from the outside, you’d probably think I have the perfect life. You would most definitely be wrong. But I don’t blame you. We all see what we want to see, turning a blind eye to what others want to stay hidden. Especially when it comes to love. They say love is blind. But I’m more apt to say it’s wretched. Love is what made me stay. But love is also what saved me. When I found him. The outlaw who saved my life without knowing it. Until he found out the truth.
Books in Series:	Sons of Templar MC - New Mexico Series by Anne Malcom
Books by Author:	Anne Malcom

Chapter One

Kate

I was putting on mascara when he came in.

I met my husband’s blue eyes in the mirror. Those eyes ran over me with hunger. Appreciation.

My skin tingled.

I wasn’t wearing anything particularly revealing. A tailored dress, white with little flowers all over it. It showed off my figure, trim because my husband liked me that way. I was religious about my diet, about my morning Pilates class. The same with my Botox appointments, expensive facials and a standing appointment with my hair stylist to add honey highlights and keep my naturally midnight black hair a softer chocolatey color so I never had roots.

We had an image to maintain after all.

Preston swept my hair aside and kissed my neck. “You look good enough to eat, babe.”

My stomach clenched as his hands went down to my hips, his front pressing into my back, his intention clear. My heartbeat thrummed as my body responded to his, attuned after all these years.

“I’m already late,” I sighed.

Preston’s hand at my hip tightened, and he whirled me around.

His fist plowed into my stomach in one smooth move.

I doubled over, wheezing as my breath was sucked out of me.

“Manage your time better,” he said coldly. “And don’t ever refuse me again.”

His shoes echoed on our heated bathroom tiles.

I stared at the pattern, frowning at a speck I must’ve missed when I was cleaning the floors earlier this morning.

Once the pain subsided, I straightened, stared at myself in the mirror for a second, then resumed putting on my mascara.

“I fantasize about cheating on my husband with the neighbor when I’m masturbating,” Luanne said.

The women laughed, and I merely smiled tightly.

“I don’t come to the thought of cheating,” she continued with a sly grin. “It’s the thought of the pillow talk after, being able to complain about my idiot husband that sends me over the edge.”

More shrieks of laughter.

I sipped my iced tea.

Luanne drained her rosé. It was her second, and she lifted her hand to the waiter in a way that was patronizing and dismissive, signaling another.

Her eyes zeroed in on me. Luanne didn’t like me. Of course, she never came right out and said it. No one in this little group of wives were honest about how they felt—beyond their fantasies about the neighbor. It was just pointed comments, backhanded compliments, whispers behind each other’s backs.

She didn’t like me. For many reasons. Mostly because I was younger than her, and she was threatened by that. And also because she wanted my husband. She didn’t try to hide it. Not even a little. She was always stroking his arm when we had parties, standing a little too close, laughing at his jokes, rubbing her fake tits on his arms.

If only she knew what being married to Preston was like, she wouldn’t be so eager to rub up against him.

“What about you, Kate?” she asked, narrowing her eyes. “We’ve all shared. Who do you fantasize about when you use your battery-operated friend? Even though your husband is a man made of fantasy.”

I smiled tightly at her. “He defies fantasy,” I said smoothly.

They all waited with bated breath. All the ladies who lunched. The group of women Preston had urged me to befriend once Violet went to school and I had ‘nothing’ to do with my time.

Despite the fact that I cleaned our entire house daily because he could see any speck of dirt. That I made everything in our home from scratch because he didn’t want processed food. That I took his shirts and suits to the drycleaners, also daily because he wanted everything ‘fresh.’ That I spent hours on dinner because he expected me to serve him gourmet meals.

Then there were our gardens that he needed to be impeccable. He didn’t hire anyone. Except to do the grass and the pool, but they came on an exact day at an exact time. Otherwise, he didn’t want strangers in our home. Didn’t want them snooping. Seeing things they shouldn’t.

We’d bought a much larger house when Violet started high school and Preston took over for his father as president of the bank. Our mansion was only minutes away from his parents which meant his mother could and often did stop by. Her home was always immaculate, and Preston would not hear of me embarrassing us both by having the house ‘out of order.’

So it was a full-time job to keep everything how he wanted. To avoid punishment, even though he often found something wrong, something out of place.

These women, with husbands and grown children, had full-time help. They wouldn’t dream of scrubbing a toilet. They had endless time to day drink and talk about their trainers, their current diet, how their husbands didn’t satisfy them. Whatever it was that they considered ‘problems.’

I did not have that time.

But these were the women to be seen with in our small town. These were the circles to run in. To keep up appearances.

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(Sons of Templar MC - New Mexico #1) Wretched Love

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Sons of Templar MC - New Mexico Series by Anne Malcom

Anne Malcom