Jewel E. Ann – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read

Jewel E. Ann – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.ilovenovels.com Tue, 16 Jun 2026 12:50:36 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=7.0 http://www.ilovenovels.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/favicon.png Jewel E. Ann – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.ilovenovels.com 32 32 The Muse (The Chain of Lakes #2) Read Online Jewel E. Ann http://www.ilovenovels.com/the-muse-the-chain-of-lakes-2-read-online-jewel-e-ann Tue, 16 Jun 2026 12:50:36 +0000 https://www.ilovenovels.com/the-muse-the-chain-of-lakes-2-read-online-jewel-e-ann Genre: Alpha Male, Angst, Contemporary, Funny Authors: Jewel E. Ann Series: The Chain of Lakes Series by Jewel E. Ann
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Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 96292 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)

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Flynn Morley has spent his life getting by with as little as possible. No girlfriend. No real home. No money to speak of. Raised in the system, he learned early not to trust people who seemed to have everything. So when he takes a job as a “muse” for a wealthy Minneapolis couple, it feels like crossing a line he never thought he would.

Then he meets June.

June is a bike tour guide with a quick smile, a calm confidence, and a way of making Flynn feel seen without being judged. Their connection is immediate and playful, built on shared humor, quiet moments, and a mutual longing for a simple life.

As Flynn adjusts to his bizarre new job, he starts encountering something he never planned for: kindness without strings attached. It challenges everything he believes about money, power, and who gets to be comfortable in the world. And falling for June only complicates things, especially when it turns out she’s carrying secrets of her own.

When June’s past surfaces, Flynn has to decide what scares him more: becoming someone he’s always sworn he’d never be or letting her see his darkest secrets. If he can’t let go of his fears, he might lose the one person who finally feels like home

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

Playlist

“Wi$h Li$t” | Taylor Swift

“Complicated" (Triple J Like a Version) | GRAACE

“Iris” - Live Sessions | Josh Ross

“Cello Suite No. 1 in G Major Prélude” | Johann Sebastian Bach, Yo-Yo Ma

“Serenade” | Franz Schubert, HAUSER, Robert Ziegler, London Symphony Orchestra

“Dangerous Woman” | Power-Haus, Tom Evans, Future Cello

“Nothing Else Matters” - Cello Version | Jodok Cello

“Moon River” | 2CELLOS

“Tired” | Sarah Proctor

“Hellos On The Loose” | Bo Staloch

“Everywhere, Everything” (With Gracie Abrams) | Noah Kahan

Maybe the journey isn’t about becoming anything. Maybe it’s about unbecoming everything that isn’t really you, so that you can be who you were meant to be in the first place.

—Paulo Coelho

Chapter One

Flynn

“My wife doesn’t like sex, so keep it in your trousers. I’d hate for you to embarrass yourself.”

Dude …

What’s happening?

First: Nothing about my “it” is embarrassing.

Second: What does it say about him if his wife “doesn’t like sex?”

Third: Who calls jeans trousers?

I force a tight smile and nod because, this morning, I took Rupert Rawlings’ cypress green Chevelle convertible for a joyride after giving it the platinum mobile detail service. He said he was golfing. I thought that meant four hours at a golf course, not thirty minutes with a simulator in the basement of his old mansion overlooking a lake just outside of downtown Minneapolis—a hub for outdoor enthusiasts, owners of designer dogs, and anyone who shops at Whole Foods.

I’ve been sitting in this same spot for forty minutes while he’s dicked around on his computer and stepped out of his office, twice, to make calls. At least he’s finally explaining the job he’s offering me in lieu of going to jail for grand theft auto—which it was not.

I inhale the scent of lemon furniture polish and musty old books. “What exactly are you hiring me to do besides keeping it in my trousers?” I ask, sprawled out on the cool, tufted brown leather sofa in Rupert’s office. The value of this single room exceeds that of any place I’ve ever lived. The arched doorway and floor-to-ceiling windows open to a view of the lake beyond the trees. Custom walnut cabinetry and shiny brass fixtures. Must be nice having money to burn on stupid shit.

“Do you know who you remind me of?” he asks, reclining in his cushy desk chair, hands laced behind his full head of black and gray hair.

“Yup, because I read minds.” I tear my gaze away from the wood-paneled ceiling to observe his reaction.

Rupert smirks. “You remind me of myself at your age.”

“Are you implying you were awesome or I’m destined to be a gazillionaire?”

“You’re the mind reader, so you tell me.”

I roll my eyes and sit up, running my hands through my hair. Maybe a ride in a police cruiser is the better option. “If your wife has to get herself off,” I say, “then awesome is off the table. Guess that means I’m gonna be a rich fucker.” I twist my lips. “They say money can’t buy happiness, but everyone I know thinks that’s bullshit. Personally, I hate rich people. They’re so out of touch with reality.”

This rich guy clears his throat, lifting an eyebrow at me.

I shrug. “Prove me wrong. I don’t think money buys happiness. I think it’s a burden. Money makes it too easy to become an entitled asshole.”

“Like me?”

“Dunno yet. I’ll let you know.” I scratch my chin. “But blackmailing me isn’t helping your case.”

He eyes me for a second before gripping the arms of his chair to stand. “I don’t need a case, because I have nothing to prove to anyone. I believe it’s called FU money. And no, it doesn’t buy happiness. Happiness is a fleeting emotion—at best.” The top of his crystal decanter clinks on the marble counter before he pours half a glass. Just one. This guy could work on his hospitality.

“Are you a shrink or something?” I ask. “Sounds like something a shrink would say.”

Rupert chuckles, facing me while leaning his backside against the edge of his desk. He sips the alcohol, dark eyes trained on me. I’m not afraid of much, but this guy could turn a simple joyride into a grand theft auto charge.

What must his life be like? I bet he has a dozen other suits just as fancy and expensive as the one he’s wearing. A person to shine his shoes before they get a single scuff. Maybe he’s a lawyer, and that’s how he knows he could put me in jail. I’d guess he’s in his fifties, but his hands are devoid of calluses. It’s unnatural. Not a speck of dirt under his trimmed nails. Does he get manicures with his wife?

I glance down at my grease-stained hands folded between my spread legs. Thick callouses. Two knuckles larger than the others from jamming them.

Pins and plates hold me together. I have so many scars from stitches that my friends call me Frankenstein’s monster.

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Scarlet Stone Read Online Jewel E. Ann http://www.ilovenovels.com/scarlet-stone-read-online-jewel-e-ann Thu, 25 Dec 2025 22:04:00 +0000 http://www.ilovenovels.com/scarlet-stone-read-online-jewel-e-ann Genre: Alpha Male, Angst, Contemporary, Dark, Erotic, Suspense Authors: Jewel E. Ann Series: Series by Jewel E. Ann
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Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 97364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)

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“My name is Scarlet Stone, and my biggest fear is that someday I will find what I want most in life, and it will be impossible to steal.”

What happens when life just stops? When one moment makes you question your entire existence?

Scarlet Stone is a third-generation thief who has everything: a doting fiancé, a spacious London flat, and a legitimate job offer. In a single breath, everything becomes nothing, and she finds herself on a plane to Savannah, Georgia in search of the meaning of life.

After securing a six-month lease for a beachfront house on Tybee Island, Scarlet changes the way she looks, thinks, eats—basically her entire outlook on life. She needs peace, but what she gets is a housemate who looks like Thor, acts like a warden, and smells her proximity like a Bloodhound.

Theodore Reed is a carpenter and perfectionist with a body built of steel, a black, hollow heart, and a hunger for revenge. He doesn’t like company, girly-smelling crap, and British accents.

He resents every breath she takes.
She’s fascinated by his every move.

In time, they discover their coexistence is toxic, their physical attraction is electric, the secrets they keep mean the difference between life and death, and the only truth they share is that everything is a lie.

“Over eighty-five percent of the world's population believes in a higher power, yet, very few people believe in miracles.”

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

CHAPTER ONE

Don’t wee your knickers.

The kids stare at me with their owl eyes as my knees wobble with each step.

Don’t wee your knickers.

The first day of school shouldn’t be this scary. The other kids have rucksacks with animated characters and glitter. I have a brown leather case with a four-digit lock code keeping my spiral notepad, three #2 pencils, a twelve pack of crayons, scissors, and my packed lunch safe. Oscar promised I would fit in fantastically on my first day of primary school.

I’ve already been asked nine times, “Why did you bring a suitcase to school?”

“It’s an attaché case that used to belong to a German diplomat. Oscar gave it to me,” I reply—nine times.

Once all eighteen children find a seat and the room is silent, we’re invited one at a time to share a bit about ourselves. I am the fourth to go and after bingeing on too many Jammie Dodgers and a liter of milk for breakfast, I feel ready to chunder.

I don’t. Instead, I answer the same basic questions that were shared before me. “Oscar is a locksmith, but he carries a gun because not everyone respects a good locksmith.” I pick at the dry skin on my lips while slowly twisting my body side to side, as everyone else stares at me. Their mouths hang open. Why do they look so surprised? His job is boring, not cool. The boy who spoke before me has a dad who drives a train. That’s cool.

I continue, “He’s my dad, but he told me to call him Oscar because I’m not a baby.” I ignore the whispers and continue. “My mum died from doctors poisoning her.”

The whispers stop, leaving seventeen pairs of wide eyes on me. Even my teacher looks like she ate something that’s ready to come back up her throat.

“Oh …” I continue, having forgotten the most important piece of information. “My dad calls me Ruby, but my name is Scarlet Stone.”

CHAPTER TWO

My name is Scarlet Stone, and I am a third-generation thief.

26 Years Later – High Security Prison – South East London

It’s possible hundreds of other men have worn my dad’s underwear. I’m here to say a final goodbye.

Make peace.

Close the door.

Yet the thought at the forefront of my mind is communal underwear. I overheard an inmate’s wife complaining about it at my last visit. She said her husband contracted a flesh-eating infection from the shared underwear.

It could have been me in communal underwear. It was my crime. For the rest of my days, that realization will always give me pause.

“I’m leaving London.” There. After practicing that line for forty-five minutes on the drive here, my brain and mouth cooperate. A miracle.

His chin juts forward, eyes unblinking.

My hand moves toward my mouth. At the last second I ball it into a fist then slip both of my hands under my legs. I stopped chewing my fingernails six years ago. No amount of nerves can convince me to start that nasty habit again, especially not within the confines of these four walls contaminated with flesh-eating bacteria.

“Why, Ruby? I don’t understand.” On the opposite side of the metal table, my dad clenches his intertwined fingers like it’s taking everything he has to keep his composure.

“I need out.” My teeth grind as I deny my need to break down and tell him the crux of my intentions. The dull pain in my chest bears down with each passing breath.

“What about Daniel?”

I shake my head. “We’re over.” Tears sting my eyes as I avert them to the black scuff marks on the concrete floor, blinking away the weakness.

My thoughts shift to the woman beside me, talking about Joey taking his first steps. Her flowery perfume overpowers the stale, musty stench. The door behind me buzzes as another visitor enters the room. I don’t know how my dad lives here. After a week, I would drown in thoughts of despair and suicide—and communal underwear.

“Ten more years. Seven with good behavior. Wait for me. You’re young. Don’t be rash.”

Drawing in a shaky breath, my gaze meets his. “I’m leaving tomorrow.”

It’s impossible to miss the flinch. Oscar Stone is as steely as his name implies, and like any good Brit, he’s perfected his stiff upper lip. But I am his weakness. I am the reason he is here.

“I’ll find you.”

My quivering lips deliver a less-than-believable smile. He won’t find me. No one will find me. The weight on my chest intensifies further. Oscar isn’t the best dad in the traditional sense, but he’s the best dad for me. There hasn’t been one day in my entire life that I haven’t felt like his whole world.

It’s time to say goodbye and the nod from the prison officer behind him confirms it.

“I love you, Oscar.”

He rubs a rough hand over his shaven head, blue eyes squinted, deepening the lines and wrinkles on his face. A lifetime etched into his flesh. I look nothing like Oscar. The only physical attribute I have to my Caucasian dad is my skin is brown not black like my mum’s. He used to tell me we were white chocolate, milk chocolate, and dark chocolate. His word is all I have. I don’t remember my mum, but she was perfect. If I have to make up imaginary memories of my mum, they’re sure as hell going to be spectacular. In my mind, she was a goddess, a superhero—perfection.

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The Homemaker (The Chain of Lakes #1) Read Online Jewel E. Ann http://www.ilovenovels.com/the-homemaker-the-chain-of-lakes-1-read-online-jewel-e-ann Sun, 12 Oct 2025 20:52:15 +0000 http://www.ilovenovels.com/the-homemaker-the-chain-of-lakes-1-read-online-jewel-e-ann Genre: Alpha Male, Angst, Contemporary Authors: Jewel E. Ann Series: The Chain of Lakes Series by Jewel E. Ann
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Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 92371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >94

A romance inspired by TS “Fortnight”

I was hers, but she was never mine.

Alice Yates is the hired “homemaker” for the Morrisons, an affluent couple in Minneapolis. For Alice, it’s a dream job to dress up like a 1950s housewife and read romance novels to Mr. Morrison before his afternoon nap.

But when the Morrisons’ only daughter returns home for the summer with her fiancé, Alice comes face- to-face with her shattered past—the only threat to her perfect life.

Eight years earlier, vacation rental owner Murphy Paddon had an impeccable vinyl record collection and did the most irresistible thing before kissing Alice, earning him a five-star rating. Their fortnight love affair was life-altering and ended tragically.

Murphy doesn’t know if Alice remembers him or whether he should tell his fiancée that the hired-help living in the guesthouse is the woman who irreparably broke his heart. He needs closure, but will the lingering glances and silent yearning lead to the end or just the beginning?

Grab your copy of The Homemaker, from USA Today and Wall Street Journal bestselling author, Jewel E. Ann, and lose yourself in this forbidden, high-stakes romance

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

Playlist

“Fortnight” | Taylor Swift

“Crazy” | Patsy Cline, The Jordanaires

“My Girl” | The Temptations

“Dream A Little Dream Of Me” | The Mamas & The Papas

“Old Time Rock & Roll” | Bob Seger

“I’ve Got A Crush On You” | Ella Fitzgerald

“Put Your Head On My Shoulder” | Paul Anka

“Its Bitsy Teenie Weenie Yellow Polka-Dot Bikini” | Brian Hyland

“How Sweet It Is (To Be Loved By You)” | Marvin Gaye

“Wonderful Tonight” | Eric Clapton

“How Did It End?” | Taylor Swift

“(I Love You) For Sentimental Reasons” | Nat King Cole

“Unbreak” | Camylio

“As the World Caves In” - Cover | Chloe Edgecombe

“Stubborn Love” | The Lumineers

“All I Have to Do Is Dream” | The Everly Brothers

Chapter One

Alice

We’re all here to play a part. Play it well.

“Do not suck my husband’s dick. It’s an old dick that doesn’t need to be sucked, so let’s just get that out in the open.”

I nod with a genuine smile. Wealthy people are the most fascinating creatures with lavish requests and baffling assumptions. The duties of my new position include everything except a blow job.

Got it. That’s not on my CV anyway.

Vera Morrison needs a “homemaker” for her husband. And I need a place to live since my rent just went up, and I lost my job as a personal assistant because my boss died. He was kind enough to add me to a “special list” before he passed.

In Minneapolis, the one percenters have a private network where they share staff recommendations. Everything from drivers and groundskeepers to nannies and sex surrogates.

This position pays twice what I was making, and it includes a well-appointed, rent-free guesthouse that’s nicer than any place I have ever lived.

“More tea?” Mrs. Morrison offers in a raspy tone like she’s losing her voice or perhaps, very Demi Moore. She curls her long black hair behind one ear, exposing a large diamond hoop earring as we politely discuss the duties of the position.

We’re surrounded by flawless white furniture in the glass ceiling sunroom that feels more like a cathedral than a place to discuss the age of anyone’s dick.

“No, thank you.” I clear my throat to hide my impending giggle. I didn’t expect the blow job discussion, but it’s the highlight of my day.

Last week, I met Mr. Morrison at my first interview. He isn’t the guy who needs to pay anyone for sexual favors. If Vera refuses, he’s a fifty-seven-year-old real estate developer turned day trader who works out every morning and lives in a fifteen million-dollar home in the Lake of the Isles, Minnesota, and there’s a long list of women (and probably a few men) who would happily open wide.

“If you decide to entertain, please ask your guests to park on the street. And if we’re not here, you’re welcome to use the pool, but don’t let anyone in our house.”

“Of course. And I won’t be entertaining anyone. Well, there’s this guy I’ve been seeing. But it’s just casual.”

She eyes me with a twinkle of curiosity.

“Sex.” I clarify with unwavering confidence. If she can bring up blow jobs, surely I can mention casual sex. “We get together when he doesn’t have his kids.”

“Sounds like a lovely arrangement.” She offers a wry grin before sipping her tea, maintaining perfect posture and an air of dignity. “This weekend, my daughter, Blair, and her fiancé are arriving from San Francisco. Their wedding is this fall, right before she opens her art studio in SoHo. She’s a ceramic artist. Anyway, they’ll be staying with us this summer. We have lots of details to iron out for the wedding.” Vera sets her cup and saucer on the coffee table. “And come to think of it, if she asks about you, let’s call your position something like ‘house manager.’ My daughter won’t understand why her father wants a homemaker. She’s a feminist and, much to her father’s chagrin, very liberal.”

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A Good Book (Sunday Morning #3) Read Online Jewel E. Ann http://www.ilovenovels.com/a-good-book-sunday-morning-3-read-online-jewel-e-ann Wed, 04 Jun 2025 21:17:51 +0000 http://www.ilovenovels.com/a-good-book-sunday-morning-3-read-online-jewel-e-ann Genre: Alpha Male, College, Contemporary, New Adult, Virgin Authors: Jewel E. Ann Series: Sunday Morning Series by Jewel E. Ann
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Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 91363 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >94

Gabriella Jacobson has one goal for her freshman year of Get Matthew Cory to fall in love with her.

Lucky for Gabby, her best friend, Ben, is attending the same college on a music scholarship. He is the perfect resource—girls love him, and he's more experienced with relationships than her, since she’s never had a boyfriend.

When Gabby panics before her first date with Matt, she begs Ben to show her how to kiss. But Ben has a secret, one he’s been keeping from Gabby for years. He’s in love with her.

One kiss turns into two, leaving Gabby confused and scared that their friendship might not survive the unforeseen emotions. She avoids Ben until something unexpected changes his life forever, and he’s forced to drop out of school.

Gabby tries to contact him, but he won’t respond. And Matthew Cory, her sister’s ex-boyfriend and handsome law student, is ready to fill the void Ben left behind.

Now that Gabby has the man she thought she wanted, can she forget about the boy who kissed her twice?

Dive into this unforgettable coming of age romance today!

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

CHAPTER ONE

U2, “I STILL HAVEN’T FOUND WHAT I’M LOOKING FOR”

1989

Gabby

It was my second week at the University of Michigan, a college I chose because my sister discarded her perfectly good boyfriend, and someone needed to scoop him up. I fell in love with Matthew Cory before she did. Sure, I didn’t have boobs yet, but my heart was mature beyond its years.

Somewhere on the three-thousand-acre campus, my future husband was studying for a law degree, and I was officially an adult and ready for him to fall in love with me.

Ben, my best friend, ripped open a pack of Pop-Tarts and handed one to me on our way to freshman English. A group of young women gawked at Ben, then giggled after we passed them. He pulled back his shoulders and lifted his chin, bringing himself to his full six-foot-two, basking in the glory of the attention.

“Don’t get your hopes up. Once they find out you’re a music major, the fantasy will die.”

Ben blew his shaggy brown hair away from his forehead before biting into his Pop-Tart. “I think it’s far more attractive and honorable to attend a particular college because: A) it fits your career path, and B) you got a scholarship.”

“You got a music scholarship,” I said.

“Gabby, you took out student loans because you’re a stalker and your parents didn’t save for out-of-state tuition. And you’re a psychology major. Those are a dime a dozen. The only people who study psychology are those who need to cure themselves of something like an unhealthy infatuation for a guy who has never given you a second look.”

We cut right toward the Roman-style building where we had our only class together.

“Or a career in criminal justice—dang it!” I fumbled my Pop-Tart.

“Five-second rule,” Ben declared, plucking it off the ground for me.

“Ew … I’m not eating it.”

Ben blew on it, took a bite, and handed me the remaining portion of his.

“What would I do without you?” I nudged his arm.

“I realize that’s a rhetorical question,” he shot me a quick side-glance as we continued toward Angell Hall, “but I’m going to answer anyway. You’d still be in Devil’s Head, Missouri, with your nose in a book because the only reason your father let you attend an out-of-state college is because I’m here and he trusts me. Or you might have been in jail for stalking. I imagine it could have gone either way.”

“Stop. You make me sound incompetent.”

We passed another group of girls who smiled and blushed at Ben.

“You act like Matt doesn’t know I exist. He’s given me lots of looks and used to play Uno with me when Sarah wouldn’t. He taught me how to throw a baseball. Plus, he said, and I quote, ‘Gabriella will be a heartbreaker.’ My mom talked to his mom, and he’s going to show me around campus.”

We climbed the concrete stairs.

“I’ve shown you around campus. You’ve been going to classes for two weeks. Don’t you think it’s a little late for a tour?”

“You’re such a dork. Of course, I don’t need a tour now, but it’s okay for him to think that I’ve been getting lost if that’s what it takes to reunite with him.”

“Reunite?” Ben snorted and sang the lyrics to “Reunited” by Peaches & Herb.

“Stop!” I giggled. “Shh … you’re embarrassing.”

“I’m embarrassing? You should be embarrassed of yourself, Gabriella Grace Jacobson. Do you think a guy four years older than you is going to find your infatuation romantic? Ya think he’s looking for a girl who has never uttered a single swear word, never missed a curfew, and has an untouched vagina?”

“Oh my gosh, stop!” I hissed, mortified that he said “untouched vagina” so loudly.

“Never been kissed,” he whispered in my ear before opening the lecture hall door. Ben was on his way to becoming my ex-best friend.

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From Nowhere (Wildfire #2) Read Online Jewel E. Ann http://www.ilovenovels.com/from-nowhere-wildfire-2-read-online-jewel-e-ann Mon, 10 Mar 2025 19:24:56 +0000 http://www.ilovenovels.com/from-nowhere-wildfire-2-read-online-jewel-e-ann Genre: Alpha Male, Angst, Contemporary Authors: Jewel E. Ann Series: Wildfire Series by Jewel E. Ann
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Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 106538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >108

From Wall Street Journal and USA Today bestselling author Jewel E. Ann comes the exciting second novel in the Wildfire series, an emotional romance that burns up the page as it tugs at the heart.

When Maren Bernabe stops by the office to update some paperwork, she’s not looking for love. Then sparks fly during an awkward meet-cute with a stranger in the bathroom, and suddenly anything seems possible.

A seasoned air tanker pilot, Maren battles fires across the rugged Montana wilderness. With firefighters for roommates, she’s no stranger to tough guys—or tough situations. Ozzy Laster is the helpful stranger she meets, one of Cielo Aviation’s newest aircraft mechanics who’s faced his fair share of hardship too. Two years ago, his wife and father died in a car crash. Now Ozzy and daughter Lola shun cars in favor of bikes.

Maren and Ozzy fall hard, but guilt forces them to hide their relationship from Ozzy’s disapproving in-laws. And Lola. They all want to protect her from more heartbreak. But when tragedy strikes again, Lola’s reaction will surprise them all. And Ozzy could get a second chance at love after all

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

Chapter One

Ozzy

“If you want to have sex again before you die, I’m okay with it.”

I nearly fall off my bike.

Lola is ten going on twenty. Sex shouldn’t be in my daughter’s vocabulary.

She stands so her skinny legs can pump the pedals to get in front of me, curly blond hair flowing in the breeze over her worn coral-and-blue Patagonia backpack. It belonged to her mom, just like everything else about our daughter. She’s Brynn’s mini-me: expressive blue eyes, ornery dimpled cheeks, beaming smile, and infectious laugh that I feel in my chest.

“What do you know about sex? Never mind. Let me rephrase that. What made you say that to me? Did Nana or Pa mention something?” I ride alongside her when the cracked sidewalk widens as we bike through an affluent neighborhood. We might hit record-high temperatures again today, with no breeze and a cloudless sky. Spring in Missoula feels like summer this year, and we need rain.

“Yum. Smell that?” Lola inhales. “Doughnuts. Can we stop?” She’s changing the subject, but I’m okay with not talking about my sex life.

“No. You had breakfast. You’ll be late to school, and I’ll be late to work.”

“I’ll eat it on the way.”

“You can’t eat while riding your bike.”

Lola stretches her arms out like an eagle, riding with no hands.

Show-off.

Then she takes a right into the parking lot as if it’s a foregone conclusion that I will say yes. Dang it! I smell it, too: sweet cinnamon-apple fritters. She’s right; we’re buying doughnuts.

“I’m getting glazed chocolate.” She hangs her neon-pink helmet from the handlebar and skips into the shop.

I’m in over my head with this girl. By the time I grumble my grievances over losing control of my child, she’s at the counter ordering for us.

The wiry-haired brunette shoots me a half grin while smacking her gum. “That’ll be seven dollars.”

I dig out my wallet and deposit a ten on the counter beside some crumbs.

“Are you married?” Lola asks the lady.

“No. Why?” She hands Lola the change, and my generous daughter stuffs all three bills into the tip jar.

“You should go on a date with my dad.”

This isn’t happening. Very few things embarrass me, but this sends flames to my cheeks.

“Sorry. My daughter hit her head yesterday.” I yank Lola by her backpack away from the counter while offering a stiff smile to the employee bagging our doughnuts. Given the permanent scars on Lola’s forehead and right cheek, I’m sure this lady doesn’t get my head-injury humor. Still, after a beat, she blushes as well.

Does Lola know this is the last time we will visit her favorite doughnut joint? Because it is.

Lola wriggles out of my hold and turns toward me with a crinkled nose, which makes the horizontal scar below her eye disappear. “I didn’t hit my head,” she says.

“Oh dear. You don’t even remember,” I say. “I think we’ll have to get it checked out. I hope your memory loss isn’t permanent.” I nab the white paper bag from the counter and give the much-younger woman a final glance.

She bites her lower lip and bats her creepy tarantula eyelashes. We are for sure never coming back here.

The second we step outside, I retrieve my apple fritter and shove part of it into my mouth, holding it with my teeth before tossing the bag into the garbage.

“Dad, my doughnut was in there!”

I fasten my helmet and take the fritter from my mouth. “This afternoon, when you get home from school, and I ask you what you learned today, I expect you to say: ‘If I embarrass my dad in public, I will not get a doughnut.’”

Her jaw drops. “You are the worst father in the world.”

“I love you too. Let’s get to school so you won’t be late and hankering for a doughnut.”

I inhale all but one bite of my fritter, and just as we begin to ride out of the parking lot, I offer her the last morsel.

She frowns despite steering her bike closer to take my peace offering.

“Lola, I don’t need your help finding a date.”

“Dakota said his sister said their mom said she’s surprised you haven’t started dating.”

When we stop at the light, holding our breaths from the bus exhaust, I replay her statement for comprehension—Dakota, his sister, and their mom.

Dakota’s mom is on her third husband. I can see why she’d be surprised.

It’s hard to date when I can’t drive a car. And it’s hard to explain this to Lola when Victoria, her therapist, said I should never say anything that might make my daughter feel bad about “the situation.”

“Have you discussed this with Victoria?” I ask. Thankfully, the bus turns right, and we can breathe again.

“No. Why?”

“I think you should,” I say, just as we pass the congested line of cars along the street in front of the school.

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The Apple Tree (Sunday Morning #2) Read Online Jewel E. Ann http://www.ilovenovels.com/the-apple-tree-sunday-morning-2-read-online-jewel-e-ann Sun, 02 Feb 2025 19:15:41 +0000 http://www.ilovenovels.com/the-apple-tree-sunday-morning-2-read-online-jewel-e-ann Genre: Alpha Male, Angst, Contemporary, Forbidden Authors: Jewel E. Ann Series: Sunday Morning Series by Jewel E. Ann
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Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 104151 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >105

He's a single dad starting over in a new town. She's a relentless flirt with a penchant for trouble, ten years younger than him, and the babysitter. What could go wrong?

Eve has just graduated from high school, but she doesn’t know what’s next aside from working at the local motel, spying on Kyle, her neighbor, and stealing apples from his orchard. If she doesn’t figure things out soon, she’ll be stuck at home and treated like a child forever.

Kyle is a single dad and the new football coach who needs a babysitter for his adorable son. When he meets Eve, there’s an instant connection because she reminds him of someone—himself. But Eve is the preacher’s daughter, off-limits, and Kyle has already had his heart trampled by his ex.

After earning his son’s affection with her homemade apple sauce and youthful spirit, Eve asks Kyle to teach her things like driving his fishing boat and shooting his hunting bow. Despite his better judgment, he agrees, but swears Eve to secrecy so no one gets the wrong idea about them.

Their playful banter and innocent flirting crosses a line, and Kyle misses the heartbreaking secret Eve’s hidden in plain sight.

When tragedy strikes, can they find their way back to each other?

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

CHAPTER ONE

MADONNA, “CAUSING A COMMOTION”

1987

Eve

I wasn’t dead, but I was grounded at least six feet under. My father didn’t say the word “eternity” when he took my car keys and banished me to my room “for the foreseeable future,” but it was sternly implied.

He found my stash of alcohol buried by the creek that ran between our lot and the five acres that had just sold next to us on the outskirts of Devil’s Head, Missouri.

“Your dad’s worried,” Mom said, poking her head into my bedroom as I leered out the window through binoculars at the moving van backed up to the white farmhouse past the small orchard of apple trees.

My room was the only room in the house with a full view of the farmhouse.

“Yeah? Well, what’s new?” I mumbled, watching a young child run up and down the ramp at the back of the truck as two guys carried a sofa into the house.

“Eve, what are you looking at? Where did you get those binoculars?”

“They were in the attic. And I’m looking at the new neighbors since I have nothing better to do.”

She plucked the binoculars from my hands and brought them to her eyes, scrunching her nose. “Don’t you have homework?” she asked, leaning closer to the window.

“No,” I laughed and grabbed them back from her. “Duh. I graduated.”

“Oh.” She tried to hide her grin. “Sorry. It’s just a habit to ask you that. You know who our new neighbor is, don’t you?” She sat on the end of my bed.

“No,” I said with a frown. “No one tells me anything except to do my homework.”

“Eve, it’s Fred Collins’ younger brother. Do you remember Fred?”

“Dad’s friend from seminary school?” I asked.

“Yes, and he was the best man at our wedding.”

“And yet, you married dad. Does that mean you settled for the second-best man?”

“Ha. Ha. You’re so funny. His name is Kyle, and he has a five-year-old son, but I don’t know his name. We should introduce ourselves and see if they need help. Yesterday, Dad told Fred that you and Gabby would be willing to babysit Kyle’s little boy.”

I glanced back at my mom and offered a fake smile. “How nice of him to offer my services.”

“You can’t clean motel rooms forever.”

“I mean,”—I shrugged—“I could. It’s a real job. Someone has to do it,” I said, demonstrating my inability to shut my mouth. My specialty was making ridiculous and often frivolous cases for things that didn’t matter. And jokes. I loved a good joke.

“Also, sweetie, now that he bought that house, the apple trees belong to him. You can no longer take apples from the orchard without permission from Mr. Collins.”

“As if he’s going to know. Do you think he’ll keep an exact count?”

Mom sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. “We taught you better, young lady. You’re eighteen. Out of high school. And⁠—”

“Grounded. Yes. I’m aware. That seems ridiculous. Adults shouldn’t be grounded. I think Grandma Bonnie should ground your as—” I cleared my throat. “Your butt for the speeding ticket you got in Evansville last month.”

“It was a warning.”

I smirked. “Because you flirted with the cop.”

“Eve Marie Jacobson, I did not flirt with the cop.” Her cheeks turned ten shades of pink. “Listen, you live under our roof, and there are rules. If you break them, there has to be consequences,” she repeated the same lines for the millionth time. “Had the cop given me a ticket, I would have had to pay it. That would have been the consequence of my action.”

I brought the binoculars to my eyes again. One of the guys carried a box toward the front door. “I’m not sure treating me like a child is a fair punishment. I should get some leniency since I finished so much homework that they gave me a diploma. Or can’t you just give me a ticket that I can pay? What about a warning? If I unbutton the top of my blouse and gasp as if I have no idea I’m breaking some law and fake a deep Southern accent with lots of ‘oh mys’ and ‘golly gee willikers,’ would you let me off with a warning?”

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From Air (Wildfire #1) Read Online Jewel E. Ann http://www.ilovenovels.com/from-air-wildfire-1-read-online-jewel-e-ann Fri, 06 Dec 2024 20:23:48 +0000 http://www.ilovenovels.com/from-air-wildfire-1-read-online-jewel-e-ann Genre: Alpha Male, Angst, Contemporary, Forbidden Authors: Jewel E. Ann Series: Wildfire Series by Jewel E. Ann
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Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 100275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >102

Wall Street Journal and USA Today bestselling author Jewel E. Ann parachutes into the burning, hazardous heart of love in a sexy yet dramatic romance set in Big Sky country.

When Jamie Andrews moves in with a house full of firefighters, things start heating up fast. Battling the wilderness of rural Montana, these guys are always charging into danger—for a living, for duty, for the rush—and since Jamie is a psychiatric nurse, they fascinate her analytic mind. She can’t help but fixate on Calvin, a grumpy, enigmatic smoke jumper ten years her senior. She makes playfully tormenting him her pet project, trying to get him to open up. It turns out he gives as good as he gets.

When something smoldering between them sparks, they’ll have to keep it quiet, which makes Jamie start to wonder about Calvin’s secret, the one he won’t explain. She’ll learn more after life pulls them apart. But as she follows the truth like a trail of flame into the dark, will it lead her to hearth and home with Calvin…or will it all go up in a blaze?

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

Chapter One

JAYMES

“You should get a gun and a vibrator.” Melissa crosses her arms, rocking back and forth on her flip-flop-clad feet. She’s angry that I’m leaving her. We’ve been best friends for as long as I can remember. And, according to her, best friends never leave. She’s a total Cancerian.

With a laugh, I inspect the three things in the back of my Jeep—a suitcase, my skateboard, and a box.

That stupid box. For the record, I don’t want to know if I’m dying. Preparation is overrated, along with dying wishes. My mom had six months to live—six months to prepare for her death. She died in three.

Three months to rethink her life.

Three months to sort through her belongings and specify which boxes I should keep “forever.” She was a hoarder; I am a minimalist. Out of fifteen keep-forever boxes, I only lug around the one containing the contents of her fire safe—some jewelry, her passport, miscellaneous certificates, photos, and a dozen or so manila envelopes. I believe they are tax returns. The rest of the boxes reside in Melissa’s parents’ storage unit. They’re confident I’ll want everything when I’m old enough to appreciate the sentimentality of it.

Mom lived up to her zodiac sign—she was a Cancerian like Melissa, who also keeps everything.

On point with minimalism, I am a Virgo.

“A gun and a vibrator? Interesting combination. There’s a high probability of a self-inflicted injury with either one.” I close the back of my Jeep and turn toward Melissa and her pouty rosebud lips and piercing hazel eyes beneath her perfectly arched brows.

“Everyone in Montana owns a gun,” she says, flipping out her hip while the thick Miami humidity wreaks havoc on her long chocolate-cherry hair, curling her recently chopped bangs. A regrettable decision.

“And a vibrator?” I raise an eyebrow that’s less than perfectly arched.

“You’re not a people person.” She smirks, smoothing her hands down my shoulder-length black hair like a mother fussing over a child before taking family photos.

Suppressing my eye roll, I lift onto my toes and hug her. “You’re a person, and I like you. And I’m going to miss you.”

“I’ve heard Montana’s cold in January. Have you ever seen snow? Have you driven in it?” She changes the subject while wiping the corners of her eyes.

I take a step back, adjusting the waistband of my Lululemon leggings and tugging my white crew neck tee away from my sweaty chest. “I’m leaving Miami. I think it’s safe to say every place north of us is colder in January. Winter won’t last forever. And I have seen snow—once. I’m sure Fiona is great in the snow.” I give the side of my Jeep two confident slaps.

“Fiona is only as good as her driver.” Melissa sniffles while checking her reflection in the back window. She scowls and corrals her frizzy hair with one hand while her other keeps the wind from blowing up her cotton skirt for a peep show.

I can’t look at her red-rimmed eyes. If she makes me cry, I swear I will strangle her.

“Also”—she continues her futile case—“your mom would not be okay with you having a male roommate you’ve never met. Stranger danger.”

“Good thing she’s—”

Melissa gasps, releasing her hair and pressing her fingers to my lips. “Jaymes Lanette Andrews! Don’t you dare say it.”

I crank my neck and bat away her hand. “Stop. It’s been two years. I love her. I will always love her. But I will not live like she’s looking over my shoulder.”

Melissa deflates with a sigh.

“Listen, Mel, one of the other nurses knows Will. She said he’s as good as they get. She’s the one who gave me this rental listing. I’m not worried. You need not worry either. And my mom is”—I quickly inspect the alleyway behind our three-story apartment building, littered with bikes, trash bins, and a handful of cars, before lowering my voice—“dead. So she’s no longer worrying about me.”

“I’m serious about the gun, Jamie.”

I open the driver’s side door. “I don’t know how to use a gun. I’d only shoot myself in the foot or accidentally kill someone. Love you! I’ll call you when I make it to my first stop.”

It takes six days, multiple near fender benders, and white-knuckle driving in the snow, but Fiona and I arrive in Missoula—thankfully, in one piece. Icicles hang from the gutters of my temporary home, a simple gray two-story with a steeply pitched roof, white shutters, a dilapidated porch, and a tiny balcony on the second floor. It’s perfect.

The driveway’s been cleared of snow, so I pull behind an old red Bronco cloaked in dirt and salt residue.

When I open my car door, a gust of frigid air bites my face, a sure sign this Miami girl will freeze her tits off.

I hop down. “Shit!” My boots find no traction, and I nearly do the splits, saving myself by planting my hands on the slippery driveway.

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Sunday Morning (Sunday Morning #1) Read Online Jewel E. Ann http://www.ilovenovels.com/sunday-morning-sunday-morning-1-read-online-jewel-e-ann Sat, 05 Oct 2024 02:31:36 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/sunday-morning-sunday-morning-1-read-online-jewel-e-ann Genre: Alpha Male, Angst, Contemporary, Forbidden, New Adult Authors: Jewel E. Ann Series: Sunday Morning Series by Jewel E. Ann
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Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 102079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 510(@200wpm)___ 408(@250wpm)___ 340(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >105

Footloose meets A Star is Born
A forbidden, new adult romance set in a small town. Full description to come.

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

CHAPTER ONE

TERRI GIBBS, “SOMEBODY’S KNOCKIN’”

1985

It was Easter morning when the devil sat in the back pew of my dad’s church. I stood front and center in the choir, singing the last line of “Great is Thy Faithfulness.” I barely recognized him until his gaze locked with mine, and he smirked.

Did he recognize me? I couldn’t imagine.

Isaac Cory enlisted in the service six years earlier because his dad threatened to shoot him after a minor scuffle with police that arose from impregnating the football coach’s daughter and driving her two hours north of Devil’s Head, Missouri, to a Planned Parenthood.

Danielle Harvey got around. I was twelve then, but I remember overhearing Dad tell my mom that Danielle needed to close her knees. It took a couple of years before I made that connection. After all, my mom used to tell me to close my knees when I wore a dress without tights. Mom later gossiped to Sandy, our neighbor, down the way, that Isaac was equally as guilty.

So after Coach Harvey called the police and threatened to kill Isaac, Wesley Cory grabbed his shotgun and led his oldest son to the barn for what he called a coming to Jesus moment. Right after graduation, Isaac enlisted.

“Praise the Lord,” Dad said as the choir sat along the three rows of wood benches that cracked like the old wood flooring. “Let us pray.”

The congregation all bowed their heads—except Isaac. He unwrapped a Cadbury Creme Egg and took a bite. The white fondant dripped down his chin.

I snorted, smacking a hand over my mouth. Keeping my chin tucked to my chest, I shifted my gaze to my dad, Pastor Jacobson. He scowled at me while thanking God for sacrificing His Son for our sins. I feared he might sacrifice me next, so I pinched my eyes shut and folded my hands in my lap, squeezing so tightly that my fingers felt numb.

By the time the congregation echoed my dad’s “Amen,” Isaac had finished the egg and wiped his chin clean.

“Is that Matt’s brother?” my best friend Heather leaned over and whispered in my ear. Her breath smelled like the fruity jellybeans she’d been sneaking between songs.

It was a reprieve from the usual smell of musky hymnals and burning candles.

“I think so,” I said through clenched teeth and a fake smile.

Isaac used to have long, black hair, a pack of cigarettes in his pocket, and an ear that he pierced himself. He and his friends formed a band in high school. My dad called their music an abomination to God.

And if I recall correctly, that might have been their official band name.

Isaac now had buzzed hair, no earrings, broad shoulders, and a chiseled jawline. He’d become a man in every sense of the word.

During the rest of the sermon, Heather nudged me with her elbow, then her knee, and sometimes she tapped my shoe with hers.

We became friends before we took our first steps, so she didn’t have to say a word. I knew what every poke and jab meant— my boyfriend’s older brother was hot.

“Have a blessed rest of your Easter,” Dad said, looking like a Ken doll with his pearly smile and coiffed blond waves. He shifted his blue eyes toward the choir, our cue to stand and lead everyone with the closing hymn, “It Is Well with My Soul.”

Minutes later, the choir hung their red robes in the back closet next to my dad’s office, which smelled like instant coffee. I joined my parents and two younger sisters, Eve and Gabby, at the altar before we exited the church together as we did every Sunday. Matt and his family waited at the bottom of the church stairs. We were invited to their house for Easter dinner.

My boyfriend looked handsome in his Sunday best: a navy suit and Robin’s egg blue tie. His dirty blond hair was coarse and wavy, like his mother’s, whereas Isaac looked exactly like his dad Wesley—tan skin, dark hair, and deep brown eyes that could bring even the strongest person to shake in their boots.

“Happy Easter, Sarah,” Matt’s mom Violet hugged me. “You look so pretty.” She released me, smoothing her hands down my long blond hair to my white cardigan over a pink sleeveless dress.

Dad insisted shoulders be covered in church, only making exceptions for brides in their wedding gowns. I assumed he figured they were on the verge of becoming women by losing their virginity because, in my father’s eyes, all brides were pure.

“Thank you,” I murmured to Violet as she combed her long nails through her feathered blond hair just as Matt took my hand.

“Isaac, you don’t look like the same boy who left here,” my dad said, shaking Isaac’s hand and eyeing his ripped jeans, dirty cowboy boots, and wrinkled white button-down with the sleeves rolled up to show the world his tattoos, including a heart with a knife through it.

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I Thought of You Read Online Jewel E. Ann http://www.ilovenovels.com/i-thought-of-you-read-online-jewel-e-ann Mon, 20 May 2024 22:09:57 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/i-thought-of-you-read-online-jewel-e-ann Genre: Alpha Male, Angst, Contemporary Authors: Jewel E. Ann Advertisement

Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 89978 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >91

wanted to conquer the world.

She wanted to gaze at the stars.

It’s been twelve years since I last saw Scottie Rucker. A grim prognosis has upended my life, and no amount of my hard-earned money can fix it. So, after leaving a note on the nightstand, I search for my first love—I search for life.

When I find her in Austin, working at a quaint general store and living in an RV behind it, those twelve years vanish. She’s exactly how I remember her.

Scottie thinks our reunion is a small-world coincidence, and I’m not ready to tell her the truth. After we rekindle our friendship, she convinces me to work part-time at the store while she pursues her budding relationship with Koen, a welder and the grandson of a customer.

Scottie’s ability to live in the moment is exactly what I need. But how do I convince her new boyfriend that I’m not his competition? And what happens if my heart changes its mind?

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

“There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.”

—Albert Einstein

CHAPTER ONE

IF I GIVE YOU TODAY, THERE WILL BE NO TOMORROW.

Price

Two months ago, I slid a handwritten note onto the nightstand next to a white tissue box and a gold-framed photo of a blue-eyed Himalayan cat.

I can’t do it. Please forgive me.

Can’t or won’t?

“Can’t” made me weak. “Won’t” made me selfish.

Either way, it was with an insufferable and unavoidable pain that I’d come to that conclusion.

Conclusion or decision?

Hell, I didn’t know. It didn’t matter.

Nothing could prepare a person for that kind of moment. But they’d left me with no choice. Well, that wasn’t true. There was always a choice. Was mine an unforgivable one? That was hard to say. After all, they were my people. I would have died for them, but not like that.

My new place doesn’t have a picture of a Himalayan cat on the nightstand, my favorite black weathered recliner from college, or a warm body waiting for me in bed.

It’s a fully furnished two-bedroom home in Austin, Texas. It’s all very Pottery Barn. There’s a tufted crushed velvet sofa in twilight blue, mid-century wood tables with fake flowers in vases, and marble bookends flanking a collection of everything from Stephen King to Margaret Atwood.

Wood floors.

Modern rugs.

And a few contemporary pieces of framed art—red poppies and birch trees on cobalt canvas.

In the primary bedroom, above the bed, there’s a photo of a young boy on a bicycle with a yellow lab chasing him down a sidewalk. The boy looks like a younger version of myself.

Maybe it’s that I had a yellow lab.

Maybe it’s because my parents made me ride my bike everywhere while my friends were in their rooms gaming.

Maybe it’s his twiggy arms and legs and wavy brown hair in a mess. Since then, I’ve added muscle and discovered that a little hair gel goes a long way to taming thick, wavy hair.

Whatever it is about that boy in the photo, it’s comforting.

Before five in the evening, I add a blue Honda CRX to the driveway. It has a dent in the rear bumper, which complements my new life and motto: Perfection is overrated. My whole life has been overrated. For a decade, I’ve been the happiest, miserable overachiever. It’s a complicated oxymoron that makes sense if one takes a step back to see the whole picture.

However, I’m six weeks into remedying that situation—well on my way to underachieving the hell out of my life.

Now, there’s only one thing left to do. Find her.

Scottie Rucker looks exactly as I remember—wayward, cinnamon-brown hair just past her shoulders. Bangs brush her eyes, always a quarter inch too long. When she laughs, her head shakes, and her chin lifts to flip those unruly bangs away from her gleaming eyes of gold and brown.

Always hopeful.

Always pleasant.

I don’t have a single memory of her that’s less than perfect. Even our breakup felt like fate because she said all the right words. The world makes sense with Scottie in it. And right now, I need things to make sense.

A whoosh of cool January air whistles when a customer exits Drummond’s General Store, leaving me and a handful of other customers milling around the aisles of industrial shelving surrounded by white shiplap exterior walls with sliding ladders. This place bleeds nostalgia.

There’s a vintage soda fountain with a draft arm, an ice cream cabinet, and rows of syrups. Bulk goodies—everything from fireballs and taffy to Tootsie Rolls and Bit-O-Honeys—line the far end of the bar with sparkly red swivel stools. A stand with fresh floral bouquets anchors one end of the register, while a display for local artisan-made goods anchors the other.

“Let me know if you need help finding anything.” Scottie’s melodic voice floats through the air.

Twelve years ago, I met her by accident at a modern-day apothecary a few blocks from Independence Hall in Philadelphia the summer between my junior and senior years of college. My dad conned me into working at his law firm for the summer in hopes I’d consider changing my major. But I’ve always been a numbers guy: mathematics and economics.

And Scottie’s always been the girl who wears healing stones instead of diamonds and thrives on thirty minutes of meditation in the morning instead of eight ounces of coffee.

A torrential downpour around two in the afternoon on a Thursday in June sent me dashing into the corner apothecary. To avoid being an asshole using her place of business for cover, I emptied my wallet on miscellaneous shit I’d never heard of, including a Tiger’s eye bracelet that was supposed to help me achieve wealth and vitality while protecting me against negative energy.

Perhaps it did, at least for that summer. I still have that bracelet.

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Because of Her – Jack & Jill Read Online Jewel E. Ann http://www.ilovenovels.com/because-of-her-jack-jill-read-online-jewel-e-ann Sun, 12 Nov 2023 07:05:10 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/because-of-her-jack-jill-read-online-jewel-e-ann Genre: Alpha Male, Angst, Contemporary, Dark, Suspense Authors: Jewel E. Ann Advertisement

Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 108165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >110

“If sin weren’t pretty, it wouldn’t be so tempting.”

I was an accomplished music professor.
Happily single.
Perfectly content.

Now, I’m unemployed.
Pining for a dark, brooding guy named Jack who lives in a garage with a piano.
And I’m plotting to seduce a married man because his daughter is responsible for my nephew committing suicide.

I don’t know why teenage girls are so mean.
I don’t know why rich men cheat on their wives.
And I don’t know why Jack has serial killer vibes, even though he leaves me speechless every time he speaks.

All I know for sure is that I feel safe in a stranger’s arms and understood by someone I don’t understand.

“You should be a little scared of everyone because humans are unpredictable.”

How far will I go for revenge? More than that …
How far will he go to save me?

*This book contains material involving sexual assault and suicide. Reader discretion is advised.

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

PLAYLIST

“Cleanse” Boatkeeper

“Love Is The Answer” Natalie Taylor

“Kingdom Come” The Neighborly

“Have You Ever Seen The Rain” MR. RACER

“Deep Dark Sleep” Melanie MacLaren

“I’m Worried It Will Always Be You” Katie Gregson-MacLeod

“Wings” Birdy

“Secret Garden” Molly Parden, Tony Anderson

“Blue Moon Revisited (Song for Elvis)” Cowboy Junkies

“Sweet Jane” Cowboy Junkies

“The Heart Asks Pleasure First” Michael Nyman

“Voyage dans la lune” Sad Piano Music Collective

“Outside, Alone” Peter Gregson

“Ironic” Davis Naish, AG

“Liebestraum (Love Dream)” Franz Liszt, Michael Krücker

“Claire de Lune” London Symphony Orchestra

“Nocturne Op. 9 No. 2” Frédéric Chopin, Olga Bordas

To my Jackson fans … this is the end.

CHAPTER ONE

FRANCESCA

There’s nothing notable about Boone, Kansas, other than the unkempt graveyard shrouded by cottonwoods where my brother, his wife, and their only child now rest. They moved from Chicago to give their son a better life.

Had they known how “better” would play out, they might have been more inclined to overlook the ninety-minute crawl to work or the occasional vandalism.

Now, their little family of three has a one hundred percent death rate. I’m not sure that’s the definition of a better life, especially given that all three deaths were suicides.

A one-way street lines the tiny town square of crumbling brick buildings still home to a few local businesses that have stood the test of time. Murals line the alleys, a youthful touch to something old. I repeat my trip around the weathered square five times in the June sun before taking a brave breath and turning on my blinker to make a right down one of the more abandoned streets in the town.

My brother John and his wife, Lynn, chose this house because they liked the oversized lot, minimal traffic, and abundant mature trees. Never mind the century-old homes with splintered siding, curling shingles, and crooked shutters. Our mom took one look and whispered, “It’s horrific,” while my brother, simultaneously, sighed contentedly and said, “It’s perfect.” He envisioned endless possibilities, and Mom saw nothing but a never-ending series of headaches in what our dad called “a thirty-year mortgage on a poor decision.”

The irony? We grew up on a rundown farm in Iowa, where subsidies paid the rent.

Who could blame John for loving the place and the nostalgia that came with it. The house backs up to a cornfield, reminiscent of the days John and I hid from our parents. John mapped out a maze while I foraged for supplies in case we needed to hide out for days while our parents argued over money and who bore more responsibility for parenting.

John and I were inseparable, not just because we were twins. We complemented each other perfectly—my weaknesses were his strengths, and his were mine. We always said we were accidental twins, meant to be one person. Instead, we were two out-of-balance humans: either extremely good at something or extremely bad. John could barely spell his name but knew Pi to … infinity. On the other hand, I poured over every book I could get my greedy little hands on and fell in love with Chopin long before I was old enough to need a bra. But if you asked me if two times two equaled four, I had to think about it for several seconds because eight seemed like a good option too.

The gravel crunches beneath my tires while I roll to a stop. I haven’t been here since the funeral. I’d convinced myself it was nothing more than a nightmare. If I waited long enough, I’d wake up.

No such luck.

I knock on the warped wooden frame of the neighbor’s screen door. (She has a key to their house.) It makes squeaky grunts while decaying boards creak with every tiny shift of my weight. I’m impatient to get this done so I can go home—anywhere that feels less real than Boone Fucking Kansas.

When Eloise doesn’t answer, I glance at my watch. I’m an hour later than I planned. Stopping for lunch and procrastinating in the town square didn’t help.

Dark, rich notes of hammering piano keys drift from her oversized two-car garage. It’s a bonus garage behind the one-car attached to the house. I stroll along the cracked sidewalk under the maple trees to the access door, easing it ajar while poking my head through the opening. There’s a black BMW sedan, weights, a hanging punching bag in the corner, and a man sitting at a grand piano with his back to me.

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