Georgia Le Carre – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read

Georgia Le Carre – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.ilovenovels.com Sun, 12 Jul 2026 16:10:15 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=7.0.2 http://www.ilovenovels.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/favicon.png Georgia Le Carre – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.ilovenovels.com 32 32 The Stipulation Read Online Georgia Le Carre http://www.ilovenovels.com/the-stipulation-read-online-georgia-le-carre Sun, 12 Jul 2026 16:10:15 +0000 https://www.ilovenovels.com/the-stipulation-read-online-georgia-le-carre Genre: Alpha Male, Billionaire, Erotic, Vampires Authors: Georgia Le Carre Advertisement

Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)

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Jo-Anne
Yay! It’s a Friday night, and I’m out on a girl’s night out with my three besties at our local bar, in Hackney. Tequila shots, here I come.
Halfway through, though, my phone rings. Hmmm… an international call. Must be a scammer. Maybe a Nigerian Prince.
But no…
Turns out it’s a fancy New York solicitor. He blows my mind by telling me what I’d believed for the last 26 years of my life was a total lie.
I, Jo-Anne Louise Button, have a father. Apparently, he’s an American and he’s super rich.
But he is dying and he wants to see me before he passes away. Everything has been arranged. All I have to do is agree to see him, and I will be whisked off to America.
I’m too shocked to do anything but agree.
When my father dies, I become the heir to a fabulously large fortune. But collecting it isn’t as simple as it sounds. There is a stipulation.
And the stipulation involves Axel Rhodes. A man who leaves me utterly speechless. Never in my life have I ever met such an arrogant, rude, cold, scowling, smug, infuriating, high and mighty devil.
But my, is he drop dead gorgeous and hotter than hell, or what?

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

Chapter

One

JO

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NOubzHCUt48

-die young-

O’Malley’s bar is loud and steamy in that way that signifies it’s a Friday night: nobody here intends to wake up without regret. Neon pink lights bleed down the brick walls, making everyone look flushed and guilty. The bass thuds through my head like it’s trying to kill off my last two brain cells, and the air reeks of cheap cologne and alcohol fumes, but if I tilt my head just right, I can almost pretend tonight is a brilliant life choice rather than the beginning of a hangover I’ll be negotiating tomorrow morning.

I’m wedged into a curved leather booth with my three besties. All of us pressed knee to knee, and shouting to be heard over the blaring music. Our table is already cluttered with nearly a dozen empty cocktail glasses.

Fearlessly bubbly Jenny Arnold is to my left. Her blonde hair cascades down her back in artfully casual waves, but I know it required a minimum of forty-five minutes with a curling wand to achieve. She’s wearing a red dress that hugs her curves like it’s in love with her, and I’m ready to bet every man within a ten-foot radius has already clocked her as the babe they’d love to take home. And she is pathologically incapable of not flirting right back. It’s one of her many talents.

Across from me is Serena Mason. Her dark hair is cut close on one side and falls freely in glossy sheets on the other. She’s dressed in black as always, and her combat boots are planted firmly on the sticky floor. A silver necklace rests against her collarbone where a green dragon tattoo peeks out from the inside of her t-shirt and curls around her neck, making her look dangerously sexy.

Next to her is Olivia Green. She’s quiet, which people often mistake for shyness until she opens her mouth and annihilates them. She’s wearing a white slip dress and a brown leather jacket that she has tossed over the back of the booth. Her fiery auburn hair is cut blunt at her shoulders.

And then there’s me, Jo-Anne Louise Button, but everybody calls me Jo. I guess I have nice eyes, but I am the classic wallflower. Pale and nondescript, I can effortlessly and perfectly blend into any background, which I kind of like. It’s fun to be underestimated and then jump out and shock people with my brilliance.

I lift my shot glass and grin around at my friends. “To bad decisions.”

“That turn out to be excellent decisions at the stroke of midnight,” Jenny corrects, clinking her shot glass lightly against mine.

Serena groans. “Why do we have to beat around the bush like this? To all the men with big dicks who know how to use them!”

Olivia raises hers last, her expression solemn. “Oh, fuck it. To orgasms, any fucking way they come.”

Laughing, we throw the shots back. The tequila burns down my throat, the heat sharp and immediate, and I have to suck in a breath and cough.

Jenny slaps my arm. “Oh, come on, lightweight,” she teases. “Your job is restoring seventeenth-century oil paintings with toxic chemicals, and you breathe that just fine, but this is where you draw the line?”

“In my defense I don’t drink the chemicals,” I say hoarsely. “I feel like my esophagus must object on principle alone.”

Serena slides another round of shots into the center of the table, having somehow summoned them without me noticing. “Esophagi are not meant to be seen or heard. Now drink up!”

“How are you not the dictator of a whole country?” I mutter, reaching for my cocktail.

Olivia leans forward, her eyes bright. “You know that guy I told you about? The one from that architecture firm?”

“The one with the eerily symmetrical face?” Jenny asks.

“Yes,” Olivia agrees serenely. “Him.”

Serena smirks. “The one you said looked like he’d cry if you raised your voice?”

“That’s the one,” Olivia confirms. “Anyway, I kind of went on a date with him… and ended up in his place.”

Jenny’s eyes light up. “Ooooh,” she breathes. “Tell us more.”

“To be honest, I wasn’t planning on staying over,” Olivia explains. “I genuinely wasn’t. I just wanted to see if his bookshelves were as pretentious as I suspected they would be.”

“Yeah, right,” Serena scoffs and we laugh, even Olivia.

“And were they?” I ask.

“They were color coded by their emotional impact.”

I choke on my drink. “Noooo.”

Olivia nods sagely. “Yes. Talk about a major red flag. But then, he poured me a glass of wine that cost more than my weekly food budget and did this unusual thing with his eyebrows. One thing led to another, and somehow, I found myself in his bed.”

Serena tilts her head. “All is well that ends well.”

“Well, not exactly,” Olivia says with a grimace. “We were kissing, which was fine. Nice, even. Until his bedside lamp fell over.”

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The Imposter and I Read Online Georgia Le Carre http://www.ilovenovels.com/the-imposter-and-i-read-online-georgia-le-carre Thu, 23 Apr 2026 22:53:29 +0000 http://www.ilovenovels.com/the-imposter-and-i-read-online-georgia-le-carre Genre: Alpha Male, Billionaire, Erotic, Suspense Authors: Georgia Le Carre Advertisement

Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 88270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >97

Escape into a fantasy romance full of emotional intensity, secrets, betrayals, and a possessive Alpha hero.
JulietI was a struggling barista in a small coffee shop in the Big Apple. One day a woman dressed from head to toe in designer gear came in with a job offer for me. A very unusual job offer.
I thought about saying no.
I really did. But how could I refuse such an offer?

To start with I didn’t have a hope in hell of ever earning that kind of money, not even if I worked my butt off for years. Three months of my life was all I had to give up, and the best part was, it wasn’t even illegal.

All I had to do was pretend to be some rich dude’s wife.

In exchange, I would be paid an insane amount of money and step into a fabulous life of luxury. I'd get a brand-new designer wardrobe, have access to a black American Express credit card, and be able to take my friends out to lunch in the most exclusive restaurants and gorgeous spas. And the best part… I wouldn’t even have to sleep with the rich dude.

It was the most amazing, most incredible thing that had ever happened to me.

So, I said yes. I’d have been mad not to.

But like everything in life, there was a catch.

And the catch involved the rich dude…

The Imposter & I is a steamy, dual-point-of-view, standalone romance with fiery passion, unforgettable love, and a well-deserved happily-ever-after ending

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

Chapter One

JULIET

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hj3uXzAjmeI

-Mercedes Benz-

It’s nearly closing time at Yellow Cup, the tiny coffeeshop, tucked away in the heart of Manhattan on Mulberry Street, Nolita. I work here. It’s an odd little place with mismatched wooden tables painted a sunny yellow and higgledy-piggledy shelves lined with rusty old coffee tins repurposed as pots for lavender plants, but in my opinion, it’s a hidden gem.

We serve the finest slow-roasted coffee and pastries in all of New York.

The espresso machine hisses softly behind me, filling the air with the rich, nutty aroma of freshly ground beans. The sky beyond the glass windows is already a deep golden-orange, and the streetlights are starting to glow on the sidewalk, however, if the weather app on my phone is correct, the summer temperature is still hovering around 88 degrees Fahrenheit. Even the ceiling fans spinning overhead are no match for this balmy heat.

My uniform feels sticky against my skin, and my lower back aches slightly from hauling trays of muffins and croissants from the back kitchen. I've been on my feet since this morning, and my strawberry-blonde hair tied back into a ponytail is starting to frizz from the humidity.

Tips were slim today. The tourists rushing past our door seemed too busy to stop in for a latte. I’ll have to think of more ways to be extra nice to my regulars. I seriously need the money. My wages on their own barely cover the rent on my cramped apartment in the East Village. I dream of something more than a life of endless grind. I need a break. Just a little break. Sighing, I wipe down the counter with a damp cloth and glance at the clock.

Only five minutes more, thank God.

But at that precise moment, the bell above the door tinkles. A gust of warm evening air sneaks in, making the napkins on the counter flutter. It carries with it the sound of honking taxis and the scent of the city’s baking-hot pavements. I glance toward the door, expecting a tourist. My regulars know better than to come in at closing time.

"Sorry, but we're closing in five minutes. I can only do take-outs," I call, my voice is laced with that New York directness I've picked up after five years in the Big Apple.

But the woman pushes the door shut behind her with a decisive click and walks toward the counter. Her heels click sharply against the worn hardwood floor. She is expensively dressed in an ivory silk blouse and a pair of elegant, tailored black slacks. Her belt carries the Gucci logo, and the purse slung over her shoulder is the latest Chanel quilted flap in black. I recognize it from my Instagram feed.

I straighten, my eyes narrowing slightly with suspicion. She is no tourist. And a woman like her wouldn’t be seen dead in such an unglamorous establishment as this. Also, why is she keeping her face slightly tilted away from me? Then, as she approaches the counter, she slowly turns her head and faces me. The low-hanging pendant lights catch her features, and I freeze. The dishcloth slips from my nerveless fingers onto the counter.

Good God!

Under her expertly applied makeup—flawless foundation that evens her skin to porcelain perfection, smoky eyeshadow that accentuates her blue eyes, and red painted lips—she looks... like me.

Exactly like me!

The resemblance is startling. Uncanny, really. I stare at her in astonishment.

She has the same high cheekbones, the same slight dimple in her chin. She is blonde too, but I suspect it is from a bottle, and her hair is sleeker and cut in a chic, asymmetrical style that swings just above her shoulders. The only small difference I can see is her nose, which seems more refined at the tip, and she is slimmer than me. Clearly, she's never indulged in a leftover pastry. I sneak one at the end of every shift. Even so, if I had her haircut and makeup, we could pass as identical twins.

Looking at her is more eerie than I can put into words. Like staring into a mirror, only my reflection has been polished and upgraded. A mix of shock and unease ripples through me. Is this some kind of prank? Or am I hallucinating from too many double espressos?

She comes to a stop at the counter and rests her hands lightly on the edge. A smile curves her lips. She is not just pleased, she’s triumphant, like she's won something important. Her eyes, a shade of blue similar to mine, but perhaps a fraction deeper, sparkle as she assesses me from head to toe. My mind races like crazy. Who is she? And why does she look so... happy about this chance encounter with her doppelganger?

"I'm Carolyn Bessant," she says, her voice smooth and polished. It has a hint of an upper-crust accent that conjures up images of private schools and summer homes by lakes. She extends a hand, revealing manicured nails in a neutral polish.

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The American Billionaire Read Online Georgia Le Carre http://www.ilovenovels.com/the-american-billionaire-read-online-georgia-le-carre Sun, 01 Feb 2026 09:24:09 +0000 http://www.ilovenovels.com/the-american-billionaire-read-online-georgia-le-carre Genre: Alpha Male, Billionaire, Contemporary, Erotic Authors: Georgia Le Carre Advertisement

Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >91

Pippa Fairfax

Yikes! What? That’s my freaking forfeit?

‘Get into a Jessica Rabbit costume. Walk up to a complete stranger that my two best friends have chosen. Ask him out!’

No. Absolutely, no. You both dare to call yourselves my best friends forever?

No, I’m just not doing it. No way. Hell will freeze over first…

And yet, here I am, wearing a Jessica Rabbit costume and sashaying up to a scowling Greek-God-like man.

Calm down, Pippa. Calm down.

It’ll be just a minor humiliation. Obviously, Mr. Perfect will turn me down flat. One look at his charcoal suit and dazzlingly white designer shirt tells me he’s the type to go for super-skinny, high maintenance girls. But that’s fine because he’s not my type either. Too smooth. Plus, I’m totally invested in the project of winning my ex back to care either way.

But to my astonishment Mr Perfect, who turns out to be an American in London, doesn’t turn me down flat.

Instead, he has a very, very interesting proposal for me.

Hmmm… I think I should accept

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

Chapter One

Pippa

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lR93L8sUMNg

-Hopelessly devoted to you-

Whoa! Mason’s Bar is buzzing tonight. The relentless pounding of bass from the loudspeakers is the type that gets into your bones and encourages even the shyest of people to nod along with it. But no sweat smell here. It’s classy aftershave, overpriced beer, and something sweet that reminds me of coconut body butter. The chic amber lights catch on the mirrors behind the bar and throw sparks of gold across the tables lining the edge of the dance floor.

Here's where I come in.

Perched on a stool with my two best friends. On the table is our next round of cocktails and about eight too many empty tequila shots neatly lined up.

“Ready, steady, go,” Sandra yells, hitting the edge of her fist on the table.

I lick a mini hill of salt off the back of my hand, knock back a shot, slam the glass onto the sticky wood, and suck on a lemon wedge.

Sandra whoops as I squeeze both eyes and wince at the sourness.

“Way to go, Pippa,” she approves. “Come on, Lucy, your turn.”

“Nah, nah, not me.” Lucy shakes her head, a smile tugging at her lips as she nurses her pink gin. “You two are going to regret this tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow is a problem for Future Pippa,” I say, and do another shot, this time swiping a lime wedge and sinking my teeth into it. The acidity makes me shiver, but I grin anyway. “Tonight is all about Present Pippa, and that gal is on a mission.”

Sandra leans in closer, a mischievous grin tugging at the corners of her lips. Her short blonde hair falls over one eye, and she pushes it back and whispers conspiratorially, “What kind of a mission?”

“A mission to have fun,” I declare, throwing my arms out like I’m making an announcement to the entire room. “Pure, unadulterated fun.”

Sandra giggles and clinks her glass against mine, and we both swallow down mouthfuls of our Mai Tais.

“Finally,” she says with a big sigh. “This is exactly the energy I want from you. No more moping, no more crying into your wine about George-bloody-Parker.”

Lucy glares at her as I freeze mid-sip of my cocktail. She said his name like it was a curse word, sharp and dismissive. My stomach flips. As always, the mere sound of his name still does things to me. Many times, I’ve wished it didn’t, but it does. It still does.

“Speaking of George,” I say, ignoring the fact that both of my friends are rolling their eyes derisively.

I know I talk about him too much, especially when I am having a drink, but I can’t help it. When someone is constantly on your mind, it’s hard not to talk about them. Especially when I think he might be here tonight. The thought makes me look around surreptitiously. At the far side of the bar, a tall man in a dark jacket leans against the wall, his posture relaxed and confident. He’s got the same bearing as George, standing there with one hand in his pocket, the other one cradling a pint.

I gasp. “Oh my God! Is that him?”

Lucy groans. “Pippa, you have got to stop doing this.”

Sandra squints and follows my gaze before bursting out in laughter. “No way. He’s not even close. That guy’s at least fifty. He’s got grey hair. And a beer belly. He’s probably still a better date than George, though.”

I blink, the room swimming a little from the tequila. She’s right. It’s not George. Of course it’s not. I guess he wouldn’t be caught dead in Mason’s on a Saturday night, not anymore. Not when he knows I frequent the place. Still, I can’t stop my heart from sinking when I see that she’s right. So much for the ‘having fun’ thing.

“False alarm,” I mutter, forcing a laugh that comes out thinner than I’d like it to.

Sandra slaps my arm playfully. “Girl, you’ve got George goggles. You’re seeing him everywhere. That man could be a lamppost, and you’d convince yourself it was him.”

Lucy sets her drink down with deliberate care, like she’s bracing herself to ruin the mood. “Pippa, we’ve talked about this. You need to move on. He’s not coming back.”

I stir my cocktail with the little black straw, watching the crushed ice swirl. “But we were good together. Weren’t we?”

“You tell us. You’re the one who dated him,” Lucy says unhelpfully.

“No,” Sandra says, looking at her witheringly.

Lucy shrugs. “What? She asked.”

My words tumble out before I can stop them. “Well, you must know, we were good together. I know we were. Actually, we were perfect for each other. He was solid. Dependable. Like, I don’t know, like home. You know that feeling when you walk through the door after a long day, kick your shoes off, and everything just feels right?”

Lucy sighs. “Pippa …” she starts, but I don’t let her cut me off.

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Taboo Read Online Georgia Le Carre http://www.ilovenovels.com/taboo-read-online-georgia-le-carre Wed, 29 Oct 2025 22:16:11 +0000 http://www.ilovenovels.com/taboo-read-online-georgia-le-carre Genre: Alpha Male, Dark, Erotic Authors: Georgia Le Carre Advertisement

Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 94092 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >101

Amelia

His lips were a hungry fire against the wild thump of my heart. We were very young and he was the son of my father’s housekeeper, but we didn’t care.
We knew without a doubt that we’d found our other half. No one could ever split us. What we had was forever. In my dreams I already encountered the grandchildren we would have.

Then my father calls us to his library and breaks the news.

The one thing we never saw coming.
We are half brother and sister.

Devastated and furious, Max storms away from the library never to return.

Years pass, and somehow, I muddle along and become a children’s book illustrator, but the joy of life has been sucked out of me forever.

I dress in drab clothes, never wear make-up, or go out much. I guess I fit the bill to be a spinster for life. Until the day my father makes a shocking confession on his deathbed.

He had lied.
Max and I are not related at all.

I know Max will come for the funeral, but Max is now rich and famous... and he is married with a son.

Do I still tell him my secret?

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

Prologue

AMELIA

Rain lashes the attic windows, a restless drumbeat that syncs with the wild thump of my heart. It’s near midnight, the world outside is cloaked in a storm’s fury, but up here, in this purple-painted haven Max made for me, it’s warm and cozy. Fairy lights twinkle along the slanted ceiling, casting a soft glow over the cluttered space—my books, my paints, the photos we pinned to the walls. The air smells of cedar and turpentine, mingling with the faint musk of Max’s skin as I straddle his hips, my knees pressing into the rug beneath us.

His lips are fire against mine, hungry and possessive, each kiss pulling me deeper into a dream I never want to awaken from. My fingers tangle in his dark hair, and I breathe him in. My whole body is alive with the thrill of his touch.

Three months ago, Max was just the housekeeper’s son, a stranger with a guarded smile who’d come to stay for the summer. I tried to match his chill with my own, but somehow, we ended up here—lost in each other, every moment a spark that’s set my world ablaze. His warmth, his strength, the way he sees me: it’s everything I never knew I needed.

Suddenly, Max’s phone rings, sharp and insistent, slicing through our haze of passion. It takes a little while longer, but eventually Max pulls back, his sapphire eyes clouded with reluctance as he snatches the phone.

I groan, leaning in to steal another kiss, my lips brushing his jaw. “Nooo ... I don’t want to stop.” My hands slide down his chest, feeling his heart galloping under my palms.

“It’s your father,” he says, his voice still rough with the same need coursing through me.

A chill seeps into me, dousing the warmth. Max might not see it, but I’ve noticed the storm brewing in Dad’s eyes lately. His gaze lingers when Max and I are together. We’ve tried to keep this secret. We spun a story about Max tutoring me for SAT math—his perfect score was the perfect excuse. But we’ve spent too many hours up here alone, reading poetry, mixing paints, baking pastries in the kitchen—things I’d never done before. We’re inseparable, living under the same roof, and Dad’s the sharpest man I know. There’s no way he hasn’t noticed.

“Don’t answer, Max,” I warn.

“It’ll only piss him off if I don’t,” he says, catching my wrists gently. “Let’s see what he wants.”

My hands fall limply to my sides as he takes the call.

He listens quietly, then says, “Yes, sir. We’ll be there.” Then he ends the call and tosses the phone down.

“He wants to see us now in the library,” he mutters,

My father wants us both in the library, not just me. My stomach twists. “This smells like trouble,” I whisper, my voice barely audible over the rain.

Max gently holds my face, his thumbs brushing my cheeks. “Probably not.”

I try to kiss him again, desperate to hold onto this moment, but he stops me, his grip firm. “Amelia, let’s go and get it over with. Whatever it is.”

I stare into his fearless eyes, and terror claws at me, a whisper that’s haunted me since we started—the dread that I could lose him. “Do you have any idea at all why he’s calling us?” I ask, my voice trembling. “Do you think he’s noticed … us?”

His gaze holds mine, steady and sure. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll handle it together. I’m not giving you up, no matter what.”

“Promise me we won’t be separated,” I say, my eyes searching his. I don’t say it outright, but we both know Dad won’t approve of a union between the housekeeper’s son and his only daughter. I need Max to feel the weight of the situation, to be ready.

“I promise,” he says, his voice softening. “It’s probably just about your studies. You're still a bit shit at math."

A teasing smile tugs at his lips, and I laugh nervously, the tension easing just a fraction. "Well, how can it be my fault if my teacher spends more time watching me undress than actually tutoring me?"

"Watching you undress is entrancing and illuminating," he says gravely, but his eyes twinkle like blue stars. "I can't blame me either."

I slide off him, offering my hand to pull him up. He takes it, rising with that easy grace that makes my chest ache. As we move toward the attic door, his head grazes the low ceiling with a soft thud. We both freeze, then burst into laughter, the sound bright against the storm’s roar. His hand settles at the small of my back, warm and strong, as he guides me out.

The magical fairy lights fade behind us, and the attic stairs creak under our weight as we descend into the shadowed house. My pulse hammers, each step toward Dad’s study tightening the knot in my chest. The rain’s rhythm follows us, a reminder that the world outside is as unsettled as the one we’re walking into. I sneak a look at Max, and he smiles at me. I take it as a promise that we'll both be resilient enough to face whatever waits beyond the heavy library door.

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Neighbor From Hell Read Online Georgia Le Carre http://www.ilovenovels.com/neighbor-from-hell-read-online-georgia-le-carre Sat, 16 Aug 2025 22:26:25 +0000 http://www.ilovenovels.com/neighbor-from-hell-read-online-georgia-le-carre Genre: Alpha Male, Billionaire, Contemporary, Erotic Authors: Georgia Le Carre Advertisement

Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 100423 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >107

Lauren

Holy cow! I’ve inherited a cottage in Great Britain.

My grandma, a woman I never knew, has willed her cottage to me.

Any sane person would sell it, and use the money to better their lot in the city they're living in, but my life sucks in a spectacular way, so I decided to take the road less travelled. In other words, ‘the insane option’. I quit my hopeless job, gave notice to my leach of a landlord, and got on a plane headed to England.

The plan is to make a new life.

But the cottage, I find out, is in a sorry, dilapidated state. Even so, after the first disappointment, and considering the limited funds at my disposal, I become determined to make it liveable again and bring it back to its glory days, because even in its terrible state I can see it must have been very charming and sweet once upon a time.

My little adventure would have had a happy ending if not for my neighbor, a giant of a man living in the magnificent manor next door. It appears the terrible man is just as unhappy with my presence as I am with his.

What a shame we hate each other so much, because his cold angry eyes and twisted lips make my thighs burn and hot blood rush into my throat and earlobes.

It is going to be difficult. Very difficult…
Neighbor From Hell is a full length ,standalone enemies to lovers romance

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

Chapter

One

LAUREN

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bWcASV2sey0&list

-He’s got to be strong and he’s got to be fast-

The barstool creaks under me as I slump forward, elbows sliding on the sticky wooden counter of O’Malley’s Pub. It’s a dive in the heart of Illinois, all chipped paint and flickering neon, the kind of place where the air smells of stale beer and regret. My fingers toy with the damp label of my Stella Artois, peeling it back in slow, satisfying strips.

I’m bone-tired—sales rep life is a grind, a treadmill of monotony; same journeys, same lecherous advances from area managers to handle tactfully, same bullshit quotas that make me want to claw my eyes out. I’m running and running, but I never seem to get anywhere. Twenty-eight, single, and renting a studio apartment that’s one step up from a shoebox. It’s not the dream I had at twenty.

I glance around. The jukebox hums a Springsteen song about glory days, and the chatter of half-drunk locals buzzes like white noise. I tip my Stella Artois back, the bottle’s icy glass kissing my lips, slick with condensation that beads against my fingertips. The beer hits my tongue. The cold, sharp brew slides down my throat like a temporary Band-Aid on a wound that won’t stop bleeding. It’s not enough though, and I am beginning to worry if anything ever will.

Sandy slides onto the stool next to me, all wild brunette curls and a smile so seriously sensuous it could charm a monk into sin. She’s in a black crop top and jeans, effortlessly hot in that way I’ve always admired. Her gin and tonic sloshes as she sets it down, ice clinking against the glass.

“Rough day, huh?” she guesses, the waft of alcohol already on her breath.

“My landlord is doubling the rent,” I mutter, setting my beer down with a dull clink.

Sandy freezes mid-sip, her gin and tonic hovering an inch from her lips. The ice clinks against the glass, a tiny chime that cuts through the bar’s haze—Springsteen’s crooning about better days, the clatter of pool balls, the hum of slurred voices.

“What?” she explodes.

“I’m done with it all, Sandy,” I say, turning to her. “Men, the job, the apartment, the whole damn thing. The rent was already bleeding me dry in that cramped, shitty studio with walls so thin I can hear my neighbor’s Netflix marathons. But double? Shit, I’ll be eating ramen in the dark, praying the power doesn’t get cut.”

“You’ll just have to find something else. I always thought your landlord was a leech of the first degree for making you pay all that money for what is basically a double wardrobe with a toilet and a stove.”

I pick at the soggy label on my bottle, peeling it back in jagged little strips. “Nah, I‘ve really had enough, Sandy,” I admit, the words tasting like defeat. “I’ve been spending time on Zillow, and I swear, everybody’s gone insane. The prices are more than double what I’m paying now.”

“Yeah,” she sighs. “Living in the city is becoming unbearable for sure. With these prices, you’d think they come with gold toilets, but no. It’s the same dreary shit. What are you going to do?”

I shrug. “I’m still weighing my options.”

“You need to find a sexy landlord who’ll cut you a deal, you know what I mean.” She waggles her brows.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” I say, but I laugh, the sound spilling out like a release valve popping. The tension in my chest loosens just a fraction. She’s ridiculous, but I love her for it. Still, those Zillow tabs haunt me—each one a little stab of what I can’t have, a reminder of my defeat. Double the rent. Double the misery. Unless I find a way out.

I take another swig of my Stella Artois, the beer’s gone lukewarm now, and it sits heavy in my gut. I lean my elbow on the sticky counter and stare at the defaced label on my bottle like it’s got answers. It doesn’t.

“Sandy,” I start, my voice low, “you know my grandma died a couple of months back, right?”

“Yeah,” she replies. “But you weren’t close, right?”

“No. I never even met her. She cut off all contact with my mom after my mom moved to the States to marry my dad.”

“Oh yes, right, I know this. She disapproved of the union.”

“Yeah. Anyway, it’s just got me thinking, you know? That this feeling of needing a change isn’t just me being bored, or being hounded out of my home by a crazy rent increase. Maybe it’s a sign that I need a change. A real change. Maybe I’m being nudged into the path I’m supposed to be on.”

“What path are you thinking of?” she asks, and I smile. “I know you,” she says. “If you’re saying this now, then you’ve been thinking about it for a while and you already have a direction in mind, so let’s hear it.”

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >107

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Twisted Love Read Online Georgia Le Carre http://www.ilovenovels.com/twisted-love-read-online-georgia-le-carre Wed, 04 Jun 2025 21:17:46 +0000 http://www.ilovenovels.com/twisted-love-read-online-georgia-le-carre Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Crime, Dark Authors: Georgia Le Carre Advertisement

Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 90778 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >98

Raven Moore

The moment I heard his voice ring out in the cold hushed air of the church every cell in my body froze with disbelief and shock. I felt almost faint with unbelievable happiness and hope. Was it possible? After all this time?

Earl James Jackson was not dead.

He was alive and well.

And he had come to my wedding to claim me!

In a daze I lifted my eyes up to the tall dark figure…

Earl James Jackson

She looks as beautiful as I remember. Look at those angelic eyes. Any man would lay down his life if those eyes turned to him.

But she won't fool me again. I know what she is now.

A lying gold digger.

But she is my lying gold digger...and she must pay for her sins.

Twisted Love is as the title suggests; A tale of obsessive, twisted love and revenge, that will keep you turning the pages to the very end. Twisted Love is a full length standalone romance

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

CHAPTER 1

EARL

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e3-5YC_oHjE

-I still haven’t found what I’m looking for-

The lilies reek.

I fucking hate lilies.

I learned to hate them because of her. Lilies are for funerals, she used to say. Their strong sweet cloying perfume used to suffocate her and make her feel faint. And yet they seem to be the main theme of the décor of her wedding. The church looks like a glamorous winter woodland, but it doesn’t fool me. Not for one second. Nothing about this charade does.

Clearly, the bride had no say in her own wedding arrangements.

But I know who did. Her new mother-in-law, the high and mighty Mrs. Evelyn Belafonte, sitting in the front pew in her Chanel two-piece cream suit, her back ramrod straight, absolutely furious that her beloved son is marrying beneath him.

Well, I might be able to help there…

Sitting on the last pew of that cold, lovely church, farthest from the altar, I can’t take my eyes off the blushing bride.

Raven Moore stands with her head bowed under a delicate veil, the soft lace spilling over her shoulders. Her dress fits her perfectly. It is elegant and understated, exactly what she dreamed about when we were dirt-poor kids living in the caravan park down the road. When she used to talk about this day like it was some kind of magical fairytale ending. Back then, fool that I was, I pictured it too.

Only in my version, I was the one standing beside her. I believed her, you see. Then, I believed we were one. No one and nothing could separate us. Not even death. Our love would last even beyond the grave.

‘If I should die first, I will haunt you until you join me,’ I vowed.

‘Yes, you must. I wouldn’t have it any other way,’ she whispered back fiercely.

I stare at her now and my fists clench into blocks of hate. He lifts her veil and I want to rush forward and knock his hand away. I hate her, but she is mine forever. If I cannot have her love then I will have her hate.

Not yet, I remind myself, as I watch her get ready to say her vows to a man I’m certain she has no feelings for. How do I know?

Because she is a gold digger.

A beautiful liar.

She can always be counted on to sell herself to the highest bidder. That is her downfall and perhaps it will be mine too. But I’m already dead inside. All that is left is my need for revenge. It eats at me, sharp and unrelenting, day and night, and follows me into my nightmares.

My gaze shifts to Charles Belafonte, the ‘lucky’ groom.

He stands tall and proud. He always was too smug for his own good. His handmade suit puts the finishing touch to this elaborate charade. His hand hovers close to hers, brushing against her fingers like he already owns her. His mouth is curved in that signature smirk, the one that used to make me want to wipe it off his dumb face with a fucking baseball bat.

He hasn’t changed.

I haven’t changed either. I still want to rip that arrogant sneer off his face and crush it beneath my heel until it becomes a howl of agony.

My jaw is clenched so hard it aches.

And Raven... She just stands there like a statue carved from some pale stone. Her head bowed as if she couldn’t bear to look at him. Or maybe she’s trying to hide her misery. Good, I hope she feels miserable. She deserves to.

Why shouldn’t she feel as hollow and broken as I did the day I stood behind the door and heard her say the words I will never forget as long as I live?

Sure, he’s a good kisser, but he has no prospects. A loser. A grease monkey. I’m only with him temporarily. As soon as I find someone with money—real money—I’m ditching him.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >98

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Devil In A Suit Read Online Georgia Le Carre http://www.ilovenovels.com/devil-in-a-suit-read-online-georgia-le-carre Sun, 02 Mar 2025 13:36:10 +0000 http://www.ilovenovels.com/devil-in-a-suit-read-online-georgia-le-carre Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary Authors: Georgia Le Carre Advertisement

Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 88879 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >95

Lara
I’m a hopeless salesperson. I couldn’t sell a glass of water to a man dying of thirst in a desert. But by a strange quirk of fate, a mysterious Russian billionaire has requested that I personally represent him in the purchase of a property worth more than a hundred million dollars.
I work for my father in his estate agency. The business is struggling financially and literally is on the verge of going under so this is a humongous deal for us. Closing this sale could change everything for the agency, and my father is really counting on me not to ruin the sale.
My stomach is so twisted up in knots I feel almost sick as I prepare for the appointment. My hands shake with apprehension.
Then the Russian arrives.

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

Chapter One

IVAN

“Here you are, Mr. Ivanovich. I’ve narrowed the list down to five of the best properties in the market right now.” Greta, my uber-efficient PA, hands me her iPad. “Each one offers everything you’ve specified for. Please press play when you are ready and the first video will start.”

I tap the screen and a property advert comes on. A woman in her early twenties smiles in front of an open doorway. She has an American smile, big and full of optimism. I call it the US-Dollar smile. No Russian woman would ever smile like that. Russian women are too pragmatic. They know there are bears in the woods, the winters always come early, and the Government is not your friend.

“Sorry, that’s not the property. That’s just an advert,” Greta apologizes. Her voice sounds slightly annoyed. Her whole life is an orderly, well-oiled machine and she hates it when even the littlest thing goes wrong.

“We are subscribed to the no advertisements premium subscription,” she continues. “This must be a glitch. I am sorry to waste your time, Mr. Ivanovich. Please click the skip button.”

The button comes on the screen, but I don’t click it. I am too mesmerized by the woman on the screen. My eyes eat her up as she walks down the narrow corridor of a cheap apartment.

“And here we have a spacious living room with a fantastic view,” she lies shamelessly to the camera as she walks into a ridiculously small room. Only a cockroach would find that room spacious. She passes by the window she had claimed had a fantastic view and the outlook is literally a brick wall. Undeterred by the tawdry reality around her she sails through her sales pitch. Stylish, modern, well-appointed, central… The ease with which she lies through her teeth is impressive.

“Just press that little button on the right-hand corner that says skip,” Greta urges, her voice flustered.

But I don’t touch the button. The girl has entered a tiny brown kitchen where she starts to wax lyrical about how wonderful and cozy it is. Apparently, the prospective buyer can have breakfast in that cramped space while the sun shines in through the east facing window. She passes by said window and I nearly laugh. Even a jail cell would have a bigger opening.

“Here, let me press skip for you, Mr. Ivanovich,” Greta says anxiously as she reaches for her iPad.

I look up. “I know how to press skip, Greta.”

Her eyes widen and she straightens her spine. “Oh, okay.”

I return my attention to the woman on the screen.

Something about her.

Something about her.

She leads the viewers to the bedroom and sits on the bed. Words are falling out of her sexy mouth, but I have stopped listening. My cock is rock hard. I freeze the advert and look up. “That will be all, Greta.”

“Oh!”

For a few unguarded seconds, she looks at me with a confused expression. Then she takes a step backwards. “Okay. You can call me when you have finished viewing all five shortlisted properties.”

I nod and she turns away.

I stare at the woman in the video. “Who are you?”

I watch the advert all over again. Something powerful, deep in the pits of my guts starts uncoiling, waking up. It has been asleep for a long time, so it moves slowly, but it will not be denied. It will stop at nothing to get what it wants.

And it wants her.

I have never had such a visceral and instant reaction to a woman. What is even stranger is that she is not my type at all. Generally, I gravitate towards long-legged models with nomadic lifestyles. Having a woman willing to fly out to different locations in the world at a moment’s notice is important to me.

I take a screenshot of her agency’s name when it appears, then I watch the rest of the video. The second property is the only one that appeals to me. I press the button that brings Greta into my room, and she appears at the door almost instantly.

“Are you ready for me to arrange appointments for you to view the properties, Mr. Ivanovich?”

I hold the iPad out to her. “I want to view the second property on your list, but first I want you to contact the woman in this advert. She is to handle the entire purchase transaction.”

She pauses momentarily, a strange expression on her face. If I didn’t know better, I would think she is jealous. But I do know better. Then she moves forward, takes the iPad from me and looks at the screen where the name of the agency is displayed.

“Fitzpatrick &Co is not one of the better agencies in the city,” she says stiffly.

I pick up my coffee mug. “The agency is small?”

“Tiny,” she replies with a touch of disdain.

“So they could use the exposure and commission...”

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >95

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Fight Me Little Pearl Read Online Georgia Le Carre http://www.ilovenovels.com/fight-me-little-pearl-read-online-georgia-le-carre Thu, 21 Nov 2024 13:36:27 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/fight-me-little-pearl-read-online-georgia-le-carre Genre: Alpha Male, Crime, Dark, Mafia Authors: Georgia Le Carre Advertisement

Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 101247 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >105

Francesca

I hate my bridegroom.
There, I’ve said it.
I hate him with a ferocious passion.

I loathe everything about him. His insufferable arrogance, his mocking smile, his dangerously glinting gunmetal-gray eyes, and his corrupt vicious heart. The way everyone pathetically defers to his every word and rushes to serve him as if he is some kind of god irritates the hell out of me. But even worse, I hate the shameful way my body responds to his. I tremble for him. The intensity of my raw desire shocks and repulses me. How can I possibly want him this desperately when I hate him so much?

It is as if he is the devil himself and he has cast a spell on me.

It was not my choice to be born a Mafia daughter, but I chose to be a Mafia wife. After my father’s death, my grandfather was too old and vulnerable to defend our family from my father’s enemies. And the only way to secure our survival was for me to marry the head of the powerful Barone clan. My dowry is a piece of land coveted by the Don himself. To him it is worth billions… once he develops it.

My mother says I will find peace eventually, but how can I, when I love Thomas? Thomas is a decent man. He doesn’t sit on an empire of plunder and theft. He wants to heal the world. I imagined us doing good together, and I’m not giving up on my wonderful dream.

The cravings of my body betray me at every turn, but they will not stop me. I will find a way to end this marriage.

Soon, my dear husband will find out... releasing me is his only option, or ours will be a marriage made in hell.

This I vow...

This Is A full length Standalone, Enemies To Lovers Romance, With As Much Heat And Drama As The Heart Could Desire.

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

Chapter One

FRANCESCA

This is a sham.

A freaking deception.

We are desecrating the house of God.

These are the wild thoughts running through my mind as my grandfather, Nonno Franco Barbieri, walks me down the aisle. The ancient cathedral is bathed in a soft golden glow from the sun’s rays streaming through the stained-glass windows. The lofty pillars are decorated with thousands upon thousands of fresh flowers flown in from all over the world. Of special note is the magnificent Madagascan purple orchid arrangement behind the priest.

The wooden pews are packed with dignified people dressed in shades of pastel. Their hushed whispers of anticipation rise into the air and mix with the soft strains of music from the choir standing at the back of the altar.

Nonno and I approach the altar with small, demure steps. Nonno’s back is proud and erect as he calmly walks me up the aisle, while I feel as if my whole life is falling apart and my stomach is churning so violently, I’m sure I’m going to be sick right here in front of everybody.

I lift my eyes and surreptitiously glance on either side of me.

I recognize almost none of the faces I see on my left, but on the right are the happy smiling expressions from my side of the family. Except Mama, who is sitting in the front row, clutching her pink Dior bag. Through my lacy veil, I see the strain on her face. She’s the only one whose smile isn’t wide enough to break her face in half. She is the only one, other than me, who is truthful enough to admit that this marriage is a shameless sham.

As a little girl, I dreamed of the perfect wedding. My great-grandmother’s Romanian gypsy blood runs in my veins, so I saw myself in a big, white, meringue-style wedding gown. My veil was so long it trailed for yards behind me as I walked up the aisle sprinkled with wild flowers to wed a dreamily handsome prince who would cherish me forever.

My wedding is a caricature of my innocent dream.

And I will never forgive all the people who made today a reality.

Especially the tall dark man waiting for me at the altar.

You see, everything is exactly the way I dreamed it: the breathtaking beauty of the church, the decorations, the gorgeous reception that I know is going to steal everyone’s breath away. My pearl-encrusted dress is the price of a three-bedroom house in a good neighborhood. Yes, I deliberately chose one that is so exorbitantly expensive my bridegroom will be forced to understand that I’m either rebelling against him, or he has made a terrible mistake and agreed to marry the worst kind of spoiled brat that ever walked this earth. But all that trouble I went to was for nothing. The bastard is so wealthy he did not even notice.

I think you get the picture by now.

Everything is perfect except for the man.

Valentino Barone.

Instead of standing with his back to me like every other freaking bridegroom, he breaks tradition and stands facing me. Over six feet tall, his hands clasped in front of him, he watches me with a laser-like focus. But his stare is dead, like the man himself. At first, the desolation and lack of life in his eyes scared me. Now it infuriates me that I will be shackled to him without reparations for the rest of my life.

No, this cannot be.

I find myself totally unable to accept that we will be husband and wife even as I am led towards the altar.

Incredible, right? Foolish? Asinine?

Maybe, but I have to hold on to the hope that there has to be a way out. I have accepted the fact that unless there is an act of God, a sudden tornado, or a terrible earthquake, I will lose the battle today and be forced to marry him… but one battle doesn’t make a war. An unconsummated marriage can be annulled. I refuse to stay married to Valentino.

Not when I am in love with Thomas!

We reach the end of the aisle, and Nonno gives me over to Valentino. He takes my hand, and I expect worms to automatically begin crawling under my skin. But no! Through my ivory-colored silk gloves, his touch burns, searing my skin until it feels as if the fabric will melt underneath his fire. When he releases my hand, I drag in a breath and rub the spot where he had held me.

It’s okay, I console myself. Of course, his touch will burn.

He might look like an ice-cold, heartless sculpture, but he is the devil himself. What bothers me though is the strange, undeniable pull between my thighs when he touches me. I tell myself it is simply nerves and fury. But I’ve been nervous and furious many times in my life and never felt such a thing. Must be a bride thing. All brides must experience this.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >105

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The Guardian Read Online Georgia Le Carre http://www.ilovenovels.com/the-guardian-read-online-georgia-le-carre Sat, 05 Oct 2024 02:32:31 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/the-guardian-read-online-georgia-le-carre Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Mafia, Suspense Authors: Georgia Le Carre Advertisement

Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92071 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >97

Dante.

What do I remember of her?

Enormous eyes, skin like silk, rivulets of water running down her body and dripping onto the tiles, and her mouth, cherry-red and... so juicy.

But she was forbidden fruit.

That was ten years ago. I was young and poor. I'm immeasurably rich now. She won't affect me like that anymore. I won't fall for her charms. Her safety must be my only concern.

She is determined to fight me. She insists she doesn't need a guardian, even though she can't disguise the fear in her eyes.

Nevertheless, I've got it all under control.

Until... that red mouth touches mine

Zola

I never forgot him.

Jet-black hair curling over his collar, his throat so tanned and strong. And those incredible eyes. Blue, but not any old blue. Blue like the deepest part of the ocean during a terrible storm.

He looked like an avenging angel.

He never spoke to me so I don't know what he sounds like, but in my dreams his voice is deep and velvety. He whispers things that I am unable to recall when I wake up.

I thought I'd never see him again.

But now he has stepped back into my life, at a time when I am most vulnerable. I realize my memories and dreams are a pale imitation of him.

They do him no justice.

He is bigger, darker, and far more powerful than I remember. And his voice is nothing like I imagined it would be. It is dangerously low and impossibly magnetic.

He offers me his protection, but as much as I want to accept his offer, I don't know if I can trust him. After all, he is the reason I'm vulnerable.

It would be safer to hate him, but the more I try to resist him, the more my body craves for the feel of his lips, his skin, his...
A Full Length Enemies To Lovers Standalone Romance

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

Prologue

ZOLA

“Istill can’t believe you’re actually here,” I exclaimed with a small laugh of happiness.

My father chuckled and it made me realize again how much I loved hearing him laugh in that low comforting way that he only did when he was with me. Whenever we were together hearing him laugh wasn’t rare, but the problem was we were rarely ever together.

“How long are you going to torture me about not being around enough?” he asked softly.

“Forever,” I replied as I stirred the cake batter.

“Trust me, it will get better. I will reduce my workload,” he promised.

“But by then I probably won’t be here anymore.” I lifted my eyes and watched the smile slowly disappear from his face.

Silently, he slid the lined baking pan over to me.

I bit my bottom lip and set the spatula down. “I don’t want to make you feel bad, Papa. I just want us to take advantage of the precious time we have together now. Don’t forget, soon I'll be graduating from high school and off to college. And after that, I’ll probably be too occupied finding a job and life in general. Or am I wrong?”

“I’ll do better, Zola,” he said gravely, but his eyes were twinkling with amusement. “But please don’t do that passive-aggressive thing with me. It intimidates the hell out of me.”

That amused, guilty look tugged at my heart but I couldn’t show him that. I folded my arms, one eyebrow raised. “That’s all you have to worry about? Me being passive-aggressive.”

That smile stayed, curving the corners of his lips. “I suppose it could be worse. You could be doing drugs or … getting pregnant.”

My eyes widened and suddenly I was so embarrassed I couldn’t meet his gaze.

“Your cheeks have gone red. Is it too hot in here?” he asked innocently.

I pretended to laugh airily. “Why do you have to be so awkward all the time, Papa?”

“What is awkward?” he asked. “Because I mentioned you getting pregnant? You surely can’t possibly know how that works at your age.”

Now I was horrified. “Oh, for heaven’s sake!”

But he was on a roll and refused to stop. “Oh wait! You know how that works?”

“Papa,” I warned. “I swear, I will walk out of here this instant if you don’t stop.”

“Why are you so shy?” he asked, staring directly into my eyes.

I squirmed internally.

“Oh, my God. I really have been absent, haven’t I? You seem to know more than you should.”

I set the bowl I’d been about to empty into the pan down on the counter and turned to walk away, but he caught me by my wrist and drew me toward him for a hug. I relished every single moment of this closeness. Though, of course, the last thing I was going to do was let him know.

I pretended to groan. “Let me go.”

But he only squeezed me tighter and playfully growled, “Never.”

“Ugh yuck,” I complained, but I couldn’t help giggling.

“I better hold on tight before I'm not able to anymore,” he said and planted a sloppy, noisy kiss on my cheek as if I was still a child. “You’re already sounding way too mature for me. I can’t even make up my mind if it's a good thing, or if it’s my fault you had to grow up so fast.”

I didn’t bother sparing his feelings. “It’s a hundred percent your fault. The cake’s gonna burn,” I said, pulling away.

“Impossible,” he refuted. “We haven’t put it into the oven yet.”

“Well, we should. It’s almost midnight and if we don’t do it now, it’s not going to be ready for my birthday at midnight.”

“Calm down and enjoy being a teenager, Zola,” he murmured gently. “You're not an adult. Stop being so fixated on time and results.”

“Look who’s talking,” I teased.

I hurried over to the marble counter, transferred the batter into the round baking pan, banged the pan on the hard surface a few times to let the air bubbles out and slid it into the oven.

“Done,” I said, shooting him a smile, but I was disappointed to see his cell phone had once again made its appearance.

I was determined not to say a word in protest as he scrolled through his messages. Instead, I focused my attention on making sure the oven temperature was right. But when I turned around and saw him texting rapidly into his device, a huge frown across his forehead, I knew I had to say something or he would be lost to me again.

“Papa,” I called just as his phone began to ring. He lifted a finger in my direction and, taking the call, began to bark out orders in rapid Italian, probably to one of his staff.

My heart fell as I tried to convince myself there was no need to worry. He’d promised that he had cleared the entire night for me. And so far, whenever he had said that, especially on my birthdays, he always came through.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >97

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Sweet Poison – Mafia Romance Read Online Georgia Le Carre http://www.ilovenovels.com/sweet-poison-mafia-romance-read-online-georgia-le-carre Thu, 13 Jun 2024 07:55:03 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/sweet-poison-mafia-romance-read-online-georgia-le-carre Genre: Alpha Male, Mafia Authors: Georgia Le Carre Advertisement

Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 85569 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >90

Hazel

There's a new man in town. He rolled in with his little girl a few days ago. A real head turner tall, dark, and impossibly dashing…

He sure turned my head one hot night not so long ago... and oh my, what a night it was? I waited for him to call, but he didn't. I get it. It was just a one night stand.

Naturally, he's sent all the unmarried ladies in our little town into a baking frenzy. See who can impress him the most with their sweet smiles and their 'welcome' cakes. Some of those smiles are pretty sultry and the cakes are finger lickin good too, I’ll give them that, but I have a feeling they haven't got a hope in hell of roping him.

He's a wild horse. He ain't staying.

He wears baseball caps and jeans from Target, and he drives the plainest plain Jane of them all, a beat-up, gray Chevy Impala, but he doesn’t fool me. Not one bit. In fact, going to all that trouble to pretend he’s Mr. Ordinary makes me even more suspicious.

One look into those mysterious blue eyes and I know he’s hiding something. Something big.

He says he’s an accountant and folk who've used his services claim he knows his stuff, that he legally saved them a whole bunch of money.

But I keep thinking, why does a law-abiding accountant need a specially built panic room in his house?

Something’s not right, but when he touches me, he lights a fire inside me that burns so bright and beautiful I can't help myself. I forget… the man’s not for keeps. And he's gonna break my heart into little itsy-bitsy pieces.
A Full Length Standalone Novel.

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

Prologue

Cole

“Shall we practice one more time, honey?”

My daughter chewed her bottom lip and nodded solemnly. “Okay.”

“What is your name?”

She folded her little arms in front of her. “Anya Swift.”

“Good. And your father’s name?”

“Cole. Cole Swift.”

“Very good,” I encouraged, with a smile. “And if anybody asks you where you come from?”

“Manhattan,” she said clearly.

“Did you live in a big house with a housekeeper and maids or a small apartment?”

“A small apartment.”

“What floor was the apartment?”

She looked upwards. “Mmm… Fifth floor.”

“Have you ever had a chauffeur?” I threw at her suddenly.

“Nope.”

“What about a gardener or a nanny?”

She shook her head decisively. “Never.”

“Excellent. Why have you and your father moved to Bison Ridge?”

“Because he wanted me to attend the brilliant Shadow Wolf Academy.”

I grinned at the creative addition of brilliant in her answer. “Well done. Where did you go to school in Manhattan?”

“The Avenue Sc-,” she began to say.

But I shook my head slightly, and she immediately covered her mouth with both hands and said, “Oops. Sorry, Daddy.”

“It’s okay,” I reassured gently. “You have enough time to get this right. Try again.”

“I was home-schooled.”

I nodded. “That’s better. What does your father do for a living?”

“He’s an accountant. He files other people’s taxes for them.”

I nodded approvingly. “Next question, where is your mother?”

Her expression remained unchanged, but her voice felt robotic. “My mother abandoned my father and me.”

“And if anybody asks for more information about her, what will you say?”

“It’s hard for me to talk about my mom. Can we talk about something else, please.”

I touched her little nose with my finger. “Good answer. What about your grandparents? Where are they?”

She looked sideways at me. “They live in Miami?”

“Exactly. But don’t look as if you’re unsure. Try again. Say it naturally. You don’t want to make anyone suspicious, do you?”

She shook her head vigorously. “No.”

“Where do your grandparents live?” I repeated.

“They live in Miami.”

“That’s much better.” I was smiling at her, but inside I was dying. A part of me was floating above us and watching what I was doing in disbelief. I was purposely and deliberately ruining my own daughter, teaching her to lie with a straight face… but there was no other choice. It was this and survival or death.

I couldn’t look her in the eye another second longer. I glanced at my watch. “I think that’s enough for tonight. Looks like it’s your bedtime anyway.”

“Will Mommy ever come back to see us?”

My heart broke for her. “I don’t know, honey. She’s busy with her new life. Maybe one day, when you’re older you can go visit her, huh?”

“Daddy?”

“Yeah.”

She looked down at a blue button on her dress. “I know Mommy is busy with her new life and she doesn’t have time for us anymore, but will you check up on her sometimes and make sure she’s alright.”

At that moment I felt so angry with Arianna. How easily she had abandoned her own daughter. I nodded. “I will. Now, bed.”

“Daddy?”

“Yeah.”

She took a deep breath. “When we go to the new place, to Bison Ridge, to start our new life, you won’t leave me like Mommy did, will you?”

Fierce love filled my heart. I looked deeply into her big sad eyes. “Never. I will never ever leave you, Anya. Do you understand me?”

She nodded gravely. “Yes.”

I smiled at her. “I’m afraid you’re stuck with me for the rest of your life. And when you get married, I’m moving in with you and your husband.”

And just like that she switched from being sad and started giggling softly. “Where will you sleep?”

“Under your bed,” I said, and grabbing her began to tickle her belly while she wriggled and laughed uncontrollably. I stopped when she began gasping for breath. Gently, I stroked her soft hair. “Bedtime, Princess.”

“Um… one last thing, Daddy.”

“What?”

“Can I take my butterfly shoes with us? They’re my favorite and I don’t think I can bear to leave them behind.”

“Darling, we can’t take anything from this life with us. Nothing that will remind us, or trip us up. Remember we’re not supposed to be rich. You never went to an expensive preschool, and never owned any designer gear.”

“What about if I scuff them so that no one can see that they’re expensive?”

Looking at her hopeful face made me feel incredibly sad for her. It was wrong and it was dangerous to make concessions, but I couldn’t say no to her. It was such a tiny thing she was asking.

“All right. You can bring the shoes with you, and you don’t have to scuff them. If anybody asks, just tell them they’re fakes from Hong Kong, okay? We bought them at a flea market.”

“Yay! I’ll tell everybody they’re fakes from Hong Kong,” she repeated, beaming with innocent joy.

“And now, it really is bedtime. Go brush your teeth and get into your PJs and I’ll come to read you a story and kiss you goodnight.”

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