Kresley Cole – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read

Kresley Cole – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.ilovenovels.com Sat, 30 Mar 2024 18:33:51 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=6.9.4 http://www.ilovenovels.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/favicon.png Kresley Cole – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.ilovenovels.com 32 32 The Witch Queen of Halloween Read Online Kresley Cole http://www.ilovenovels.com/the-witch-queen-of-halloween-read-online-kresley-cole Sat, 30 Mar 2024 18:33:51 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/the-witch-queen-of-halloween-read-online-kresley-cole Genre: Alpha Male, Fantasy/Sci-fi, Magic, Paranormal Authors: Kresley Cole Advertisement

Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 47052 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 235(@200wpm)___ 188(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)

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Take a spooky Halloween tour of the mysterious Lore in this stand-alone installment of the Immortals After Dark series by #1 New York Times best-seller Kresley Cole.

A demon soldier of fortune . . .
Rök Kours dives into a dangerous mission, only to cross swords with the one woman who bewitched him.

A cursed Wiccan mercenary . . .
Poppy Dyer has never let her uncontrollable magic interfere with her work, but she can barely withstand one demon's charms.

Trapped in a terrifying lair.
If the two rivals can defeat Halloween's worst nightmares to escape a haunted castle, can they overcome their pasts to claim a spellbinding future together?

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

PROLOGUE

New Orleans

Halloween

“A priestess, a sorceress, and a Valkyrie meet in a graveyard,” Nïx the Ever-Knowing said to her two visitors when they joined her atop a mausoleum roof. “I can’t remember the punchline. Is it . . . sex?”

Bertil, the bat she carried on her shoulder, flapped his little wings. Bat laughter.

Loa the voodoo priestess sighed at Nïx’s appearance. The Valkyrie soothsayer wore a plastic Viking hat with one horn missing, a pair of bell-bottoms, and no shoes or shirt. Two thick braids covered her breasts, the jet-black plaits gleaming in the waning light of the day.

From a distance, a Lykae’s howl sounded, and thunder rumbled in waves. This Halloween would prove a night ripe for fate.

“The spirits told me you were here, Valkyrie,” Loa said, her accent tinged with notes of a warm island paradise. “You’re looking a fright.” If Nïx was a fright, the priestess was a sight—dressed in a red number with a slit up the thigh to show off her knee-high boots. “Are you well?”

“I’m doing better than the Queen of Evil.” Nïx hiked a thumb at La Dorada. “She almost lost her life to a human last year, and it set back all of her regeneration.”

“An unfounded rumor,” Dorada said, though her life actually had been in jeopardy. With a nonchalant air, she smoothed her long, black mane and gold dust trickled down. Her mystical ring, one that granted wishes (with a catch), glinted in the last rays of the sun.

Nïx asked her, “And how did you find me, Dorada?”

“Only because you wanted to be found,” she answered, her speech vibrating from a translator spell. “Something wicked rises, Valkyrie. Almost as wicked as I, and I walk in apocalypse.” She didn’t walk alone. Several of her undead Wendigos prowled among the crypts below, licking their lips for the taste of fresh corpses.

Loa cast an annoyed glance at the sorceress. The two weren’t fans of each other. For one thing, like many in the Lore, Loa owed a debt to her—because of a granted wish—and no one knew when Dorada would collect on those debts.

For another, the sorceress’s recent rising after centuries of mummification did in fact herald the end of this mortal realm.

Apocalypse . . . soon?

It didn’t help that Dorada was a prickly sort of evil. Or, as Loa put it: “That sorceress woke on the wrong side of the sarcophagus.”

So, naturally, Loa plotted to assassinate her. But what was a touch of murder between colleagues?

Now Loa told Nïx, “If we’ve been feeling this disturbance, you must have. Mariketa the Awaited dispatched someone on a mission tonight, and the fallout could be catastrophic. We feel the change coming. Is it already too late?”

“A disturbance in the Lore! Or is it the Lorce?” Nïx chuckled. So did Bertil. Flap flap went his wings.

Dorada glared. “I thought you had control over the House of Witches.” Gaze going distant, she mused, “I could control them, if more of them were evil.” She could compel any evil creature, enslaving them to her bidding.

Feigning a serious look, Nïx said, “We should address your shared worries head-on.” She strolled over to a sunken area on the mausoleum roof, and the others followed. Kneeling in front of a puddle of water collecting there, she said, “Witch in the glass, come in. Witch in the glass, do you copy?”

Mariketa, a captromancer also known as the Queen of Reflections, was a young witch of unbelievable power. One could contact her through a reflection (unless she was in bed with her werewolf, which she often was).

“Breaker, breaker one-nine.” Nïx grinned coyly at her audience of two Loreans and one bat. Flap flap. “Witch, come in?” Her reflection in the puddle clouded . . .

. . . and Mariketa’s face took its place. “’Sup, Valkyrie? What a surprise!” The witch’s expression—all innocent gray eyes—might have struck a three-millennia-old soothsayer as rehearsed.

“I have Dorada and Loa with me, and they’ve raised concerns on this Hallowed Eve.”

“A meeting of alpha bitches?” Mari sounded hurt. “I could be there in a flash.”

Nïx laughed. “Consider yourself safer there! Some of us atop this roof are mentally unwell. I do so worry about them.”

Her companions looked bemused. Mari pointed toward Nïx’s hat to say something, then clearly thought better of it.

“Spill, favorite Wiccan-type person,” Nïx said. “Are you playing at fate tonight? Using some of your vast array of talents to see the future, perhaps?”

Mari’s gaze darted. “You, uh, told me to use my powers for good. This could change a lot.”

In a scandalized tone, Nïx said, “This could change everything. Even monsters and mayhem have a purpose. Shouldn’t you consult the coach before taking players off the bench?”

Dorada said, “The scales were balanced, and soon they won’t be. It’s too unpredictable. Even I can’t compel so many.”

Mari shook her head. “The scales weren’t balanced as long as the Møriør have us in their sights.”

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From the Grave – The Arcana Chronicles Read Online Kresley Cole http://www.ilovenovels.com/from-the-grave-the-arcana-chronicles-read-online-kresley-cole Mon, 01 May 2023 20:22:13 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/from-the-grave-the-arcana-chronicles-read-online-kresley-cole Genre: Fantasy/Sci-fi, Paranormal, Young Adult Authors: Kresley Cole Advertisement

Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 109540 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)

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Kresley Cole’s New York Times bestselling Arcana Chronicles series comes to a spectacular and fiery conclusion in this final installment.

When even the gods hold their breath . . .

To defeat the Emperor and Fortune, Evie, the great Empress of Arcana, must repair her bond with Death, despite the earth-shattering developments between them.

And danger lurks in every shadow . . .

Their allies—a sea witch, a band of roving warriors, and more than a couple of rogues—overcome terrifying obstacles to help them. But when Jack makes a shocking discovery, the fallout threatens to tear their alliance apart.

One girl could deliver salvation—or doom.

If the Empress and her friends can remain united, will their powers be enough to defeat a catastrophic curse on the world, or will hellfire reign forever? The end looms for us all until the best hand wins.

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

1

The Empress

Day 587 A.F.

Castle Lethe

I watched the drive long after there was no sign of Jack, the love of my life. I watched until my tears had frozen on my cheeks. I tightened the tourniquet around my heart once more, knowing that one day it would break, and I would bleed out in the snow.

Or worse.

But if he could sacrifice for Tee, the nickname he’d given my unborn son, so could I. Stemming my tears, I turned back toward the castle.

My soul mate, the father of my baby, awaited me there. I had a relationship to repair, alliances to rebuild, and a home to defend.

As certain as I felt that I’d see Jack again, I was even more sure the game was spinning to a bloody end.

I’d be ready.

—Empresssss.— A whisper in my ear like a breath of frost. The Fool was contacting me through our mental link.

I drew up short. I’ve been waiting for you to answer me. I plumbed my emotions. How did I feel about my former ally now?

Torn. I’d missed him, and I owed him for saving Jack from those slavers. I owed him for helping free Aric from the Hanged Man. But Matthew had also allowed awful things to happen to our friends.

To Finn . . .

—Do you know what you really want? I see far, Empress.—

Then tell me what’s to come.

—The gods vent their wrath. The Minors unite. Hell on earth. Quakes. They’ll all be coming for you.—

Out loud, I said, “Let them come.” My claws sharpened. The scent of roses steeped the frigid air.

—Empress?—

“Matthew, I finally understand what you’ve wanted me to learn all along.” I glanced down at my hand, marked with the icons of fallen Arcana, then back at the lonely road Jack now traveled through the never-ending darkness. In that breathy, evil voice—the red witch’s voice—I said, “For better or for worse, anyone who touches me pays a price.” I headed inside.

As I reached the front door, he whispered —Do you trust me?— Had his tone held a tinge of menace?

Just when the thought arose, he showed me a vision of the two of us lying together after Jack, Selena, and I had rescued him from his flooded home. Matthew and I had become fast friends, but then we’d been so in past games.

He severed our mental link, the quiet hitting me like the silence after a drum stopped resonating.

Did I trust him? Good question. One I didn’t yet have an answer for.

I paused before I entered the castle. By the light of the flickering lantern, the repaired doors looked like Frankenstein’s monster—ghastly but solid. Months ago, Death had kicked down those doors to get to me, to kill me.

Block it out. Inside, I found him pacing the foyer.

He stopped short, facing me. “Please, come in.”

“I thought you were in your study.” His uneasiness was palpable. “Did you worry I might take off with Jack?”

He swallowed. Nodded.

“I considered it.”

“What made you stay?”

I told him honestly, “The same thing that would have made me go: love.”

His blond brows drew together and he started toward me, but I held up my hand. “I’ll need time to get used to things again.”

He stopped abruptly. “Of course. Is your rose scent for me?”

“No. I got a message from Matthew that pissed me off.” But I preferred anger to my sadness over Jack leaving.

“What did the Fool tell you?”

When my stomach growled loudly, I said, “It’s nothing that won’t keep for now.”

“Come. Let’s get you fed.” As we turned toward the kitchen, he placed his palm on the small of my back, then dropped it, clenching his fist.

To fill the ensuing silence, I said, “I can’t believe I have any appetite considering I strangled a man to death tonight.” We’d vanquished Paul, the Hanged Man, but the monsters would just keep coming. When could I rest at last?

“You eliminated a murderer.” He glanced down at my arm. “How is your injury?”

Paul’s bullet had gone through and through. My sluggish regeneration hurt like hell, but I put on a brave face. “Almost as good as new.”

Arriving in the kitchen, we rummaged for dinner.

“I regret the limited offerings,” Aric said, adding darkly, “the Hanged Man promoted himself out of the service field.”

I unearthed a frozen casserole. “This looks fine to me,” said the girl who’d eaten canned cat food out in the Ash.

“Sit and allow me. You must be exhausted.”

“And you’re not?” He’d ridden for days with no sleep to reach me and Jack on the coast in Jubilee. I popped the dish into the microwave. “How do you know Paul didn’t poison this?” It wouldn’t affect me, but Tee . . . ?

“When Paul convinced me that you had tainted the food, I had Lark scent every item in our stores. After he took control, he wouldn’t have compromised his own supplies.”

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Munro – Immortals After Dark Read Online Kresley Cole http://www.ilovenovels.com/munro-immortals-after-dark-read-online-kresley-cole Thu, 27 Jan 2022 20:41:24 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/munro-immortals-after-dark-read-online-kresley-cole Genre: Dark, Fantasy/Sci-fi, Paranormal, Romance Authors: Kresley Cole Advertisement

Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 113848 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)

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Read Online Books/Novels:	Munro - Immortals After Dark
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Kresley Cole
Language:	English
ISBN/ ASIN:	B09H3J5KBB
Book Information:
A human monster huntress. An immortal werewolf. Could any passion be more forbidden? The next stand-alone installment in the electrifying Immortals After Dark series by #1 New York Times best-selling author Kresley Cole. Venture deeper into the Lore, fierce realm of the immortals—if you dare. . . . TORMENTED IN UNIMAGINABLE WAYS Coming off torture at the hands of his warlock captors, Munro MacRieve never expected to find his mate, or to lose her just as abruptly. Driven to desperation, the ruthless warrior uses his enemies’ own powers to reunite with her—in the distant past. STOLEN FROM HER TIME When a crazed werewolf crashes her wedding, Kereny “Ren” Codrina does what any cunning huntress would do: she captures him. Yet she finds herself softening toward the wounded beast—until he turns the tables and forces her into an incomprehensible future. CAN A HUMAN AND AN IMMORTAL UNITE IN ORDER TO SURVIVE? As danger mounts, Munro will do anything to make her undying, even sell his soul to an evil sorceress. But first he must convince his fiery mate that she belongs with him. If seduction means her survival, Munro will use every weapon in his arsenal to possess her—forever.
Books by Author:	Kresley Cole

ONE

Dungeon of the Disremembered, Quondam

modern times

The cracking sound of Munro’s bones echoed in the cell as his friend’s fist delivered another blow.

Brain rattling inside his skull, Munro bit back a growl. He’d long since stopped trying to reach Madadh, the legendary Mad Dog of the Highlands. The warlocks had vassaled the male with an obedience spell; Madadh’s wolven inner beast was fully risen, his Lykae blue gaze vacant.

A mindless slave for the Forgotten to use.

And they wanted to do the same to Munro. He narrowed his eyes at the robed archwarlock controlling Madadh—Jels the Conniver. The male’s pasty face was sunken, his bald pate reflecting the cell’s torchlight.

Munro could break his spindly frame so easily, but he was in no position to attack—on his knees, his manacled wrists connected to a chain that descended from the ceiling. Magic reinforced all the metal, making it indestructible even to one like him.

Thoughts were foggy, but he held on to one critical fact he’d learned: the Forgotten couldn’t vassal a Lykae unless he or she unleashed their inner beast. Yet the warlocks had no magical means to summon the creature forth. “Give it up, Jels,” Munro bit out. “No torture will make me loose my beast. Nothing can.”

When a Lykae experienced more pain than he or she could handle, the beast would rise up to take it. Even mental anguish. But Munro would never succumb. Having lived with his twin brother’s volatile beast for centuries, Munro had developed absolute control over his own.

Jels only smiled. “If you’re betting on a rescue, don’t. The Vertas army already assembled outside of our realm’s sphere to free you and your men, but our new ally forbade a raid, so the alliance left you behind. No one cares about you enough to anger our ally. Not even your brother.”

Who the hell was this ally? “My twin would never abandon me.” Will would be prowling for Munro’s freedom. “Sell that shite somewhere else.”

Jels gave a wave.

Madadh’s punch took Munro across the jaw, nearly dislocating it. His head snapped around, blood spraying the hem of Jels’s purple robe. “Godsdamn it, Madadh!”

His friend’s scarred face was blank, the mad dog now a subservient dog.

Jels tilted his head at Munro. “Why do you resist our thrall? I never expected it to take this long.”

“I’ve been a warrior for nine hundred years . . . have known torture many times before. You waste your time.”

As if Munro hadn’t spoken, Jels said, “The process is simple. Once you release your beast, I will recite an incantation to mystically leash it. You’ll still be aware of everything around you, but unable to physically react or refuse a warlock’s order. After a while, your consciousness learns not to care about anything. All that will be left is blissful obedience.”

Munro spat more blood. “In other words: hell. Why no’ just kill me?”

“Kill?” Jels blinked his beady eyes. “The purpose of this trap was to secure a Lykae elder like you. We were delighted to learn that you planned an incursion against us.”

Munro had heard that the Forgotten were creating new Lykae from humans and then controlling those rabid newlings with magic. So he’d gathered seven of his most seasoned warlairds for a mission to abduct the archwarlock for intel and leverage.

Jels could not have looked prouder of himself as he said, “Yes, we promptly dispatched the nymph Ariza to guide you into Quondam through a ‘vulnerability’”—he made air quotes with bony fingers—“in our boundary.”

As soon as Munro and his men had squeezed through that rift, they’d been as good as captured. Madadh had released his beast, falling under the Forgotten’s control. The warlocks had then used the massive Lykae to attack the rest of Munro’s crew.

Caught off guard, each warlaird had unleashed his own beast—and been vassaled, one after another. All but Munro, who’d been searching for any alternative. As usual.

He’d known Ariza for years. Why would she betray him? Whatever she’d hoped to gain had been for naught; the warlocks had seized her as well. “A lot of trouble,” he told Jels. “Why do you want a Lykae elder so bad?”

“Your beast is an incredibly powerful alpha. We could have searched a thousand planes and dozens of eras for a beast so strong as yours.”

Eras. Some said that the warlocks had a gateway that allowed them to move through time. Munro had researched theories of time travel, hoping he could use that gateway to save his long-dead parents—anything to alleviate Will’s guilt over their deaths.

Anything to rescue his suicidal twin.

Munro had learned that history could never be changed, but beings could be brought forward. If one had access to a mystical gateway . . .

Jels continued, “Your bite will seed legions of newling slaves for us.”

They wanted Munro to turn humans? Condemning innocent mortals to decades of rabid insanity—or death? The perversion of it! “The next bite I make will snatch clean your throat. I swear that somehow, someway I will seize the upper hand with you. By all the gods, you’ll regret ever crossing my path.”

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The Professional Read Online Kresley Cole (The Game Maker #1) http://www.ilovenovels.com/the-professional-1-read-online-kresley-cole Wed, 22 Jun 2016 13:57:33 +0000 http://www.test123.demo2.xyz/the-professional-1-read-online-kresley-cole Genre: Alpha Male, Bad Boy, BDSM, Drama, Erotic, Fantasy/Sci-fi, New Adult, Paranormal, Romance, Suspense Authors: Kresley Cole Series: The Game Maker Series by Kresley Cole
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Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 113324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)

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Read Online Books/Novels:	The Professional (The Game Maker #1)
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Kresley Cole
Language:	English
ISBN/ ASIN:	1471113876 (ISBN13: 9781471113871)
Characters:	Aleksei “The Siberian” Sevastyan, Natalie Porter
Book Information:
He makes the rules... Mafiya enforcer Aleksei “The Siberian” Sevastyan’s loyalty to his boss knows no bounds, until he meets the boss’s long-lost daughter, a curvy, feisty redhead who haunts his mind and heats his blood like no other. Ordered to protect her, Aleksei will do anything to possess her as well—on his own wicked terms. Rules are made to be broken… Grad student Natalie Porter had barely recovered from her first sight of the dark and breathtaking Sevastyan before the professional enforcer whisks her away to Russia, thrusting her into a world of extreme wealth and wanton pleasures. Every day under his protection leads her deeper under his masterful spell. Are you ready to play? Yet all is not as it seems. To remove Natalie from an enemy’s reach, Sevastyan spirits her into hiding. From an opulent palace in Russia to the decadent playgrounds of the mega-wealthy in Paris, the two lovers will discover that even their darkest—and most forbidden—fantasies can come true...
Books in Series:	The Game Maker Series by Kresley Cole
Books by Author:	Kresley Cole Books

Prologue

From: NataliePorter@huskers.unl.edu

Sent: Saturday 2:51 PM

To: caseworker03@russian-ancestry-DNA.com

Subject: Don’t keep me in suspense. . . .

Dear Mr. Zironoff,

Sorry to e-mail you yet again, but I was so excited to learn of the potential DNA match you discovered last month. After six years of searching for my biological parents, I’d love to hear back from you, even if the lead didn’t pan out. I’ve tried calling, but your voice mailbox is full. I don’t have enough money to start over with a new investigator, so could you please respond?

Sincerely,

Natalie Porter

* * *

From: NataliePorter@huskers.unl.edu

Sent: Thursday 1:14 AM

To: caseworker03@russian-ancestry-DNA.com

Subject: Response needed!

Dear Mr. Zironoff,

I’m starting to get worried, so please write me back. You gave me such hope that I would soon find my mother and father. I can wire the last of my savings to you. Anything.

But I need you to respond.

Sincerely,

Natalie

* * *

Sent: Thursday 1:15 AM

To: NataliePorter@huskers.unl.edu

Subject: Mail delivery failed

The following address(es) failed: caseworker03@russian-ancestry-DNA.com

Mailbox is FULL

CHAPTER 1

“Mommy issues. Serial cheater. Humor void. Two-pump chump.” With each guy who entered the campus bar, I ticked off my initial impression to my drunken friends.

I had an uncanny knack for sizing up males—I was a regular “manalyst.” My secret? I always went negative, and the guys, well, they always accommodated.

The girls at the table—several of my roommate’s friends and a couple of mine—looked at me like I was a fun sideshow act, their carny pal. Drinks were perpetually free.

After the week I’d had, my dinner of salt, tequila, and lime was hitting the spot.

My best friend Jessica murmured at my ear, “You better be careful, you picky prude, or else you’ll take your hymen to your grave. Like a skin tag.”

She alone knew that I’d never given it up—and why. “Low blow, Jess,” I said without any heat. Like her, it took a lot to get me ruffled, which was one of the reasons we made such great roommates.

Other than that, we were as different as we could be. Whereas she was leggy and tan with twinkling blue eyes and cropped black hair, I was short and top-heavy, with long red hair and pale-as-a-porcelain-sink skin.

I was a workaholic studyaholic, pursuing my history PhD. After years’ worth of incompletes, Jess had finally dipped a toe into the core courses of her major—leisure studies—and decided college was “a racket” for “wretched fucks.” Though it was midsemester, she was heading out tomorrow for a tour of the Greek Isles with her wealthy family.

Another round of tequila shooters arrived, sent by a trio of frat boys a few tables away. We raised our glasses, then dutifully licked, pounded, and sucked. The tequila, not the boys.

While other women might look at these superficially attractive guys and see potential mates or even fun one-night stands, I saw impending headaches. Other girls got hot and bothered by their lines and pickups; I just got bothered.

But I hadn’t always been that way.

“Do the frat boys, Nat!” our friend Polly cried. She was a sturdy corn-fed Nebraska girl—her family’s farm was in a small town outside Lincoln, just a few miles away from ours. Well, not ours anymore, since Mom had sold out last year.

“Too easy,” I said, having already sized up the trio. The first guy had been constantly checking sports scores on TV while his leg jogged. The second was a bleary mess whose own friends rolled their eyes at his drunkenness. The third one’s grooming and clothing were fanatically perfect, and he kept checking his appearance in the mirror behind the bar.

“From left to right, then?” I said. “Inveterate gambler, habitual drunk, and—how should I put this?—the third is ill-equipped.”

I sighed. Yep, those guys were too easy to read. Where was the excitement? Here I was at the same Lincoln bar I always went to, with the same crowd I always hung around. I had an early work shift tomorrow at one restaurant, a late one at the other, and classes to take and to teach on Monday. I’d been averaging five hours of sleep a night for the last few weeks. What was I even doing here?

I guessed I could sleep when I was dead.

“I’ve chosen my quarry for the evening,” beautiful Jess said. “Ill-equipped is mine.” As per her usual, she would pick up another conquest and take him back to his place—so she could leave when finished with him. “His type,” she continued blithely, “usually make up for any shortcomings with their mouths. True story.”

I told her, “And you better be careful, Jessebel, or else you’ll collect another admirer who clings like lichen.”

“I can’t help it that this is the Bermuda Triangle”—she pointed at her crotch—“when guys venture there, they tend to stay.”

I tapped my chin. “Oh, I thought you called it that because it’s sucked in lots of seamen.”

Between guffaws, she said, “That’s a completely fair statement!”

We could laugh about it now, but I’d lived with the aftermath of her affairs: the desperate gifts, the late-night phone calls, the stalking.

What was the point of all the drama? Of all that angst? Dating, love, and sex were all overrated—as I’d repeatedly tried to explain to Jess. She would get this secretive smile and say, “You’re gonna get blindsided one day. I only hope I’m there to see it. . . .”

When the laughter died down, Polly said, “Do him,” with a wave at the door.

“Fine.” Exhaling with boredom—earn your booze, carny—I turned toward the entrance. And saw the baddest-looking man I’d ever encountered.

His eyes were a vivid gold, stark against his thick black hair. He wore it longish, the ends brushing his collar. He had a roman nose that had likely been broken and a razor-thin scar that sliced down across both lips. A fighter?

Yet that didn’t fit with his expensive clothing: a tailored black coat and dress shirt, dark gray slacks, black leather shoes and belt. Through Jess, I’d learned enough about fashion to recognize fine threads. His outfit probably cost more than my entire wardrobe.

When he stood at the bar and ordered a drink, I saw that he had three rings on one hand, a ring on his other thumb, and a wicked-looking tattoo peeking out from his starch-stiff collar. His style was a mix of privileged and street.

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The Player Read Online Kresley Cole (Game Maker #3) http://www.ilovenovels.com/the-player-3-read-online-kresley-cole Wed, 22 Jun 2016 01:57:33 +0000 http://www.test123.demo2.xyz/the-player-3-read-online-kresley-cole Genre: Alpha Male, Bad Boy, BDSM, Drama, Erotic, Fantasy/Sci-fi, New Adult, Paranormal, Romance, Suspense Authors: Kresley Cole Series: The Game Maker Series by Kresley Cole
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Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 90540 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >76

Read Online Books/Novels:	The Player (The Game Maker #3)
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Kresley Cole
Language:	English
ISBN/ ASIN:	2940157742560
Characters:	Dmitri Sevastyan, Victoria Valentine
Book Information:
In this searing stand-alone installment of the erotic Game Maker series, #1 New York Times bestselling author Kresley Cole brings readers a tale of a man wracked with dark desires and the beautiful young woman who could sate him at last. A madman with a shadowed past . . . In the City of Sin, Dmitri Sevastyan finds her, Victoria Valentine—sexy, vulnerable, and in need of a protector. Obsession takes root deep inside him. Despite a history tainted with violation and betrayal, he will stop at nothing to possess her. A grifter with nothing to lose . . . Descended from a long line of con artists, twenty-four-year-old Victoria, a.k.a Vice, needs the score of a lifetime to keep her loved ones safe. She sets her sights on gorgeous and rich Dmitri Sevastyan. Even as the irresistible Russian toys with her body and mind, he tempts her heart. Love is the ultimate wildcard. When Vice and her associates maneuver Dmitri into a hasty Vegas wedding, he refuses to protect himself with a pre-nup, trusting her with all that he has. But can she trust him? As secrets unfold, the newlyweds share days of doubts and nights of the wickedest pleasures. Yet once Vice discovers her husband’s past, will she stay to fight for her marriage or cut her losses and run?
Books in Series:	The Game Maker Series by Kresley Cole
Books by Author:	Kresley Cole Books

CHAPTER 1

________________________________________

___________________________________

“I know my fairy tales,” I told my cousin. “And there’s a beast up in that lair.” Pete and I stood on the spacious terrace of the Calydon Casino’s penthouse, peering at an even higher observation deck.

We were already so elevated, I felt as if we could reach up and graze the full moon.

“You’re calling Dmitri Sevastyan a beast now?” Pete’s expression was amused, the dark blue of his smiling eyes a contrast to his light blond hair. Like my sister and me, he got his coloring from my dad’s side of the family. “Even though you’ve never met him?”

“Yep.” The Sevastyans’ lavish party was in full swing—music boomed and hundreds of revelers crowded inside the enormous four-suite penthouse—yet Dmitri had sequestered himself up on that deck, apparently on his worst behavior. “And just like in the fairy tales, you plan to sacrifice this maiden.” Pete wanted me to go scope out the combative man.

“That’s crazy talk. Everybody knows you’re not a maiden.”

I punched his arm. “Funny guy.” I might as well be a maiden. My three notches hadn’t been worth it.

“And Dmitri isn’t a beast,” he said, adding, “Much. Hardly at all.”

Pete knew everything there was to know about the Sevastyan family. Well, everything a grifter could find out with choice sources. As the casino’s VIP host, he catered to the whims of his rich high rollers—our very own inside man.

I didn’t know how much juice he’d had to use to snag his plum position, but for weeks, we’d targeted the Calydon’s degenerate whales, mainly for blackmail.

A curl escaped my up-do, and the warm August breeze made it flit around my face. “Since I started casing the deck, Dmitri’s chewed out a dozen women, sending them packing.”

Another group of hopefuls had ascended a few moments ago. Every female on the Strip seemed to have heard about this party—free food, free booze, and an eligible billionaire in attendance.

Pete shrugged his buff shoulders. I swore he was still growing at twenty-nine. “I’m not asking you to run game”—work a con—“on Dmitri. Just give me your take before we cut the Sevastyan crew loose for good.”

Half talent manager, half con coach, Pete had positioned me and my sister in the VIP lounge as cocktail servers/honey traps.

Toe the line, boys, or you’ll feel the sting.

Unfortunately, the three brothers, two wives, and one tagalong friend were toeing the line.

They didn’t ask for drugs, and their tastes didn’t run toward the illegal or immoral. Both of the married couples were devoted. In fact, the middle brother and his wife were here to celebrate their four-year wedding anniversary.

No dirt, no dinero; no sins, no in.

“Besides, you gotta get a looksee at Dmitri,” Pete said. “He’ll be the most beautiful man you’ve ever laid eyes on.” My sister Karin had said the same. She’d served the group drinks in the lounge last night.

“Even finer than his brothers?” I’d passed them in the penthouse, two built, black-haired hotties who’d been glued to their lovely wives.

“Much finer.” Pete made his eyes look guileless as he said, “Trust me.”

“Trust you?” Despite our circumstances, we had to share a chuckle. I could make my eyes guileless too, had learned that trick before I could even read with them.

Grated words sounded from the deck above as Dmitri chewed out the latest females who’d dared to breach his lair.

Not long after, a bevy of babes in vagina-length dresses flounced down the steps. They all talked at once. “What a prick!” “I don’t care how gorgeous he is; who says shit like that?” “Could he have been hotter? Or more insulting?”

I recognized Sharon, a bottle-service girl who lived in my apartment complex. The buxom brunette was no stranger to the grifter life herself.

Champagne flute in hand, she waved her friends onward toward the bar, then sashayed over to us; with her every step, her strapless red dress valiantly struggled to contain her rack.

She rose on her toes to kiss my cousin’s cheek and murmured with affection, “Petey Three Times.”

Grifter nicknames might be cliché, but Pete’s was spot-on. He was so good he could con you twice more, even if you caught him the first time. Also known as Re-Pete.

I’d gotten the nickname Vice as a baby. I’d earned my Cold-as-Ice designation from my family’s stock-investment schemes.

For years, we’d found men who wanted something for nothing, so we’d sold them nothing for something.

But those days were over. . . .

Pete smoothly said, “Sharon, you’re looking fabulous as ever.”

“Charmer.” She smoothed her hair, giving me a once-over. “Great dress, Vice. All classy.”

“Thanks, doll.” I’d made this white, one-shoulder drape a few months ago for a job. Tonight, my look was sexy good-girl, a change from my usual racy/alternative. My black nails were now nude, my glam makeup neutral. I’d exchanged my spike earrings for diamond—read cubic zirconia—studs and secured my long hair into an elegant knot. Instead of platform heels, I wore ankle-strap d’Orsay pumps.

Sharon sipped her flute. “You dress up for that Sebastian gull?” A gullible, anyone outside the grift.

“It’s actually with a V,” Pete said. “Suh-vast-yun.” Details were our job.

Sharon shrugged, her dress hanging on precariously. Her enhanced boobs dwarfed my 32Cs; she could legit carry drinks without a tray.

I always pictured her balancing martinis on her mammaries with circus music teed up. “No, not for him. I had a high roller on the line.” Wardrobe was critical in cons, and this look played to rich guys. My mark, Nigel, had approved. Until he’d inexplicably abandoned me in the Caly lobby a little while ago. “My con went south, so Pete invited me here.” To dig. These days, I wasn’t good for much else.

This honey trap might be stingerless.

“Looks like you’re having a shit week,” Sharon said. “I saw an eviction notice on your door.”

I lowered my voice to say, “I forgot my neck brace one freaking time.”

Pete’s blond brows rose. I hadn’t told him about my eviction, not with all my other recent failures.

“Happens to the best of us.” Sharon finished her champagne. “Two tears in a bucket; motherfuck it.”

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The Master Read Online Kresley Cole (The Game Maker #2) http://www.ilovenovels.com/the-master-2-read-online-kresley-cole Tue, 21 Jun 2016 13:57:33 +0000 http://www.test123.demo2.xyz/the-master-2-read-online-kresley-cole Genre: Alpha Male, Bad Boy, BDSM, Drama, Erotic, Fantasy/Sci-fi, New Adult, Paranormal, Romance, Suspense Authors: Kresley Cole Series: The Game Maker Series by Kresley Cole
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Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 100417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)

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Read Online Books/Novels:	The Master (The Game Maker #2)
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Kresley Cole
Language:	English
ISBN/ ASIN:	1451650078 (ISBN13: 9781451650075)
Characters:	Maksimilian Sevastyan, Catarina Marin
Book Information:
A need colder than Siberian winter meets an attitude hotter than the Florida sun in #1 New York Times bestselling author Kresley Cole’s sultry new Game Maker novel. Everyone fears the Master... Rich, irresistible politician/Mafya boss Maksimilian Sevastyan prefers tall, obedient blondes to fulfill his... complicated desires. That is, until the icy Russian encounters a disobedient brunette whose exquisite little body threatens his legendary restraint. Except her. Catarina Marin was a well-off young wife until her world fell apart. Now she’s hiding out, forced to start working as an escort in Miami. Her very first client is beyond gorgeous, but when he tells her what he plans to do to her, Cat almost walks out of the door. If pleasure is a game, play to win. After their mind-blowing encounter burns out of control, the lovers crave more. If they escape the deadly threats surrounding them, can Maksim overcome his past—to offer Cat his future? Only then will she tempt him with what he really wants: her, all tied up with a bow.
Books in Series:	The Game Maker Series by Kresley Cole
Books by Author:	Kresley Cole Books

CHAPTER 1

Mi madre must be turning over in her grave right now.

As I rode the elevator to the penthouse of the ritzy Seltane Hotel—it’d taken two staffers to key me up to the fortieth floor—I chewed on a fingernail.

Was I really about to let some strange man have sex with me? For money?

The elevator arrived too quickly, forcing me onto a private landing with its own lobby and an elegant sitting area. An open newspaper lay on a coffee table, as if someone had recently left.

The entry—a pair of ornate mahogany doors—was just beyond, looming. Could I bring myself to ring the bell?

Apparently, this penthouse was one of the largest (more than ten thousand square feet) and the most expensive (thirty-two grand—a night) in Miami. Who in their right mind would spend that much money on a hotel? Clearly my first client was loco.

Other than that, I didn’t know much about him. He was a Russian businessman, here in Miami for a week. He’d been not only vetted but vouched for by sister escort agencies all over the world. In other words, he was a hobbyist, a routine user of escorts.

Tempted to bolt, I pulled out my phone to call my hookup, Ivanna. She was a Ukrainian immigrant and high-class escort, making bank; I was her cleaning lady. She thought my current employment was a waste of my “spectacular figure and fresh-faced beauty.” Yeah, yeah.

When she answered, I said, “I don’t think I can do this.” I began to pace the lobby, my stilettos silent on the plush beige rug.

“Of course you can. You don’t understand how badly I wish I could be there. If this man is renting the penthouse for a week, imagine how rich he is!”

The Russian had booked Ivanna, but she’d had a reaction to Botox (she was only thirty!). She’d thought she’d be okay by tonight, so she hadn’t called to cancel. A big no-no for escorts.

“If my eyes weren’t swollen shut . . .”

“Ivanna, I’m not at this point yet.” I’d been vacillating like crazy. Though I’d prepared to take a couple of dates—getting an exam and a waxing—I’d always suspected I’d balk. “I’m not here,” I insisted. But wasn’t I? Yesterday I could’ve sworn I’d seen Edward.

In Miami.

I’d been riding the bus home from a cleaning gig when I’d seen a tall, lanky blond stepping out of a bodega, striding toward a Porsche. The last time I’d seen him had been in the glare of headlights, his green eyes stark against his blood-coated face.

If he was here, then I needed to flee to a new city as soon as possible. But that took funds.

“You make this job sound so horrible,” Ivanna said. “You’re going to do great. You have the balls, and that’s half the battle!”

Despite my upbringing—or maybe because of it—I was pretty shameless. Even with my, ahem, generous ass, I’d proudly strutted the beaches of Jacksonville in a micro thong bikini. I’d gotten hot and heavy with all manner of high school boys, doing everything but screwing, earning a reputation as a cocktease. When I’d started having sex with Edward, I’d studied tips and tricks, anything to tempt him. So I knew how to get a guy sprung.

Ivanna said, “You’ll have inquiries from the agency site before you know it.”

She’d gotten the web guy for Elite Escorts to toss up a makeshift page for me, by promising him an HR. Hand release.

I knew all the lingo, had chuckled as she’d recited acronyms, never imagining I’d be using the lingo. A BBBJ was a bareback blowjob. Swallowing was BBBJNQNS—bareback blowjob, no quit, no spit. MSOG—multiple shots on goal—meant the client could come as many times as he liked in the specified time limit. “You shouldn’t have bothered with that web page for me.” I’d told her I would only do this once or twice, but she’d just smiled and said, “That’s what we all thought. Now pose for your site photo!”

“You only have a couple more minutes to be on time,” Ivanna said. “Take a deep breath, remember my three key points, and you’ll be fine.”

First, I should look for a nondescript envelope of cash lying on a conspicuous surface—my “donation.” I was to do nothing until I pocketed the money. And then? The name of the game was upselling, getting him to pay for services above and beyond the outcall, earnings that were all mine.

Second, since my client wasn’t likely to inspire arousal—despite the fact that I hadn’t had sex in forever and my libido was going crazy!—I’d need to figure out a way to furtively lube up. Most escorts did. Lube made for safer sex and limited VF, vagina fatigue. Of course, a condom was mandatory.

Third, the majority of clients that used Elite Escorts liked ingratiating, sweet dates; I was a cheeky smart-ass. So I would have to curb my personality to succeed.

Damn it, I should never be in the service industry—in any capacity.

But I needed this money to run! I had my own rules, and in three years I’d never broken them.

1. Never say anything above and beyond what is absolutely necessary.

2. Never create links between you and anything else.

3. Never stay in a place longer than six months.

4. Never get soft.

5. Never attract undue attention.

6. Forgodsakes, never, never, never trust another man.

Without funds, I was going to break rule number three.

“Trust me, Cat, with your business savvy, you’re going to make a killing,” Ivanna assured me.

How savvy was I? Although I had six houses to clean each week—including hers—five of the women beat me up on my fee, assuming I was an undocumented worker from Cuba.

“Just have fun,” she said. “It doesn’t have to feel like work. Your waxing was probably more uncomfortable than your date could ever be.”

But . . . “It’s been more than three years since I slept with anyone.” And Edward’s pitiful attempts shouldn’t even count.

“That is . . . hmm. How strange,” she said, as if I’d told her I liked to wear other people’s skin. “We’ll discuss this later. For now, remember: sex is like riding a bike.”

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