Melanie Harlow – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read

Melanie Harlow – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.ilovenovels.com Mon, 21 Oct 2024 11:27:26 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=7.0 http://www.ilovenovels.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/favicon.png Melanie Harlow – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.ilovenovels.com 32 32 Slap Shot Surprise (Cherry Tree Harbor #5) Read Online Melanie Harlow http://www.ilovenovels.com/slap-shot-surprise-cherry-tree-harbor-5-read-online-melanie-harlow Mon, 21 Oct 2024 11:27:26 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/slap-shot-surprise-cherry-tree-harbor-5-read-online-melanie-harlow Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Sports Authors: Melanie Harlow Series: Cherry Tree Harbor Series by Melanie Harlow
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Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 100661 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)

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In my defense, I thought the plane was going to crash.

Otherwise, I never would have blurted out those embarrassing things to a perfect stranger.

Did I mention he turned out to be a scorching hot superstar of professional hockey?

But wait, there’s more.

When the plane lands safely, I rush off, praying I’ll never have to face him again. My luck holds out for less than twenty-four hours, when I realize he’s a groomsman at the wedding I’m attending.

We end up having a drink and a good laugh about my panicked confessions, and when he invites me up to his room for some no-strings-attached fun, I say yes. After all, a headboard rattling one-night stand with a guy who knows how to put the puck in deep isn’t something a bookworm like me ever thought she’d experience.

Neither are those two little pink lines.

Now what’s crashing are all the plans Joe Lupo and I had for our lives–separately.

After all, we’re totally wrong for each other. He’s commitment-phobic and completely focused on his career. And I want to plant roots in my small town–with someone who chooses me.

Love? It’s out of the question.

Until Joe Lupo lines up his shot and aims straight for my heart.

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

ONE

mabel

In my defense, I thought the plane was going down.

Otherwise, I never would have said those things about my sex life to a perfect stranger.

And not just any stranger.

The man in the seat next to me was hot. I don’t mean regular hot. I mean next-level hot. The kind of hot that can momentarily distract you from your pathological fear of flying, which was worse than usual, thanks to terrible summer thunderstorms raging across the Midwest. Flights had been canceled or delayed out of a dozen different airports, including Chicago O’Hare, where I’d spent the last three hours getting more and more anxious about the fundamentals of aviation in general and the effects of thunderstorms on aircraft specifically.

Frantic internet searches had done nothing to quell my nerves.

Already on edge, I’d boarded the plane only to discover that my last-minute upgrade had resulted in my getting a window seat instead of the aisle. I always preferred an aisle seat since it would allow me to reach the nearest exit row more quickly in case of an emergency. Were the perks of first class going to make up for the anxiety I already had about this flight? Gravity wasn’t going to give a shit about my gold member status. People in the posh rows fell out of the sky at the same rate as the people in the back.

My plan had been to ask whoever had seat 3B if they wouldn’t mind switching with me in 3A. Then I’d immediately locate the nearest exit row and plan my evacuation route. However, I’d been struck dumb by the sight of the gorgeous, broad-shouldered guy who’d boarded a few minutes later, walked down the aisle, and stopped at my row. After tucking his roller bag into the overhead bin, he offered me a smile before dropping into 3B.

My heart fluttered. I felt strangely honored, like he’d chosen that seat. Like the cutest, most popular boy in school had gotten on the bus and slid in next to me despite all the other open seats.

He pulled out his phone and tapped at the screen while I stared unabashedly at the chiseled jaw with a hint of stubble, the tousled brown hair, the small scar near his temple.

He wore jeans and a white button-down shirt with the sleeves cuffed, revealing tanned, muscular forearms and a fancy black wristwatch. His legs were long, and I liked the way the denim hugged his thighs. He looked effortlessly sexy and cool.

Glancing down at my own clothes, I took a moment to inwardly bemoan this morning’s choices—I’d come straight from a conference session, so what I had on could loosely be described as business casual, but there was nothing cool or sexy about my camel trousers and pink blouse. Worse, I’d already traded my heels for sneakers and thrown my hair up in a ponytail. I’d worn my glasses instead of my contacts.

The guy stood up again to grab something out of his bag overhead, and I realized there was something familiar about his face. Did I know him from somewhere? I racked my brain, but I couldn’t place him. He was handsome enough to be a movie star, but I didn’t think that was it. Certainly it wasn’t anyone attending the conference I’d been at this week. The Small Museum Association had many smart, passably attractive professionals, but nobody in this guy’s league.

He glanced down and caught me looking at him. It was the perfect opportunity to ask about a seat switch, but when I opened my mouth, nothing came out. Embarrassed, I adjusted my glasses and focused my attention out the window, where heavy sheets of rain were slanting down angrily from dark skies. Lightning flashed, and I sat back abruptly and yanked the strap on my seat belt to tighten it.

Why hadn’t I waited and flown home tomorrow morning? I still would have had plenty of time to make the wedding. Or I could have hopped on a train. Rented a car. Hitchhiked. Anything would have been safer than this airplane!

The hot stranger took his seat again, calmly buckling up. “Looks bad out there, doesn’t it?” He had a nice voice.

I nodded and braved another look at his face. His eyes were midnight blue, his brows thick and dark. I wondered how he got that scar on his temple. He had a second scar, a tiny vertical white line, just above his upper lip. Maybe he’d been in a car accident or something. Or maybe he was a boxer.

I realized I’d been staring at him for too long without speaking. “Yes, it does,” I said, “and unfortunately, I’m—” Hiccup! I slapped a hand over my mouth. “Sorry. I get the hiccups when I’m nervous.”

He laughed, but in a nice way, and handed me one of the little mini bottles of water resting on the armrest between us. “Here. Drink this.”

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Small Town Swoon (Cherry Tree Harbor #4) Read Online Melanie Harlow http://www.ilovenovels.com/small-town-swoon-cherry-tree-harbor-4-read-online-melanie-harlow Fri, 15 Mar 2024 06:57:44 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/small-town-swoon-cherry-tree-harbor-4-read-online-melanie-harlow Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Erotic, Forbidden Authors: Melanie Harlow Series: Cherry Tree Harbor Series by Melanie Harlow
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Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 98789 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >101

Only in the movies does the Hollywood heartthrob fall for the small town diner waitress.

So when Dashiel Buckley returns to Cherry Tree Harbor for a wedding, I’m determined not to let my massive crush on my best friend’s older brother hijack my good sense.

(It happened once before. Do not recommend.)

But when my hand is injured, it’s Dash who steps in at the diner. The moment he realizes I can’t afford to fix my car, he takes care of it. And when he hears about the way my toxic ex treated me, he refuses to let it go.

Now it’s not just his blue eyes and sexy smile that have me swooning, it’s the way he wants to help me. Encourage me. Protect me.

I can’t resist.

Our text messages heat up. Our phone calls melt all my defenses. “Just friends” turns into “just once,” and “just once” becomes a distant memory. Night after night, he warms my bed, my body, and my heart.

But it can’t last.

Our dreams have us on two different paths–Dash wants the lights, camera, action of Hollywood, and I’ll always be a small town girl.

If only I could be his.

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

ONE

dash

“I’m sorry, Dash,” my agent said over the Bluetooth speaker in my car. “You didn’t get the part.”

“They said no?” I asked in disbelief as my SUV inched forward in L.A. traffic. I’d been so sure last week’s audition would finally be a yes. “But it went so well. I thought they really liked me.”

“They did, darling.” Izzie’s tone was soothing. “But they ended up going with a name.”

“I have a name,” I argued.

“Of course you do,” Izzie assured me, because it was her job. “But so far, the only thing your name is associated with is playing Bulge on Malibu Splash. We need to change that.”

I slumped in the driver’s seat as traffic came to a stop again. My agent was right. For the last five years, I’d played the hot but one-dimensional lifeguard on a beach show mostly popular with teenagers. Now that the final season was over, I was eager to move on to meatier, more mature roles. But despite the fact that I was twenty-seven, I couldn’t get a single casting director to see me as a leading man in a big-budget film.

Out the driver’s side window, I saw a billboard for an upcoming spy thriller, the kind of movie I’d give my right arm to be in. “I told you my friend Mike got seen for the next Katherine Carroll project, didn’t I? The wartime drama called All We’ve Lost?”

“Yes, Dashiel. You told me.” Judging by my agent’s tone, I might have mentioned it multiple times.

But I couldn’t help it. Carroll was one of the top directors in the industry, famous for her breathtaking visuals and heart-stopping action sequences. And she often cast lesser-known actors in major roles because she felt the audience’s lack of familiarity with them contributed to an overall sense of unpredictability and tension.

At the moment, I was feeling pretty lesser known.

“I saw the script. The role of Johnny is perfect for me,” I told Izzie as traffic began moving again. “A small-town guy who goes off to fight the war, gets shot and captured, and falls in love with a nurse behind enemy lines. She risks her life to help him escape, and then he risks his to go back for her.”

“Sounds romantic.”

“I can do that kind of part, Izzie.” I easily imagined myself huddled in a trench, nothing to my name but a rifle, a tattered love letter, and the will to survive. “Can you get me an audition?”

Izzie sighed. “You always get the same feedback after reading for those kinds of roles, Dash. They like you, but your work lacks emotional depth.”

The familiar words stung. “I’m working on it, okay? I’m going to sign up for some coaching with that method acting guy.”

“But method acting is about mining your life experiences for strong emotions. You need to connect more to your own feelings.”

“My own feelings are irrelevant,” I insisted. “It’s about the character.”

“You can’t convey the full range of a character’s emotional pain when you refuse to explore your own.”

“I’m not refusing to explore it. I just don’t have any,” I lied. “I’m remarkably well-adjusted.” My emotional pain was nobody’s business. Not my agent’s, not any casting director’s, and certainly not the moviegoing public’s.

“Everyone has emotional pain, Dash. It’s just that some people keep it all buried, and good actors know how to mine it for gold.” Another big sigh. “You know what? I’m not booking any more auditions for you until you agree to a psychic healing with Delphine.”

I suppressed a groan. My agent was always threatening to drag me to her woo-woo friend who cleansed auras or something. She was convinced I had some sort of spiritual black cloud hanging over me. “I don’t need a psychic healing, Izzie. I just need a lucky break.”

“You want to play the sexy, romantic lead in a gritty wartime drama?” my agent pushed. “You want to make people believe you’d risk it all for love? You have to get out there and do it for real, Dash. Right now, you don’t have a place to go to dig into those emotions. You don’t let yourself feel.”

“I feel,” I protested in defense. “I choke up every time I watch Toy Story 3.”

“That is not the same! Have you ever even been in love? Do you know what it’s like to fall for someone so hard you’d put everything on the line to be with her, like that character does?”

“It’s called acting. I want to play the guy who falls in love, not be him.”

“What do you have against love?”

“Nothing! It’s just not for me.” I turned into the gym parking lot. “Love is for older people, Izzie. Like wrinkles. Or gray hair.”

“Are you listening to yourself? No wonder you can’t go deeper with your characters. Your focus is entirely on the surface level.”

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Make-Believe Match (Cherry Tree Harbor #3) Read Online Melanie Harlow http://www.ilovenovels.com/make-believe-match-cherry-tree-harbor-3-read-online-melanie-harlow Thu, 07 Dec 2023 05:54:55 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/make-believe-match-cherry-tree-harbor-3-read-online-melanie-harlow Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Erotic Authors: Melanie Harlow Series: Cherry Tree Harbor Series by Melanie Harlow
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Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 92708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >95

Fall in love with my enemy? No way.

Marry him to save my family’s struggling ski resort? That’s a different story…

Getting hitched is the only way I can inherit Snowberry Lodge, and I’ll do anything to spare my childhood home from the wrecking ball–even wear Devlin Buckley’s ring on my finger.

Not that I’ll enjoy it.

Sure, he’s charming and handsome, and that no-last-names one night stand we shared ended with a fantastically big bang (I saw stars I hadn’t seen in six months, if you catch my drift).

But I’ll never trust him–he was working for the company trying to bulldoze my life.

Right up until the day he knocked on my door with an offer I couldn’t refuse.

Marry him, and he’ll help me restore my family’s crumbling resort to its former glory–and get revenge on his ex-boss in the process. Once our goals are achieved, we’ll go our separate ways.

It’s temporary. Strictly business. Purely for show.

Until I realize how much I like it when he says "my wife."

Once we’re sharing a last name–and a bed–our make-believe match starts to feel a little too real.

And if I’m not careful, I could lose everything… my home, my dreams, and my heart.

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

ONE

lexi

My sweet, bird-boned little Gran added a teaspoon of sugar to her tea before yanking the rug out from under my life.

“I’m sorry, Alexandra. But the answer is no.”

“But Gran, you didn’t even let me finish!” I stared down at my notes, which I’d frantically scribbled last night after she’d announced she was leaning toward selling our beloved Snowberry Lodge to Black Diamond Resorts, a corporation that planned to tear it down. She was having lunch with the big bulldozing jerks on Tuesday to discuss their offer, so I only had two days to convince her to let me inherit early.

It was not going well.

“This place is too big for one woman to run on her own, darling. We’re facing a mountain of debt. I wouldn’t put that burden on you.” Gran took a tiny sip of her tea. “And while it saddens me to let it go, I’m afraid I don’t have a choice.”

“Please, Gran,” I said as panic rose in my chest. “Let’s not make any decisions yet.” Selling Snowberry would splinter my heart. My great-grandparents had built the charming little ski resort seventy-five years ago. My grandfather had been born here. My dad grew up here. My parents were married here.

All of my happiest memories of them were here.

Was it a bit outdated and unfashionable? Sure.

Had it steadily lost business to the mega-resorts that had sprung up nearby? No argument there.

Had my beloved late grandfather—who’d run Snowberry for the past three decades—been a visionary businessman? Definitely not. He’d loved the place just as it was and never saw fit to change anything.

We’d all known the resort was struggling, but we’d been shocked to learn how bad it really was after his death two years ago. Somehow we’d wobbled through a couple more seasons, kept the lights on and the lifts running, but the situation was dire.

We needed to renovate. We needed to rebrand. We needed money and marketing and modernization.

I understood why my frail eighty-five-year-old grandmother didn’t want to take it all on. But let it go just so some greedy suits could tear it down? See my childhood memories reduced to rubble? Watch a wrecking ball smash not just my home but my family’s legacy?

No fucking way.

Snowberry was everything to me. And I was determined to hang on to it, even if I had to chain myself to the chairlift.

Which I might.

“Your Uncle Roddy thinks I should sell,” said Gran, whose ever-present bubble-gum pink lipstick had left a mark on the edge of her teacup. I stared at it, thinking, Of course he does.

My dad’s brother Roddy had abandoned Snowberry Lodge two decades ago, right along with his wife and kid. Currently, he lived in Miami Beach and was engaged to a woman young enough to be his daughter (my cousin Tabitha, who couldn’t stand either one of them . . . not that I blamed her).

While he wouldn’t make any money on the sale of Snowberry in the short term, he saw dollar signs for himself down the road if Gran banked millions. He was her only living child.

But he didn’t give a shit about the place. He never had.

“Give it to me, Gran,” I begged. “I can turn it around. I’m young, I’ve got the energy, and I’ve got all kinds of ideas for this place.”

“Ideas cost money,” she pointed out.

“I’ll get investors.” I said it with confidence, but the truth was I’d already had a few meetings with banks that had not gone well. They wanted business plans and projections. Profit and loss sheets. Cost-benefit analysis. Market research. I didn’t know anything about that stuff—I’d tried studying business in college, but the classroom hadn’t been for me. For the last nine years, I’d run our ski school during the winter and worked the front desk during the summer. I knew every square inch of this place like my own body—it felt like an extension of me.

Gran shook her head. “There’s no time for that, I’m afraid. And the truth is, darling, I couldn’t give Snowberry to you even if I wanted to.”

I blinked. “What? Why not?”

“I’m sorry to break it to you like this, but it’s time you knew.” Gran took another agonizingly slow sip of tea. “The will and trust your great-grandparents set up make it clear that only a married couple can inherit Snowberry Lodge.”

“Wait a minute.” I cocked my head, certain I must have misheard. “It’s in your will that whoever inherits Snowberry has to be married?”

“Yes.”

I gaped at her, goose-necked. “Why haven’t I ever heard about this?”

She lifted her bony shoulders. “One never wants to discuss morbid matters, darling.”

“Oh my God.” My temper was threatening to ignite, but I stayed calm. I wouldn’t win her over with fireworks—Gran appreciated civility. “But—but you can change the will, right?”

She shook her head. “It’s set up that way for a reason, Alexandra. This has always been a family-run resort. It’s too much for one person to handle alone, especially in the present circumstances.”

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Hideaway Heart (Cherry Tree Harbor #2) Read Online Melanie Harlow http://www.ilovenovels.com/hideaway-heart-cherry-tree-harbor-2-read-online-melanie-harlow Wed, 16 Aug 2023 21:45:16 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/hideaway-heart-cherry-tree-harbor-2-read-online-melanie-harlow Genre: Contemporary, Erotic Authors: Melanie Harlow Series: Cherry Tree Harbor Series by Melanie Harlow
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Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >97

All I wanted was a break–two weeks off from being Pixie Hart, country music sensation, and fourteen days of peace, privacy, and solitude as plain old Kelly Jo Sullivan.

But thanks to some overzealous paparazzi, my family refuses to let me go anywhere alone, and I’m stuck sharing this tiny cabin with a tall, dark, and bearded stranger.

And guess what? There’s only one bed.

Well, he can couch it.

Xander Buckley might be hotter than a stolen blow torch, and I get that he’s a former Navy SEAL and all, but the man gives new meaning to the words overbearing, overprotective, bossy alpha male. I can’t even post a photo on social media without him warning me it’s not safe, or take a morning jog without him following behind.

But he’s made it clear that what he says goes, and if I don’t like it, I can kiss my vacation goodbye.

Instead, I end up kissing him.

I don’t even know how it happened–one minute we were at each other’s throats, the next we were at each other’s mercy. What’s even more shocking is how good we are together. He understands my need for freedom, and I understand his need for control.

But emotional trust doesn’t come easily to me. And we’re on two completely different paths.

Without question, I’d put my life in his hands.

Just don’t ask me to give him my heart.

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

ONE

xander

I’ll just admit it. I’ve got an ego.

I’m not a jerk or anything—in fact, I think I’m a pretty good fucking time—it’s just that I have a lot of confidence that if a thing can be done, I can do it. And I tell it like it is.

But I’m also a nice guy. I believe in fair fights, second chances, and paying my debts. So when Kevin Sullivan called me that Wednesday night for a favor, I didn’t hesitate.

“You don’t even have to ask twice, Sully,” I said as I opened the sliding glass door and went out onto the patio, still sweaty from a run. “Name the time and place.”

The voice from my past laughed. “Don’t you want to know what it is first?”

“Won’t matter. I know what I owe you.” My right leg bore scars that served as a daily reminder of two things—the heroism of the man I was talking to and how close I’d come to dying six years ago.

“It’s a job,” he said.

“Talk to me.” I grabbed the top of my right foot and stretched out my quad. Those five miles had been a little rough today, had taken me a little longer. I blamed the late August heat. Or maybe my injury. Definitely not my age—I might have been thirty-one, but I felt eighteen.

Mostly.

“I know you’ve been out of the game for a while, but—”

“Not that long,” I told him. “I just left Cole Security about six months ago.”

“That’s what I heard. You moved back home? Opened a bar?”

“The bar isn’t quite open yet. I bought it over the summer, but it needed pretty extensive renovations. If all goes according to plan, opening will be three weeks from tomorrow.” Which meant I really didn’t have time for a side gig right now, but that didn’t matter. If Sully needed me, I was going to come through. “Tell me about the job. Is it domestic or international?”

“Domestic. Practically right in your backyard.”

“My backyard?”

That didn’t make much sense. Currently, I was living with my dad in the house where my four siblings and I had grown up. I glanced at the lawn I’d mowed a thousand times, at the rose bushes our mom had loved and our dad maintained in her memory, at the towering maple tree my brothers and I used to climb while our little sister cried that she wanted to play pirate ship too.

My plan had been to move out over the summer, but the bar was eating all my savings. I even had my eye on a house not too far from my brother Austin and his family, but I’d had to choose between making a down payment and getting the sound system I really wanted for Buckley’s Pub—and I went for the sound. I wanted the place to be comfortable but high-end, somewhere you could wear your ball cap and team jersey but drink expensive-as-fuck whiskey while you watched the game.

“I’m in Cherry Tree Harbor, Michigan, Sully,” I told him, dropping into one of the chairs on the patio. “Who needs security way the hell up here?”

“My little sister.”

I tried to remember if Sully had ever mentioned a sibling. We’d known each other a couple months before I got injured, but as the newest guy on our SEAL platoon, he’d understood he was expected to be seen and not heard. “I’m not sure I knew you had a sister.”

“Her real name is Kelly Jo Sullivan, but professionally she goes by Pixie Hart.”

“Pixie Hart, the country music singer? That’s your sister? How did I not know that?”

“I don’t talk about it much,” he said. “People can get weird about it. And I’m protective of her.”

“I get it.” I was protective too, but fucking hell. A celebrity?

I scowled as I recalled the one and only time I’d agreed to provide security for a rock band. They’d ignored every single safety precaution, trashed their hotel rooms, and generally behaved like drunk, entitled brats, making it impossible for me to do my job. I’d vowed I’d never take another celebrity gig again.

But it was Sully—I couldn’t say no.

“So what’s the deal?” I scrubbed a hand over my beard. “She need security for a concert or something? Music festival?”

“No. She needs a twenty-four-seven bodyguard during her two-week vacation.”

“Twenty-four-seven for two weeks?” The job got even less palatable. “I want to help, Sully, but I’m about to open a business. I can’t leave town.”

“You wouldn’t have to,” he said quickly. “She rented a place outside Petoskey for the first two weeks of September. That’s near you, right?”

“Yes,” I said warily.

“She should not stay there alone, no matter what she says.”

“And what does she say?”

“She’s a bit resistant to the idea.”

“What’s ‘a bit?’”

“I believe her words were, ‘I don’t want some Navy SEAL goon up in my business while I’m on vacation.’”

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Runaway Love (Cherry Tree Harbor #1) Read Online Melanie Harlow http://www.ilovenovels.com/runaway-love-cherry-tree-harbor-1-read-online-melanie-harlow Tue, 09 May 2023 20:48:41 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/runaway-love-cherry-tree-harbor-1-read-online-melanie-harlow Genre: Contemporary, Erotic, Forbidden Authors: Melanie Harlow Series: Cherry Tree Harbor Series by Melanie Harlow
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Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 92417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >95

Yes, I’m a single dad who needs a nanny for the summer.

But hire the stranded runaway bride who shows up on my doorstep in a wedding gown with no references, no skills, and no experience?

No one is that desperate.

Except within twenty-four hours, down-on-her-luck Veronica Sutton manages to charm my kids, my family, and half the population of Cherry Tree Harbor into believing she’s perfect for the job.

And for me.

It’s not that I can’t see the appeal–those baby blue eyes? The endless legs? That mouth made for trouble? But I’ve got enough on my plate, raising two kids on my own and keeping the family business alive. I don’t have the time or the inclination to fall for an outspoken city girl.

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

ONE

veronica

Sometimes, when the universe wants you to change the course of your life, it sends you a sign.

Perhaps a recurring dream. Or you keep seeing the same numbers everywhere. Or hearing the same song over and over again.

Me?

I got a sext.

I had very little experience with sexting—none at all, really—but in my opinion, this one wasn’t bad.

It was from my fiancé, Cornelius “Neil” Vanderhoof V.

Hey Valerie. I can’t stop thinking about your naked body in my bed last night. Your sexy mouth. Those hands all over me. The way I licked every inch of your skin.

There were even some emojis. An eggplant. A cat. Some raindrops.

While I was taking it all in, another text arrived.

Suddenly I was subjected to an up-close and personal pic of the Vanderhoof family jewels, making it very clear that Neil was eager to repeat last night’s activities, right now if possible.

Look how bad I want you right now. Think we have time for an afternoon delight?

An afternoon delight?

Today?

There were a few obvious problems with this.

First, my name wasn’t Valerie.

Second, I hadn’t been in his bed last night.

Finally, we were going to be busy this afternoon.

GETTING MARRIED.

In fact, I was already tucked away in the little “bride’s room” off the vestibule of Cherry Tree Harbor’s charming little Chapel by the Sea. I was wearing the big white strapless dress Neil had liked best. My veil was pinned above the elegant chignon he had suggested. My makeup had been professionally done, and it was understated and classic—just like Neil had requested. He’d even sent me a photo from Pinterest so I could get the look just right.

A natural eye. A faint blush on the cheeks. A demure, nude lip.

“But I like a red lip,” I said.

“I know you do, teacup, but that’s more of a showy thing, isn’t it? Like stage makeup?”

My shoulders stiffened. Was that a dig at my past? When Neil and I met, I was a Radio City Rockette. He was in the audience one night, and he said when the curtain went up, he took one look at me and knew in an instant he had to have me. He waited with flowers at the stage door every night for a week before I finally gave in and had dinner with him.

“It’s just that Mother would prefer we keep things toned down,” he went on.

“Things like my personality?”

“Don’t make such a fuss, teacup. It’s just lipstick. And you know how she is.”

Did I ever.

I’d been putting up with Bootsy Vanderhoof’s subtle judgment and criticism for a solid year. She handed out her opinions like they were gold coins, about everything from my wardrobe (too black) to my job (too splashy) to my complexion (too pale) to my laugh (too loud).

“Yes,” I said through my teeth.

“Good.” Neil had given me a patronizing kiss on the cheek—he’d perfected that move—and moved on to how he’d prefer me to wear flats with my wedding dress instead of heels. He wasn’t short, but I was a solid five-foot-ten, and two-inch heels made us about even in stature.

This was not in keeping with the way Neil saw the world.

“But Neil,” I said, “I wore heels when I had my final fitting. If I wear flats with my dress, it will be too long.”

“No need to fuss, the shop will hem it for you,” he said confidently. “We’ve still got two weeks, and we’re certainly good enough customers. All three of my sisters bought their wedding gowns there.” His voice took on the haughty tone of someone who’d done a massive favor for you that you didn’t properly appreciate. “The Vanderhoof family has practically kept that shop in business.”

I pressed my lips together. I knew alllll about his three older sisters’ weddings—where they bought their gowns and what flowers they carried and what foods were served at dinner and what music was played at the yacht club receptions. Every one of them had done practically the same exact thing, as if the same June wedding was on repeat three years in a row—ours would be the fourth. The guests had to feel like they were in the movie Groundhog Day at this point.

But if I’d learned anything in the last year, it was that the Vanderhoofs of Chicago’s Gold Coast believed in tradition. Tradition ruled the day. You did not ignore it, buck it, or break it. You didn’t dare criticize it. You embraced it, reverently, eagerly, yet nonchalantly—no one likes a fuss—and then the Vanderhoofs would approve of you.

And the crazy thing was, I’d wanted that approval. I’d worked so hard to earn it, to be treated like I fit in to their family. Twelve months of allowing myself to be shaped into a different person. Of trying to distract myself from grief. Of doing my best to keep a promise I never should have made in the first place. I’d been so desperate to belong.

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Tempt – Cloverleigh Farms Read Online Melanie Harlow http://www.ilovenovels.com/tempt-cloverleigh-farms-read-online-melanie-harlow Fri, 25 Nov 2022 12:33:12 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/tempt-cloverleigh-farms-read-online-melanie-harlow Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Forbidden, Romance Authors: Melanie Harlow Advertisement

Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 92140 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)

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You’ve heard the story about the wedding planner who falls for the groom?
Well, this is the one where she falls for his father.
And that groom? He’s my ex.

I didn’t realize who the gruff, gorgeous older man was the night he rescued me from a creep in a Manhattan hotel bar. All I knew was that a hot, bearded stranger with a protective streak showed up right when I needed a reminder that real gentlemen still exist.

(Although he left his manners behind after asking me up to his room.)

It was the hottest night of my life, but I never thought I’d see the former Navy SEAL again.

Imagine my surprise at the rehearsal dinner one week later, when my sexy one-night stand is introduced as the father of the groom. Even more surprising? That temptation we felt in New York was no fluke.

In public, we pretend there’s nothing between us.

In private, we can’t keep our hands off each other.

The situation is beyond complicated. Zach never even knew he’d fathered a child until recently, and he wants to earn his son’s trust and respect. As for me, I’m looking for a man who wants to start a family, and Zach has made it clear he’s not that man. He’s fifteen years older, newly divorced, and he lives across the country.

But no matter how many times we draw the line, we keep crossing it.

Nothing so wrong should ever feel so right.

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

CHAPTER 1

MILLIE

SEPTEMBER

“It’s official,” I said to my sister over the phone. “I’m cursed.”

Winnie laughed. “You’re not cursed.”

“Oh no?” I walked over to my hotel room window and peeked out at the city lights, blurred by sheets of rain. Manhattan was under siege. “Let’s add things up. A hurricane pummels the East Coast the day I’m supposed to fly home, and my flight is canceled.”

“Lots of flights were canceled, not just yours.”

“I had to spend a lot of money to stay one more night in this expensive hotel.”

“One more night at a four-star hotel is not a curse, it’s an unexpected gift. And you can write it off—you’re in New York on business. I want to hear how it went today, by the way.”

“It was fine,” I said grudgingly. “The usual wedding planner expo—noise and chaos. But I did get a few new ideas. Cottagecore weddings are supposedly going to be the trend for a while, and that’s a vibe that suits Cloverleigh Farms.” I frowned. “But the fashion show bothered me, it was not size-inclusive at all.”

“Seriously?”

“Same old, same old. The models were beautiful, but they didn’t look like any of the real brides I’ve ever worked with. Why can’t there be some curvy girls in these shows, or short girls, or top-heavy girls, or brides with bigger butts?”

“I don’t know.”

“I do. Because archaic beauty standards still abound in fashion, and the wedding industry is no exception.”

“So do something about it.”

“I would, but I’m very busy explaining to you why I’m cursed.”

My sister sighed loudly.

“My ex-boyfriend is getting married next month, and I had to plan the wedding.”

“You introduced them!”

“I know, but it’s still sort of humiliating.”

“Think of it as a compliment, Mills.” Winnie could always find a bright side when I saw doom and gloom. “Even though they knew it might be slightly awkward, they still chose you.”

“They chose Cloverleigh Farms because the bride works at the winery and got a discount,” I corrected. “I just happened to be the event planner there. They couldn’t have one without the other.”

“Still, discount or not, a lot of brides would have gone with another venue altogether rather than let her fiancé’s ex-girlfriend handle the most important day of her life. I think the trust she placed in you is a testament to your professional reputation.”

“I guess.” I turned away from the window and sprawled across the bed on my belly. “But this is the third ex of mine who’s gone on to propose to the very next girl he dated after me. The third, Winnie.”

“So you’re a good luck charm, not a curse!”

“A good luck charm for them. What am I doing wrong?”

“Nothing! Be honest, Millie. Did you really want to be Mrs. Mason Holt?”

“No,” I admitted. “He’s cute, but he was too young for me. I didn’t think the four-year age gap would matter that much, but after a few weeks, I knew it was never going to work.”

“You knew after a few weeks? You dated Mason for months!”

“I know, but the spark wore off fast. Our relationship was strictly platonic by the end.”

“Why didn’t you break it off sooner?”

“Because I felt sorry for him. His mom had recently died, his stepdad was out of the picture, he never knew his real father . . . He seemed so vulnerable.”

Winnie laughed. “This is your problem. You date lost puppies.”

“I can’t help it. Lost puppies are so cute. So loving and needy.”

“Too needy.”

“I like being needed. It makes me feel good.” Rolling onto my back, I sighed. “It’s just really frustrating that I’m thirty-two and still haven’t found the one yet. Honestly, I thought I’d have like three kids by now.”

“You don’t need a man to have a kid, Mills. You just need some genetic material, and I think there’s an app for that.” She giggled.

“Be serious,” I told her, although I’d secretly googled sperm banks near me like ten times in the last few months and then immediately deleted my search history.

“I am being serious. You’d be an amazing mom, and if that’s what you want, you should go for it.”

“I want a family,” I clarified. “I want a dad for my kids, not just someone’s genetic material. And I’d like to grow old with someone. You and Felicity managed to find the one. Why can’t I?”

“Finding the one isn’t something you manage, like a project or an event. It takes time. I might be younger than you, but I kissed a lot of frogs before I met Dex. And even he sort of seemed like a frog at first—twelve years older than me, divorced with two young daughters, grumpy as hell and positive he’d never want to be in a relationship.”

I snorted. “That didn’t last long.”

“No, but it wasn’t easy. And look at Felicity.”

Our middle sister had recently spoken her vows in the orchard at Cloverleigh Farms, after a whirlwind courtship that had involved a fake engagement to her best friend from high school—the one who’d loved her all along. “That should have been easy, but they made it complicated.”

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Tease – Cloverleigh Farms Read Online Melanie Harlow http://www.ilovenovels.com/tease-cloverleigh-farms-read-online-melanie-harlow Sat, 30 Jul 2022 10:04:09 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/tease-cloverleigh-farms-read-online-melanie-harlow Genre: Billionaire, Contemporary, Romance Authors: Melanie Harlow Advertisement

Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 93578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)

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Read Online Books/Novels:	Tease - Cloverleigh Farms
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Melanie Harlow
Language:	English
ISBN/ ASIN:	B09TNQKGXY
Book Information:
Felicity I didn’t mean to say I was engaged to a hot billionaire–it just slipped out. In my defense, I’d had a really bad haircut, a really strong drink, and I was trying to save face in front of the Mean Girl at my high school reunion. Lucky for me, I happen to know a hot billionaire. Hutton French and I have been friends forever, and even though big social gatherings are not his thing, I called him from the coat closet and begged him for a favor–show up and play my fake fiancé for the night. Except that word of our engagement spreads like wildfire. Our families are ecstatic. We’re front page news. My little food blog is launched into the stratosphere. Of course, I offer to set the record straight right away, but Hutton wants to give it a little time–the phony engagement is keeping his matrimony-mad mother and every matchmaking granny in town off his back. He even suggests I move in with him to make the ruse more real. And we don’t stop there. We practice kissing. Undressing each other. Saying things–and doing things–we’d never dare if we weren’t pretending. Because it’s all for show, right? We’re just role-playing. Hutton doesn’t want a real relationship, and I don’t want to get hurt. But the more time we spend faking it, the more I start to wonder. Could Hutton French and I actually be right for each other, or is it all just one big tease?
Books by Author:	Melanie Harlow

ONE

FELICITY

It was a bad day even before I picked up the scissors.

Not that I realized it. In fact, I was feeling pretty good that morning.

Sure, I’d just turned twenty-eight and was back home living with my parents, but that was only temporary. Tonight at my ten-year high school reunion, when people asked what I was doing with my life, I had a response all ready.

Me? Oh, I’m an entrepreneur, I’d say. I started a vegetarian catering company and food blog called The Veggie Vixen. I made some of the appetizers tonight. Have you tried the zucchini fritters?

I wasn’t in the top echelon of lifestyle social media influencers or anything, and I still had a part-time job as a sous chef, but my follower count was growing steadily, and last night The Veggie Vixen had catered its first large-scale event: a wedding at Cloverleigh Farms.

My older sister Millie was the event planner at Cloverleigh, and even though the bride had been a bit difficult to work with during the planning—demanding a huge, high-end reception with all the frills on a bargain budget and asking why we couldn’t “move a staircase” so she could make her entrance with the light hitting her a certain way—Millie and I had managed to put together a beautiful event for her, despite torrential summer rains that necessitated a last-minute switch to an indoor ceremony and cocktail hour. The bride and all her guests had raved about the food, flowers, and service all night.

So when I glanced at my phone and saw the notification from Dearly Beloved (the hottest wedding planning app out there) that I finally had my first review, I grabbed my glasses from my nightstand and eagerly tapped through to The Veggie Vixen’s profile to see it.

YUCKY AND OVERPRICED!!!

Reviewed by He Put A Big A** Ring On It

I am not a vegetarian but I thought it would be cheaper to not serve meat at my wedding. I WAS WRONG. Everything was crazy expensive and tasted terrible. The cheese toasts were soggy and even the meatballs did not have meat. I did not want ugly gross boring vegetables at my wedding but that was exactly what I got. If I could, I would give no stars. Just ew. DO NOT RECOMMEND. I want a refund.

“Cheese toasts!” I shrieked. “My avocado, pomegranate, and chèvre crostini are not cheese toasts!”

I read it again and again, my entire body trembling with rage. Then I called Millie.

“Hello?” she said, her voice low and croaky, as if she’d been asleep.

“I did not serve anything soggy!” I shouted.

“What are you talking about? What time is it?”

“It’s eight-thirty. The bride from last night left a shitty review on my Dearly Beloved page!”

“She did?” Millie sounded more alert.

“Yes! A totally horrible one-star review.”

“Hang on. Let me grab my laptop.”

I grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked on it, wondering if it was possible to get a bad review taken down. You couldn’t just tell lies in a review, right? Wasn’t that like libel or something?

“Oh, Jesus,” Millie said. “This is bonkers. She told me when she left how happy she was with everything.” My sister started to laugh. “‘Even the meatballs did not have meat?’ They were vegetarian! What did she expect?”

“It’s not funny, Mills.” Throwing the covers aside, I got out of bed and went over to my dresser, where I began to rummage around in my makeup bag, looking for scissors. I needed scissors.

“You know what?” Millie said. “I have a notification that Cloverleigh Farms has a new Dearly Beloved review too.” Then she groaned. “Looks like she was busy this morning. Why is she online posting bullshit reviews? Shouldn’t she be packing for her honeymoon or something?”

“What does yours say?”

“It says, ‘The peonies were wilted, the cheese toasts were soggy, the staff was rude, and the vodka was watered down. Everything was cheap cheap cheap even though I paid top dollar. I don’t know how this place has so many great reviews, they ruined my wedding. My ceremony wasn’t even in the place they’d promised me it would be. I want a refund.’ That last sentence is in all caps, by the way.”

My temper flared again, along with my nostrils. “Those. Were not. Cheese toasts!”

“Relax,” Millie soothed. “It’s obviously just an attempt at a money grab.”

“But people on this app don’t know that, Millie. They just see a one-star review and assume I serve bad food!”

“Who’s really going to listen to a woman who refers to herself as ‘He Put a Big Ass Ring On It?’ Right there, it’s obvious her taste is questionable.”

“Easy for you to say.” I gave up on my makeup bag and stormed across the hall into the bathroom, where I began opening drawers and foraging through them. “Cloverleigh Farms has been around forever, and its reputation is established. It has a bajillion great reviews on Dearly Beloved already, but The Veggie Vixen is brand new—and now my only review says yucky and just ew!”

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Taste – Cloverleigh Farms Read Online Melanie Harlow http://www.ilovenovels.com/taste-cloverleigh-farms-read-online-melanie-harlow Tue, 08 Mar 2022 20:37:32 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/taste-cloverleigh-farms-read-online-melanie-harlow Genre: Contemporary, Erotic, Romance Authors: Melanie Harlow Advertisement

Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 95256 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)

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Read Online Books/Novels:	Taste - Cloverleigh Farms
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Melanie Harlow
Language:	English
ISBN/ ASIN:	B09LXJ1F9Y
Book Information:
The last person on earth I want to be stranded with is Gianni Lupo. But thanks to the blizzard of the century, I’m trapped in a roadside motel room with that cocky bastard for two straight days. With one small bed. Some women might thank Mother Nature for delivering a polar vortex that maroons them with six feet of solid muscle, those deep blue eyes, that sexy grin--but not me. I’ve known Gianni Lupo all my life, and he’s never brought me anything but bad luck and trouble. So when the tension between us explodes with enough fiery heat to melt my icy defenses, I should have known what the disastrous end result would be-- A big fat plus sign. After the snow melts, I’m left with more than just memories of the night we spent keeping each other warm. And he might be a rising star on the culinary scene, but he’s got no idea how to handle this bun in the oven. He says he wants to do the right thing, but I’m not about to spend the rest of my life feeling like someone settled for me. But just when I think I’ve got Gianni Lupo all figured out, he gives me a taste of the man he could be, of the family we could become, of the way he could love me if I let him. I’m terrified of falling for him. But one taste might be all it takes.
Books by Author:	Melanie Harlow

ONE

GIANNI

I didn’t have to go through the tasting room at Abelard Vineyards to get to the kitchen—in fact, it was out of my way—but I never missed an opportunity to mess with Ellie Fournier.

Sure, she was the boss’s daughter and our moms had been best friends forever, but I’d been pushing her buttons since we were six years old and didn’t see any reason to stop just because we were now adults and co-workers.

If anything, it was even more fun now that the restaurant her parents had hired me to open at their winery was up and running. Since she was in charge of the wine list and worked the floor as sommelier, she had to put up with me every single day.

Believe me, I made the most of it.

And I always got a rise out of her. You’d think she’d just ignore me by now, but no—she consistently gave me the satisfaction of a scowl, a dirty look, a barb hurled in my direction. But I couldn’t help myself. There was just something so irresistible about getting under her skin—I was a kid in a candy store around Ellie Fournier.

I took the steps down to the lower level and found her in the usual spot behind the tasting room’s long wooden bar, inspecting wineglasses with a critical eye, lifting them up to the light to ensure they were each perfectly clean. It was Monday morning, which meant the tasting room and restaurant were closed. Although I loved a crowd, the quiet was kind of nice. Even in January, weekends here were jam-packed. Etoile, with only eight tables, was booked out every Friday and Saturday night for months. We had phenomenal reviews for everything from the food to the wine to the setting to the service. I’d like to take all the credit—and sometimes around Ellie, I did, just to bug her—but the truth was, much of it had to be shared with her.

She was fucking dynamite on the floor every night. Smart and energetic and approachable, with an innate talent for pairing food and wine. And she never came off as stuffy or snobby like a lot of sommeliers did—she was genuinely friendly and welcoming to everyone.

Except me.

“Morning, princess,” I called as I approached the bar. Since it wasn’t technically a workday, I was surprised to see her wearing charcoal dress pants and a black blouse that tied in a bow at the neck. I swear she had that blouse in every color of the rainbow—she never wore anything low-cut. Her long, reddish-brown hair was neatly pulled back into a ponytail, the way it always was on the job.

“Could you please not call me that?” She frowned at a smudge on the glass in her hand and set it aside. “I’m not a princess.”

“But you were.” When we were kids, Ellie used to compete in pageants, and I never got tired of teasing her about them. “And old habits are hard to break.”

“Try, please.”

I could tell from her tone and expression she was already in a mood. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.”

“Boy trouble? Need me to bust some kneecaps?”

She rolled her light brown eyes. “If you must know, it’s the weather forecast.”

“What about it?”

“They’re predicting a ton of snow later tonight.” She picked up a white linen napkin and rubbed the rim of a glass. “Like a solid ten inches.”

“Really?”

“Yes. They’re calling it the blizzard of the century.” She put the glass in a quilted storage box. “How have you not heard about it? It’s all over the news.”

“I never watch the news.”

“Why not?”

“Do you ever feel good after watching the news?”

She thought for a second. “I guess not.”

“That’s because it’s all bullshit created to scare you into watching more news, so they can solve the problems they made up in the first place.”

One of her brows peaked. “Says the guy who starred on a reality TV cooking show called Lick My Plate. Talk about bullshit.”

“Hey, I’m not saying Lick My Plate wasn’t bullshit, but at least it wasn’t pretending to be anything but entertainment.” I took a sip of my coffee. “And I was very entertaining. My tagline was ‘too hot to handle.’ And whenever I was onscreen, they played that old song called ‘Fever.’”

“I wouldn’t know,” she said, turning away with a shrug. “I never saw it.”

“Really? Because your mom told me you guys never missed an episode.”

She picked up another glass and held it to the light. “I may have been in the room when it was on a couple times.”

My grin widened at the lie. “Anyway, what do you have against getting a solid ten inches tonight? Sounds like a good time to me.”

“Spare me the juvenile dick jokes, please.”

“Does that mean I can make adult dick jokes?”

She set the glass on the bar with a clank and glared at me. “This is serious, Gianni. If I can’t get to Harbor Springs tonight, I’ll lose my opportunity to meet Fiona Duff.”

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Ignite – Cloverleigh Farms Read Online Melanie Harlow http://www.ilovenovels.com/ignite-cloverleigh-farms-read-online-melanie-harlow Fri, 26 Nov 2021 04:59:11 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/ignite-cloverleigh-farms-read-online-melanie-harlow Genre: Contemporary, Romance Authors: Melanie Harlow Advertisement

Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 103061 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)

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Read Online Books/Novels:	Ignite - Cloverleigh Farms
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Melanie Harlow
Language:	English
ISBN/ ASIN:	9798753974075
Book Information:
My new neighbor is a firefighter—and a scorching hot single dad—but I swear I didn’t set off that smoke alarm on purpose. (And I was beyond mortified when he rushed in and saw me naked.) Nothing happened, of course—because I, Winnie MacAllister, romance junkie and owner of a constantly broken heart, have sworn off men for one solid year. Even protective men with chiseled jaws, bulging biceps, and deep brown eyes that make my breath come faster. Even former SEALs with broad chests and strong hands that make my skin sizzle. Even gorgeous, grumpy guys who have their hands full raising two adorable little girls and claim they don’t believe in love. Until Dex kisses me one night, and I drop all my defenses. (Also my underwear.) He says he’s not gentle, and he’s right. He says I should take the dream job I’m offered in another state, and he’s right. He says he’s too old for me and could never be the man I deserve. He’s wrong. Dex and I might be twelve years apart, but the fire between us is the kind that will never burn out. How can I convince him to give happily-ever-after with me a chance?
Books by Author:	Melanie Harlow

One

Dex

“Daddy,” a small voice whispered.

I lay completely still and kept my eyes closed. My alarm was set for six and hadn’t gone off yet, but my daughters had been up for at least twenty minutes. I’d heard them talking through the thin wall separating my bedroom from the one they shared in my crappy apartment. Now they were playing their favorite game, which was to stand next to me while I slept and talk shit about me.

“Daddy.” The voice was a little louder now, and I recognized it—my five-year-old, Luna. “We heard you snoring.”

I continued playing possum.

(And for the record, I don’t fucking snore.)

“Daddy always looks so funny when he sleeps.” Luna got the game started. “Don’t you think?”

“Yes.” That was Hallie, my eight-year-old. “He makes grumpy faces.”

“And weird breathing noises.”

“Yeah. And he’s so hairy.”

“Daddy’s not that hairy,” Luna whispered defensively. “Just some right there.”

Since the blankets were at my waist, I imagined her little finger pointing at my chest, although they often made fun of my hairy legs and scruffy jaw.

“Yeah, but have you ever seen his armpits?” Hallie asked. “They’re super hairy.”

Just to mess with them, I flopped one arm over my head, putting one armpit on display.

“Ew.” Luna giggled. “You’re right. Gross.”

“I’m never getting tattoos,” Hallie announced. The girls were both fascinated and horrified by the ink on my biceps.

“Me neither.”

“Why would anybody let someone draw on them with a needle?”

“I don’t know.”

“You could just use a permanent marker and it wouldn’t hurt.”

“That’s a good idea,” Luna said enthusiastically. “Let’s do it on each other later.”

I was about to sit up and inform them there would be no fucking tattoos given with permanent markers on my watch—I could already hear their mother yelling at me for it—when Hallie said, “Let’s poke him.”

One of them poked my ribs with a bony finger.

“Grrr.” I growled long and low and opened one eye. “Who poked the bear?”

“She did.” Standing beside my bed, they pointed at each other.

The hall light lit them from behind, illuminating their messy hair and summer nightgowns—Hallie’s had owls all over it and Luna’s had a unicorn on the front. I couldn’t see their feet, but I knew Luna’s were bare and Hallie had socks on because she hated being barefoot, even in summer.

“What do you want?” I grabbed the covers and pulled them over my head. “I’m hibernating.”

“Hibernation is for the winter, Daddy,” said Hallie. “It’s August right now. You’re just sleeping.”

“Am I?” I said from beneath the blanket.

“Well, you were.”

“You know why?” Coming out from beneath the covers, I reached over to the nightstand and tapped my phone screen. “Because it’s not even fucking five a.m., and that is what normal human beings do at this hour.”

“Mom says you’re not supposed to say that word around us,” Hallie reminded me.

“Mom’s not fucking here.” Remembering not to curse was a tough job after twelve years in the Navy, something my ex didn’t seem to appreciate.

“Can we get up now, Daddy?” Luna tugged the blankets impatiently.

“No. I didn’t even get up this early in boot camp.”

“But we can’t sleep.” Luna hopped onto my bed, climbed over me, and got under the covers.

“Why not?”

“We’re too excited about the new house.”

“Oh.” I was excited about today’s move too—I’d never liked this apartment. And despite being called the Luxury Harbor Complex, the place was neither luxurious nor anywhere close to the harbor.

But I hadn’t had much time or choice when I was looking for somewhere to live after Naomi asked me to move out two years ago. All I wanted was somewhere close to the elementary school, somewhere I could afford, and somewhere not too far from the fire station where I worked. As soon as I moved in, I’d started saving for a down payment.

The new place wasn’t big by any measure—it was a two-story, attached townhouse. But it was an end unit, much roomier and newer than the apartment, and the surroundings were way better. There was a grassy area for the girls to play out back, a park within walking distance, and a pool. We’d have two full bathrooms, a garage, and I wouldn’t be able to hear anyone else’s arguments, toilets, or televisions through the walls.

Was it enough to make up for the fact that they’d have to go back and forth between two places for the rest of their childhood? Or wonder why their mom and dad didn’t love each other anymore? Or erase from their memory all the fights they’d heard?

Probably not.

But it was somewhere we’d get a fresh start, a permanent place to call home, and a chance for me to prove I could be the kind of father I wanted to be.

That was enough for me.

“Listen, girls.” I yawned loudly. “Moving into the new house is exciting, but I promise it’s still going to be that way once the sun comes up, so let’s try to get a little more shut-eye.”

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Tie Me Down (Bellamy Creek #4) Read Online Melanie Harlow http://www.ilovenovels.com/tie-me-down-bellamy-creek-4-read-online-melanie-harlow Sat, 29 May 2021 22:37:21 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/tie-me-down-bellamy-creek-4-read-online-melanie-harlow Genre: Contemporary, Romance Authors: Melanie Harlow Series: Bellamy Creek Series by Melanie Harlow
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Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 100713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)

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Read Online Books/Novels:	Tie Me Down (Bellamy Creek #4)
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Melanie Harlow
Language:	English
ISBN/ ASIN:	9798501648555
Book Information:
Just friends. That’s all Beckett Weaver and I have ever been. Sure, he’s a hot cowboy who left Wall Street behind to take over his family’s ranch. Yes, I’ve had a secret crush on him since we were seventeen. And who wouldn’t appreciate those strong hands, that massive chest, and the way he fills out a pair of Levis? He makes a girl sweat just looking at him . . . and I look. A lot. But I’m a single mom trying to move on with my life, and he’s running that ranch single-handedly while taking care of his elderly father. We don’t even live in the same state. I only returned to my hometown of Bellamy Creek to sell my late mother’s house, and he just invited me and my son to stay with him because he’s got a big heart. That’s not the only big thing he’s got--which I discover the night I finally sneak across the hall to his bedroom and shed my inhibitions right alongside my pajamas. And once we give into each other, we can’t stop. The hayloft. The bed of his truck. The dock by the pond. Nothing has ever felt so right, but his past has taught him not to believe in happily ever after, and every perfect night I spend in his arms brings us closer to goodbye. Like any cowboy, he’s good with a rope and knows exactly how to tie me up. But what if I want him to tie me down?
Books in Series:	Bellamy Creek Series by Melanie Harlow
Books by Author:	Melanie Harlow

Fifteen Years Ago

BECKETT

“Who wants to go first?” Cole asked.

All of us stared at the empty tackle box on my family’s kitchen table. Griffin had brought it over, and I’d taken out all the trays so it could serve a different function.

Time capsule.

Since we were kids, my three best friends—Cole Mitchell, Griffin Dempsey, and Enzo Moretti—and I had planned on burying a time capsule the summer after we graduated from high school. We’d heard about time capsules years ago, in fifth grade social studies class, and all four of us agreed then and there that we were going to do it.

After some discussion, we’d agreed that it made the most sense to bury it somewhere on my family’s farm. We figured anyone else’s family might move someday, but Weaver Ranch had been in my family for over a hundred years and it would be in my family for generations to come.

I was going to make sure of it.

My plan was to major in finance, get an MBA, and secure one of those Wall Street jobs where you could make millions if you had the brains, the guts, and the work ethic.

I had all three, and I’d use them to help my family.

“I’ll go,” said Griffin, placing his beat-up backpack on the table and reaching inside it. He pulled out his graduation tassels, a photograph of him standing between his dad and grandfather in front of the open hood of an old truck they were restoring, and a folded sheet of paper.

“What’s that?” Moretti asked, pointing at the paper.

“It’s a copy of the letter from the Marine Corps telling me when and where to report to boot camp.”

We nodded and watched Griffin put those three items in the box. He was heading out in three weeks for Parris Island, the first of us to leave Bellamy Creek and our tight foursome. In August I was leaving for Harvard, where I had a full academic scholarship, and Cole was headed to a local college, where he planned to study law enforcement. Moretti was already working full-time for his family’s construction business, as he had since he was fourteen.

The last thing Griffin pulled from the backpack was a dirty, scuffed-up baseball. “From the day I hit the game-winning home run against Mason City High to clinch the title,” he said reverently. “I signed it, in case you guys put a baseball in too. That way we’ll know whose is whose.”

We all nodded. Baseball was sacred to us—the only thing more sacred was our friendship.

Griffin placed the ball in the box as if it were made of glass.

“Okay, who’s next?” I asked.

“I’ll go.” Moretti placed a brown paper bag on the table. From it, he pulled out a newspaper clipping from the Bellamy Creek Gazette about his record streak of stolen bases and a takeout menu from DiFiore’s, his favorite restaurant, which was owned by his cousins. Then he took out one of his senior portraits and added it to the box. Not a small one, either—a five-by-seven.

“Really, Moretti?” Griffin gestured to the photo. “A big picture of yourself?”

“Hey, I happen to think I look good in this shot. What if I go bald or something? I’ll want to look back and remember when I had amazing hair. And cheekbones.” He placed the picture in the box.

Laughing, I shook my head. It was typical Moretti. He was vain and egotistical, but you couldn’t ask for a more loyal friend. I’d miss him. I’d miss them all.

“And I also have a picture of us, so piss off.” He took out a snapshot of the four of us after one of our last games, four cocky eighteen-year-olds in ball caps and dirty uniforms, grinning at the camera. He added it to the box and looked across the table. “Cole? Want to go next?”

“Okay.” Cole opened up a large Ziplock bag and took out a folded sheet of paper. “Our baseball team roster and season record,” he said, placing it in the box. “And I have the ball from the no-hitter I pitched this year. I signed and dated it.”

“Such a good fucking game,” Griffin said, clapping Cole’s back. “That’s the best I’ve ever seen you pitch. Man, I’m gonna miss those games.”

“Me too,” I said, hating the hollowed-out feeling in my gut. “Think we’ll ever play together again?”

“Hell yes.” Moretti guffawed. “We’ll be like those old dudes who come out on Thursday nights every summer with their beer bellies and rickety old knees.”

We all laughed too, unable to imagine ourselves with paunchy guts and stiff joints.

The last thing Cole placed in the box was a photo of all of us with our dates the night of our senior prom. Cole had taken his girlfriend, Trisha; Griffin had taken a girl he’d been dating on and off since Christmas; Moretti had taken his flavor of the month; and I’d taken a friend, since the girl I wish I could have asked—Maddie Blake—was off limits.

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