Shandi Boyes – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read

Shandi Boyes – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.ilovenovels.com Thu, 23 Apr 2026 23:09:13 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=6.9.4 http://www.ilovenovels.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/favicon.png Shandi Boyes – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.ilovenovels.com 32 32 Brutal Obsession (Caruso Cosa Nostra #1) Read Online Shandi Boyes http://www.ilovenovels.com/brutal-obsession-caruso-cosa-nostra-1-read-online-shandi-boyes Thu, 23 Apr 2026 23:09:13 +0000 http://www.ilovenovels.com/brutal-obsession-caruso-cosa-nostra-1-read-online-shandi-boyes Genre: Alpha Male, Dark, Insta-Love, Mafia Authors: Shandi Boyes Series: Caruso Cosa Nostra Series by Shandi Boyes
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Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 94124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)

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Valentina:

The Caruso family is legendary in Sicily. They’re powerful, untouchable, and rumored to have their hands in everything from imports to politics.

I won’t mention the things better left unspoken.

Someone perpetually late and as styleless as she is poor should be an unlikely match for the Don of the Cosa Nostra.

Not only do I get a second glance, I’m also tossed headfirst into a scandal so salacious it’s front-page news.

Since I refuse to rehash my mother’s mistakes, I try to ignore the tension hot enough to burn, but obsession is a brutal game, and Giovanni Caruso never loses.

Giovanni:

Attachments are dangerous.
They make you hesitant.
They make you weak.

And yet, when a fresh face in our great country steps in danger’s path, I respond without considering how my gallantry will favor my family or myself.

For thirty-four years, I discredited my father’s claim that he knew my mother was “it” after only seeing her once.

The instant Valentina Raimondi peered up at me, I understood.

My fixation with the curvaceous beauty is immediate and borderline psychotic, and although obsession is a dangerous thing, I can’t suspend our thrilling game of chase.

Valentina is mine, and I’ll destroy anyone who tries to convince her otherwise… including the woman I’m contracted to marry.

Brutal Obsession is a standalone age-gap mafia romance with a curvy heroine, and the man utterly obsessed with her

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

1

VALENTINA

I’m late. Again.

While I curse the stupid Maps app as if it’s solely to blame for my tardiness, my inexpensive heels batter the uneven cobblestones in the heart of Carlisle. Their stomps mirror the discouraged honks of the early-morning commuters who loathe as much as I do that peak-hour traffic starts well before dawn.

The sun has barely risen, and its low hang creates shadows on historic architecture I’d slow to admire if I weren’t on a time crunch.

Carlisle is a sunburned metropolis on the north coast of Sicily. Nestled between rolling lemon groves and the sparkling blue waves of the Tyrrhenian Sea, it’s the perfect location for rest and recovery.

Well, that’s what I told myself three months ago when I abandoned everything familiar for this country’s promise of solace.

Willing the blue dot on my phone’s screen to magically fix itself, I follow its directions to the wire. An additional thousand steps don’t resolve my issue. The Maps app continuously leads me to a decommissioned council building instead of the hospital I’m seeking.

Carlisle’s labyrinthine streets mock modern technology, but I doubt I’d fare better with paper maps. All the old buildings painted in white, terracotta, and pale-blue hues look exactly the same. I can’t tell a family-run bakery from a gelato store.

Anger reddens my cheeks when my phone notifies me to turn left.

“There is no left! So how the hell am I meant to turn left?”

I’m already strangling my phone, but my clutch firms enough to crack the screen when a message from Dr. Russo’s secretary pops up. If I don’t arrive at Ospedale San Giorgio’s in ten minutes, Dr. Russo’s secretary will postpone our meeting until after Dr. Russo returns from a six-week international conference.

Determined not to let technology sabotage a mission over a year in the making, I quicken my pace. This morning’s meeting isn’t with the local council’s corrupt building inspector. It’s far more important than hiding the cracks of an unsteady foundation so I don’t end up homeless. This could unravel my entire existence.

“Dio mio,” I mutter, glancing at the time.

I wouldn’t be on such a time crunch if I’d left earlier, but my hair loathes extreme humidity, and I didn’t foresee a dead battery. I’m usually the first to arrive…

Actually, scrap that. Tardiness has become my middle name of late. It isn’t my fault. Carbs are cheap, but they also demand weekly wardrobe tweaks. Since laundry day isn’t until tomorrow, I’m down to the bare basics. My blouse is barely holding together. Three buttons are all that stand between disaster and me. My ample cleavage won’t survive a fourth loss.

After regulating my breathing, which I’m praying will reduce the likelihood of being arrested for public indecency, I close the Maps app and scroll through the Photos app. Carlisle is a patchwork of identical buildings and picturesque coastlines, but if any of the business names match those I’ve passed three times this morning, perhaps sometime within the next century, I’ll escape the maze endeavoring to swallow me whole.

I find the image I’m seeking as a horn blasts in the distance. I hardly notice it. I glue my eyes to my phone’s screen, anxious to identify the name of the giant stone wall blocking my path.

I’m in such a hurry that I don’t register the smoothness of the curb compared to the unevenness of the footpath, nor do I hear the truck hurtling down the main road at a reckless speed. My focus is fixed on the universally known hospital icon on the old-school map I snapped a picture of months ago, and relief surges through me when I realize it’s mere blocks away.

I’m oblivious to the danger roaring my way, but thankfully, not everyone’s brain is as sluggish as mine when denied a morning shot of espresso.

A rough, urgent hand snatches my arm and plucks me out of the path of danger with barely a second to spare. My phone slips from my hand, and before I can catch it, I’m flattened against the cool metal of a dark SUV.

The good Samaritan who saved me from a head-on collision with a truck shields me with his body as the speeding motorist thunders past us. Our near miss is so close that the air whistling from the undercarriage of the truck whips my hair back and rattles my core.

That was a close call.

Too close.

For several heart-thrashing seconds, only my pounding pulse and the fading echo of the truck’s horn fill the silence.

Even with imminent disaster gone, the stranger doesn’t release me from his protective cocoon. I don’t mind. My skyrocketing heart rate is settling, but the spasms in the lower half of my body remain steadfast. They make me wonder if they stem from fear or if they’re associated with something I’ve not experienced in a long time.

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Chaos in Disguise – Grayson’s Story Read Online Shandi Boyes http://www.ilovenovels.com/chaos-in-disguise-graysons-story-read-online-shandi-boyes Sun, 01 Feb 2026 09:23:50 +0000 http://www.ilovenovels.com/chaos-in-disguise-graysons-story-read-online-shandi-boyes Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary Authors: Shandi Boyes Advertisement

Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 128307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)

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When a case extremely close to home is assigned to Special Agent Grayson Rogers, the last thing he expects to come from it is love.

For seventeen years, Grayson’s entire existence has had one find his missing girlfriend, Cameron June.

Every decision he makes, both personal and with his career, is based on how it will benefit his mission. Then he’s handed an assignment on the other side of the country, and another reason to breathe filters through his lungs.

Bold and beautiful are the perfect words to describe the lead agent who’s been working tirelessly to take down the latest baby-making ring on the West Coast.

Together, they have the perfect mix of skill and determination to bring these criminals to justice, but with an unexpected development narrowing their timeline to a dangerously thin six weeks, they must work fast and in close contact.

As fragments of their past and present collide, what starts as a high-octane case shifts to unexplainable chemistry and tension-filled yearning years in the making.

They’ve tiptoed around their mutual attraction for over a decade, but is exploring it worth the sacrifice of possibly losing their loved ones forever, or will the guilt of their pasts be too much for them to overcome?

Chaos in Disguise is a standalone slow-burn, romantic suspense about two federal agents working against the clock both professionally and personally

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

PROLOGUE

GRAYSON

Seventeen years ago…

Astrong wind gust flaps out the bottom of my bomber jacket as I walk down an almost deserted street, and nearly drowns out my girlfriend’s shocked gasp. Cameron’s picture-perfect face and glowing strawberry-blonde locks are a stark contrast to the chaos I left behind at St. Eugene’s.

The stolen car with which I tore through the football field, where this year’s hopeful reigning cheats play, quickly becomes a distant memory when I meet Cameron’s wide gaze. She’s concealed beneath the awning of the retro milkshake bar half a mile up from her “once” high school, staring like a cat eyeing an overloaded milk dish.

She’s the unruly half of our duo, the one who leads me to trouble and then sidesteps it like she didn’t instigate it.

Don’t misread what I’m saying. I am far from innocent. Mischievous is my middle name, but in my defense, Cameron arrived for our date in a stolen car. I merely disposed of it when she announced the reason she kicked out its owner on a bustling freeway.

As the overpopulated mess of a metropolis filters into my nose, I slip my hand over Cameron’s. Diesel from a bus mingles with the earthy smell left by rain on the pavement.

I grip Cameron’s hand firmly when we merge further into the darkness of a late night. She’s a bundle of trouble, but if I have it my way, she will always be my trouble.

“I really did that, didn’t I?” I talk through the adrenaline flowing in my veins. Sirens are already echoing in the distance, making me panic that our escape is mere seconds from being foiled.

The hem of Cameron’s miniskirt flaps up when she twirls before walking backward, her pace slower than expected. “You sure did. And it was amazing.”

While guiding our escape, I try to act unaffected, like I didn’t just tear up St. Eugene’s grounds with its star quarterback’s Mustang. To be honest, I’m on edge. Every creak makes me jump, and every shadow seems to hide a threat.

Cameron, however, is relaxed, walking confidently and carefree.

She can act nonchalantly. Her father isn’t the golden boy of the FBI. Well, I assume he isn’t. I am unaware of how her parents earn a living. We’ve been together for three months, but she seldom talks about her friends, and she never brings up her family.

They must have money. St. Eugene’s is a highly exclusive one-hundred-thousand-dollars-a-year private school. Still, I’ve never gotten spoiled-rich-girl-snob vibes from Cameron. I know a snob when I see one. All my brothers are younger than me, but the Rogers men have drawn female admirers for centuries.

A rigorous hairline and a stacked appendage have opened doors for us for years longer than my father’s many awards for bravery.

Not that he would ever admit that.

I love my dad. Honestly, I do. I just wish he weren’t such a stiff in a suit. His rules have me willing to push any button to spark a reaction from him.

Cameron abruptly halts, squeezing my hand tighter. “Did you hear that?”

I prick up my ears but only notice the distant murmur of the city and the sirens we’re endeavoring to get away from. “Hear what?”

Even though I hear nothing, I guide us further under the sidewalk’s awning. Something is off. Not just now. For the whole night. An unusual sensation impinges on the air, and no matter how many times I try to swallow the brick in my throat, it refuses to budge.

A strange smell hits my nose as a van screeches to a stop at the crosswalk next to us. The doors burst open, and men in dark clothes and balaclavas jump out.

Before I can comprehend what’s happening, they grab Cameron and yank her away from me. I try to get her back on my side of the footpath, but I’m outnumbered four to one.

“Grayson!” Cameron screams, her voice trembling with unfamiliar fear.

With inhumane strength, I pluck her away from one man before I slow the charge of another with a closed-fist whack to the sternum. He hunches over, his reddening face visible even with a lint-free balaclava covering most of his features.

Over the next several minutes, I continue fighting to save my girlfriend from her attackers. I’m half the age of the men surrounding me—the creases in the corners of their eyes telling—but I maintain my ground and nearly secure an advantage.

I have Cameron back with me on the sidewalk when a man with biceps as large as a watermelon exits the van. He shunts me back three places with a boot to the chest before he snatches up Cameron’s wrist, which I recently freed.

I collide with the shopfront, groaning upon impact. The air in my lungs exits in a hurry when the beast shoves a hessian bag over Cameron’s glossy locks a split second before he tugs her into the idling van.

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Broken Vows (Marital Privilages #4) Read Online Shandi Boyes http://www.ilovenovels.com/broken-vows-marital-privilages-4-read-online-shandi-boyes Tue, 05 Aug 2025 19:56:18 +0000 http://www.ilovenovels.com/broken-vows-marital-privilages-4-read-online-shandi-boyes Genre: Alpha Male, Billionaire, Dark, Erotic Authors: Shandi Boyes Series: Marital Privilages Series by Shandi Boyes
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Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 94678 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >100

Emerson

Mikhail Dokovic comes from a long lineage of politically influential men. Because of his birth order, he was supposed to be at the top of his family’s dynasty, but when our worlds collided in my family’s pub, it felt far from the truth.

Years of physical and mental abuse weighed heavily on his shoulders. Yet, he still had that irresistible charm that left every woman within a five-mile radius desperate for fresh panties.

Myself included.

I fell under his spell in an instant, and we shared three magical years together.

It was perfect… until it wasn’t.

Despite Mikhail’s vow that it was me or no one, his family branded me as “unworthy,” and soon after, our relationship came crashing down.

He left me at the altar, so I have no idea why the man who shattered our relationship ten years ago is now insisting we marry under the promise of a hefty inheritance.

I would ask questions, but a woman with no money to her name and a gravely ill mother doesn’t have the luxury of time. I must marry the man I’m beginning to hate or bury my mother. Those are my only choices.

Mikhail

I attended my grandfather’s will reading purely out of curiosity. I didn’t anticipate being awarded a majority share of his wealth. He had hated me from the day I was born, and his disdain was evident throughout my life until his passing.

To say I was shocked when awarded five hundred million dollars is an understatement. I was flabbergasted. However, that shock paled compared to the surprise that followed when I learned the conditions of my inheritance.

I was to marry my grandfather’s preferred choice by the end of the week, and she now despises me as much as my grandfather once did.

Emerson Morozov is the only woman I’ve ever loved. She was the ember that brought me back to life and made me believe my life was worth living.

But since she is also the woman who left me at the altar ten years ago, I knew we wouldn't survive my grandfather’s strict terms.

I tried to walk away. I am successful in my own right and, as such, don’t need my grandfather’s dirty money. But when I discovered I wouldn’t be the only one benefiting from his unexpected generosity, I had a change of heart.

Emerson’s mother is sick, and although heaven has no rage like a love turned to hatred, when the woman you promised to love to the end of eternity needs your help, you side with the devil to achieve the seemingly impossible—even one six feet under

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

Playlist

Half a Heart - One Direction

I Hate That It’s True - Dean Lewis

Someone To You - Matt Hansen

If You Love Her - Forest Black

28 - Ruth B. & Dean Lewis

Before You - Benson Boone

Chapter 1

Emerson

Funerals suck. They’re stuffy, lifeless—obviously—and bring out everyone from your kindergarten teacher to your second cousin’s third wife. I loathe them. But I loathe this more.

Readings of wills are where crocodile tears fade, pushed aside for money-hungry viciousness.

A lawyer’s conference room two hundred miles from my hometown holds as many people as the front rows of last month’s nationally broadcast funeral.

I’m not surprised. Andrik Dokovic Sr. was an extremely wealthy man. The combined sum in his multiple bank accounts could keep the heat on for every family in Russia for centuries to come. He was the epitome of success.

He needed to be for anyone to see past his icy-cold demeanor.

If you can’t tell, I’m not a fan of Andrik Sr. We clashed many times during the period I “associated” with a member of his family, and even with our bone-crushing love only being displayed to him as puppy love, he never let his disdain for my inclusion in his grandson’s life go unnoticed.

That’s why I’m apprehensive to learn why Andrik Sr. named me in his will.

It was probably a last-minute amendment before he croaked to remind me of my place.

“Your name doesn’t belong alongside a Dokovic,” were the last words Andrik Sr. spoke to me before he slid into the back of a chauffeur-driven government-plated car, taking my heart with him.

He uttered his scorn over a decade ago, but it still stings like a million wasp bites.

The hateful words of an angry, lonely man with nothing but money to snuggle with at night are easy to forget. But first love—the gooey, sticky kind that adheres to every damn surface of your mind, body, and soul—stays with you for a lifetime.

It also reminds you that hate isn’t a genuine emotion. It’s a façade designed to blanket your feelings in a manner appropriate for public consumption, and the only thing they give you free rein to cling to when things turn sour.

It is expected.

This, though, walking into a room that smells like old books and even older money, isn’t close to the norm.

Andrik Sr. was right. I don’t belong here.

If I had any other option, I wouldn’t be here.

Alas, beggars can’t be picky.

As my baby sister would say, you get what you get, and you don’t get upset.

After wrangling through suit-clad gents and elegantly dressed ladies, I find a spot at the end of a long mahogany conference table. I hide behind a handful of attendees mingling close enough to conceal my why-the-hell-am-I-here face.

The air is thick with anticipation and another scent I can’t quite work out. It is a little rancid, like everyone feels like they also don’t belong here, so they’re sweating as much as I am.

The thought eases my nerves a smidge, bringing them down to a manageable level.

While breathing through my nose, hoping the overspray of pricy aftershaves filling the space doesn’t tickle the back of my throat, I scan the faces surrounding me. I have allergies—badly. One wrong sniff and I’ll sneeze loud enough to erupt Klyuchevskaya Sopka.

If I want to remain hidden, I can’t activate a volcano.

My sighting of a familiar face partway through my scan makes my quest seem almost impossible. I see Mikhail, the source of the sticky, gooey mess I mentioned earlier, seated at the opposite end of the conference room. Like his designer-clad counterparts slapping his back like he won the lottery, he’s wearing a tailored suit and a fancy, show-every-inch-of-my-muscular-torso button-up shirt. He’s not wearing their hideously pompous ties and has a few buttons undone, showing more skin.

He’s older than the memories that broadcast like a high-budget movie anytime my heart rebels against my head by taking a trip down memory lane, but he still has that fuckboy eat-your-heart-out look that has every woman in a five-mile radius desperate for a fresh pair of panties.

Myself included.

He’s the hottest guy in the room, and he knows it. Regretfully.

My eye roll in defiance of his cocky confidence glitches halfway around. The very essence of Mikhail’s now type has entered the room, and I’m not the only one eyeballing her arrival. Mikhail waves her over with an eagerness I haven’t seen cross his face in over a decade—and I’ve read every tabloid article printed about him in the past ten years.

He seemed happy, but not like this. This is above glee. He looks complete. Whole. Not close to the miserable, sad person I’ve become.

The mysterious woman is blonde, short, and gorgeous. And she has a noticeable yet still tiny baby bump that Mikhail caresses when she joins him in the premium seats.

What the?

My breath hitches in my throat as anger overtakes my curiosity. Mikhail was expected to be here and to interact with a woman with more class in her pinky finger than I have in my entire body. It is, after all, his grandfather’s will reading. But this—a baby—is a slap in the face I’m struggling to ignore.

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Nero – Shattered Wings Read Online Shandi Boyes http://www.ilovenovels.com/nero-shattered-wings-read-online-shandi-boyes Wed, 04 Jun 2025 21:18:00 +0000 http://www.ilovenovels.com/nero-shattered-wings-read-online-shandi-boyes Genre: Alpha Male, Crime, Dark, Mafia Authors: Shandi Boyes Advertisement

Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 57779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)

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Minutes after being served divorce papers, I receive a phone call that warps my mind.

If it isn’t bad enough my soon-to-be ex filed for divorce on our fourteenth wedding anniversary, he also used my company card to spoil his mistress with a honeymoon suite and a thousand-dollar floral arrangement.

I’ve not been handed a single flower since we wed, so when the hotel clerk requests to see my card before processing the payment, I accept the opportunity unknowingly granted to me.

With the tiny teddy I had hoped would milk my husband of one measly orga$m covered by a thin coat, and my cell phone recording, I burst into the honeymoon suite, gung-ho for the evidence that will offer me the ultimate revenge.

There isn’t a single person in the entire suite.

A god, though. There’s one of them.

He glares at me like I was caught cheating, and the heat of his stare makes me wish that were true.

I’d sign on the dotted line without protest just for the chance of spending an hour with the dark and brooding stranger who doesn’t look at me like I should cover my curves with an outfit “more appropriate for my body type.”

Nero loves the way I fill in the racy little number, and he’s more than happy to spend a few hours ensuring my husband knows exactly what he let go, and to help me repair my shattered wings.

*

Nero is a standalone bratva (Russian Mafia) romance about two people who wanted revenge, but instead, found each other

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

1

MIRANDA

When I look in the mirror, I grimace when I see how the crisscross pattern of my teddy clings to my body.

The changing-room mirrors at the boutique store I popped into last month must be those flattering, you’ll-never-look-fat-in-our-store mirrors, because this ensemble looks nothing like the one I tried on weeks ago.

I’m meant to be spicing up my marriage, not giving Roy more reasons to whine.

This hot little number is supposed to complement my curves. It’s made them offensive.

Roy will complain that there’s too much skin showing. He’s such an ass he’ll probably say I look like a pork roll held together by a mesh cooking bag.

As much as this kills me to admit, his hurtful comments aren’t far from the truth. My tummy has more cellulite than a man seeking a trophy wife would find acceptable.

Furthermore, due to a hectic pre-Christmas work schedule, my thighs are chunky enough that they clap when I walk.

While getting ready, I scared my Jack Russell terrier, Tempy, more than the luminous clouds darkening my hometown’s sky hours earlier than usual did. She’s a chicken when it comes to storms. Her tummy has been a bundle of nerves all evening.

Mine hasn’t been much better. Although I’ve been married for fourteen years, my stomach still gets butterflies whenever I dress up for a special occasion.

They’re not good flutters.

I can’t recall the last time Roy and I had sex. I think it was Easter the previous year…

Actually, scrap that. His aunt had an emergency not long after we exchanged sugar-laden gifts. I ate his share of our treats and mine.

My stomach hurt for days, and the scale was just as damning the following week, but it was the most satisfied I’ve ever been.

My plump lips arch at one side when I twirl, taking in the entire package.

Not bad, Miranda. Not bad at all.

I have plenty of junk in the trunk to deviate even the most disinterested man’s eyes from my stomach, and a trip to the salon this afternoon did wonders for my hair.

My face isn’t half bad, either.

As my grandma always said, a couple of pounds on the scale will plump out any pesky wrinkles.

I appear closer to mid-twenties than mid-thirties and look put together. Possibly hot.

I doubt my husband will agree, though. He hasn’t issued a single compliment since we exchanged vows.

Ugh! Why do I put myself through the torment?

Roy is a dick. I should have left him years ago. It is just hard to remember a life without him in it. He swept me off my feet when I was young and dumb and when he could cover his flaws with a rigidly sharp jaw and a handsome face that concealed all his lies.

I married him too fast. We hadn’t even dated for six months.

It was fun at the start, but now that the shine has long worn off, I’m on the cusp of depression.

That’s what my outfit is about. It’s our anniversary, and as much as I wish I were in sweats, eating ice cream out of the tub and watching my favorite shows, I need to do something to re-spark our connection.

Roy promised our rut would only be temporary, so I must give him the chance to make true on his promise.

It is the most I can do since he’s not kept a single one in the past fourteen years.

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Vengeful Vows (Marital Privilages #3) Read Online Shandi Boyes http://www.ilovenovels.com/vengeful-vows-marital-privilages-3-read-online-shandi-boyes Mon, 21 Apr 2025 22:19:57 +0000 http://www.ilovenovels.com/vengeful-vows-marital-privilages-3-read-online-shandi-boyes Genre: Alpha Male, Billionaire, Contemporary, Mafia Authors: Shandi Boyes Series: Marital Privilages Series by Shandi Boyes
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Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 100716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >106

Mara

The rich powerful men I work for never associate with the help, so I’m shocked when the latest resident of Myasnikov notices me, and even more astounded that he pays enough attention to decipher that my stutter is a fear-based reaction.

Arkadiy Orlov is the epitome of wealth and power. He’s politically successful, handsome, and has the funds to buy anything he wants.

Except the wife his campaign manager insists he needs to reach the top of the political ladder he’s been climbing for the past two decades.

I could have been the Cinderella of his story if our dark pasts hadn’t collided with dire consequences.

Our union could destroy Ark’s campaign for presidency before it even begins. But with our attraction hotter than the inferno we barely survived in our childhoods, will we risk everything for the chance of love?

Or are not all fairytales meant to have a happy ending?

Arkadiy

My life was meticulously planned. Individual success in the private sector, wealth beyond imagination, and then the ultimate power—domination of the political world.

Then I saw her, the maid with a stutter and a bucket load of secrets in her pretty eyes.

There was something about Mara that drew me to her. I feared it was because a victim knows a victim, but I could have never predicted the similarities of our childhoods.

We faced the same pain, endured the same heartache, but Mara’s life proves that not all secrets need to be shared.

Sometimes burying them is the only way you can move past them—both physically and mentally.

Please note: although this is book three in the marital privilege series, it can be read as a complete standalone.

*

** Check the author's website for TWS**

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

1

MARA

My fingers clutch stiff bedding when a door creaking open reaches my ears. I glance up as multiple footsteps clatter over expensive oak floorboards, catch a glimpse of a gold cufflink, and then shift my focus back to the task at hand.

My job isn’t to pry into the lives of the wealthy residents who call the Chrysler building home. I am here to wash the sheets, clean the toilets, and only be seen when summoned.

Rarely does the summoning come from the people wearing designer labels and tailored suits. They’d never associate with the “help.” They bark their orders at my supervisor, who then passes them on to me for far less than the exorbitant fee charged by the company responsible for maintaining and cleaning the apartments in the most sought-after building in Myasnikov.

A turndown service is the reason for two hours of overtime this evening. It doesn’t take two hours to turn down sheets and fluff pillows. The “help” hadn’t serviced this apartment in over three years, so the floors needed vacuuming, and the opulent, larger-than-my-apartment bathrooms required restocking.

I could have sworn I overheard Mrs. Whitten telling my supervisor that the building’s latest short-stay tenant wasn’t arriving until late this evening. It’s not even seven. Surely they’re not early. I’ve yet to meet a rich person who isn’t chasing their tail.

Curious, I take a second glance at the trio entering the suite from the far entrance. The apartments in the Chrysler building are large enough to require multiple entry points. Only owners and guests may use the main entrance. The rest use the servants’ entrances and corridors wedged between priceless paintings and opulence most can only dream of achieving.

Mrs. Whitten, the building supervisor, leads the procession with such animated gestures that she resembles a headless chicken moments from being dunked into a pot. She is slim and a few decades older than me and has a sharp wit and intelligence. I like her, though I doubt she knows who I am.

I am an expert at remaining hidden. No one pays attention to me, not even the stout man with a thick mustache who tosses his bag onto the bedding I recently straightened before he unbuttons his trousers like he is without an audience.

Mrs. Whitten dips her chin in appreciation when I silently move toward the servants’ entrance. She often says she wants her guests to feel at home while under her roof. The unnamed man looks ready to do just that.

Once I reach the safety of the alcove, I fumble for the EarPods in my pocket. They were a gift from Mr. Whitten. They were dusty enough to show they weren’t new, but they’ve made my commute home far less boring over the past month, and for that, I am forever grateful.

With my head down, I breeze into the employee locker room, grab my gym bag from its hiding spot, and make a beeline for the shower block. I don’t usually change out of my maid’s outfit at the end of my shift, but today is different because it’s Tillie’s tenth birthday.

I promised to meet her and Mrs. Lichard at the bowling alley at 7:30 p.m. sharp. The bus trip home will eat into time I don’t have. My schedule is always tight, but it’s even tighter this week.

The unisex bathroom is quiet. Only the chefs and lead housemaids remain on the premises at this hour. They’re allowed access to the upper levels after hours and take full advantage once their coworkers leave.

While the latest hit from Måneskin blasts my ears, I dump my bag onto an ancient bench inside a wall-less shower cubicle and strip.

Everything in this building is antique, including the radiators. It takes forever for the water to heat up. Since I’m in a hurry, I opt for a deodorant bath instead of drenching my hair as my pounding temples are begging.

In seconds, I smell like one of the women who stand on the corners in my half of Myasnikov late at night, hoping for their Pretty Woman moment. My hoop earrings are cheap, as is the comb I hurriedly rip through my hair, but they add a touch of sophistication to my outfit. They make it look more like a date ensemble than a mom hoping the blowout-budget present she bought will keep her off her daughter’s shitlist for being late to her first and likely last birthday party.

I’m not dressing up with the hope of securing a date. That ship sailed not long after I gave birth. Barely sixteen with a baby in tow doesn’t attract many suitors, and the rare few who assumed my child meant our date would end with more than a kiss never made it past the first course.

I am merely hoping a little glam and a flirty smile will lower the bill of a birthday party for ten of Tillie’s closest friends. I didn’t consider how inflated non-luxury items had become in the past few years. I wouldn’t have suggested a bowling party if I knew it would cost fifty dollars per guest to knock down some pins.

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Christmas Kisses – Ravenshoe Novellas Read Online Shandi Boyes http://www.ilovenovels.com/christmas-kisses-ravenshoe-novellas-read-online-shandi-boyes Fri, 06 Dec 2024 20:24:03 +0000 http://www.ilovenovels.com/christmas-kisses-ravenshoe-novellas-read-online-shandi-boyes Genre: Alpha Male, Novella Authors: Shandi Boyes Advertisement

Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86828 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >91

Two fun and flirty Christmas novellas from a USA Today Bestselling Author!

*

Single all The Way

Being dumped weeks out from Christmas already sucks, so imagine your fiancé replacing your position with his high school sweetheart while you're snowed in at his family's estate that's meant to host your wedding.

Things couldn't get any worse—so I won't mention the hot chocolate incident, insensitive demand for the return of my engagement ring, or my luggage being stolen mere feet from my apartment when I can finally fly home.

But it's December, the second most romantic month of the year, so things can only go up, right?

Wrong.

After too many drinks to numb the ache, and an unexpected advertisement for a male escOrt company, l decide to gift myself a night of plea$ure instead of wading through a handful of duds to find 'Mr. Do Me Right!’

I'm set for a night of fun until I skip halfway across Ravenshoe before recalling I have no access to the funds needed for my festive night.

Thank goodness good old Saint Nick points me in the right direction. The mysterious stranger is everything I want to find under my tree Christmas morning.

He's gorgeous, flirty, and single all the way... So why does it feel like more than Christmas magic will fuel our union when he offers the services I'm seeking for free?

*

Home for Christmas

After a grinchy battle to maintain the lease on the only place I’ve ever called home, the last thing I expect four days out from Christmas is an unexpected house guest.

I get more than I bargained for when a ginger-haired brute answers *my* door, wearing nothing but a towel, a devilish grin, and clutching a recently signed lease agreement.

I assume the mishap is a horrible misunderstanding, and that the brutish Brit will exit stage left with his tail firmly lodged between his legs once I’ve cleared the matter up.

I’m terribly mistaken.

He arrived stateside with intent, and it has nothing to do with bringing me home for Christmas

Thank god my once-favorite Christmas movie exposes exactly how to rid my apartment of an unwanted intruder.

This Christmas ‘ho’ has met his match, and the ruse our union inspires may very well kill him.

Christmas Kisses is two Christmas Ravenshoe Novellas. Single all The Way was published last year under the same title. Home for Christmas is brand new.

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

1

KELSEY

“Two. Cheaper for two.”

While stuffing a bag under the seat of the first airport transfer company I came across upon exiting the domestic terminal, I reply, “I don’t need two seats.”

“Yes, two,” misunderstands the man with a heavy accent. “Great prices. Get you to hotel quick smart.” He nudges his head to the triple-strength expresso that’s supercharging my veins with more than caffeine. “Hot chocolate still hot at the check-in desk.”

Dark locks swing against my bare shoulders when I spin to face him. Considering the month, it should be chilly enough for a sweater. Florida just never gets the memo when it comes to winter.

Or perhaps the nip of bourbon you added to your coffee with your duty-free purchase when the barista wasn’t looking is the cause of your sweaty top lip?

After shrugging off the certainty that more than alcohol is heating my skin, I say, “I’m single.” When he peers at me as if I spoke in a foreign language, I try again. “Sin… gle.”

Breaking it up won’t help, Kelsey.

I hold my left hand in the air, highlighting my bare ring finger. “Single. No love. I’m going to be alone and miserable for the rest of my life.” My last five words come out with a low, pathetic whimper.

It is December, the second most romantic month of the year—unless you’re single. Then it is as painful as a table for one on Valentine’s Day, though you get half-price candy the day after Valentine’s Day. Nobody wants an endless supply of eggnog.

“Oh…” the stranger drags out dramatically, pulling my focus back to him. “Single.” His bottom lip drops into an immature pout before he guides me into the empty seat next to the driver. I ignore the scorching burn of the coffee and bourbon as it slides down my throat when he adds, “Keep the good seats for the couples. Better tippers when in love. Everyone happy.”

He slams the van’s door shut before dashing for a couple with matching Christmas sweaters and a grossly sick expression of love crossing their faces.

Thirty minutes later, I almost fall out of the van when it comes to a stop half a block down from my apartment building. No amount of cheap bourbon will wash the image of the two loved-up commuters in the rearview mirror from my eyes. They’re not in the throes of passion, more a hand slip away from indecent exposure, but still, I’m drinking on an empty stomach, and my shoes are new. I don’t want them wrecked.

Remembering the last time I thought a bottle of champagne was the equivalent of steak and eggs, I veer my steps to a hotdog vendor on the corner of my building.

“One hotdog or two?” Not looking up, the vendor announces, “We have a buy-one-get-one-half-price special for Christmas.”

“I’m single,” I reply, my words slurred since I chose the possibility of the fiery burns of bile drinking on an empty stomach causes than to rehash memories I need alcohol to fade. “Uno. Solo. Without el compañero.” My Spanish is horrible. It is expected. I haven’t visited my parents’ home country in years.

As I hand the vendor a crinkled twenty from my purse, I take in his shadowed jaw, tight body, and inky black eyes. “And available?”

Don’t look at me like that. Every woman on this side of LA knows there’s only one way up when you’re down.

With a star-inspiring orgasm.

The vendor’s smirk reveals he appreciates my underhanded compliment that he’s hot, but he holds up the hand I flashed an hour ago, nosediving my effort for a rebound fuck.

He’s married. For a long time, by the looks of it. His ring is embedded in his finger. He couldn’t remove it even if he wanted to.

Although I want to be in the “who cares if he’s taken” stage of my life, I’ve not yet reached that level of desperation, so I accept the loaded hotdog he’s holding out for me before wishing him and his wife a happy upcoming holiday season.

He flashes me a second grin before digging the stake deeper into my heart. “Merry Christmas to you too, ma’am.”

Ma’am? How old does he think I am?

Don’t answer that. I don’t want this week to get worse.

As I trudge to my apartment building, my steps slow and sluggish, loved-up couple after loved-up couple pass me. Although the public PDAs add to the swirling of my stomach, I stop to admire a super cute couple holding hands on a bench. They’d have to be in their eighties. The tips of their noses are red, but they stare up at the stars with their tongues hanging out, hopeful to catch the first snowflakes of winter.

That’s what I want.

That’s what I thought I was getting.

Then he threw it away for someone with a pathetic name like Noelle.

Who cares that Christmas is only two weeks away? For the other eleven months of the year, she’ll look foolish pimping out her Christmassy charm on unexpecting naïve men who shouldn’t be looking at her oversized baubles since they’re in a committed relationship.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >91

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Deceitful Vows (Marital Privilages #2) Read Online Shandi Boyes http://www.ilovenovels.com/deceitful-vows-marital-privilages-2-read-online-shandi-boyes Thu, 21 Nov 2024 13:36:43 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/deceitful-vows-marital-privilages-2-read-online-shandi-boyes Genre: Alpha Male, Crime, Dark, Erotic, Mafia Authors: Shandi Boyes Series: Marital Privilages Series by Shandi Boyes
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Total pages in book: 187
Estimated words: 177397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 887(@200wpm)___ 710(@250wpm)___ 591(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >187

Zoya

I never imagined a dreaded gynaecology appointment would result in a fire-sparking connection hotter than the sun.

Even in an office designed to torture women, the tension between the sinfully delicious stranger and me is so blistering that we spend the night together, twisted beneath silky sheets.

Although disappointed to wake alone the following morning, I assume aching muscles will be the worst side effect of our night of sin.

If only anything in my life was that simple.

I learn shortly after our night of debauchery that Andrik isn’t just seductively charming and easy on the eye. He is also married.

During an exchange as heated as the night before, he assures me that I have nothing to feel guilty about, that his marriage is a contractual agreement designed to take down a hierarchy that’s been ruling his life since prior to his conception.

His defense is so credible that I almost believe him.

But with one lie unearthing a dozen more, it isn’t solely Andrik’s affair being scrutinized.

A dynasty centuries in the making is about to topple, and I’m unknowingly wielding the axe responsible for its demise.

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

PROLOGUE

ANDRIK

Almost five years old…

“Twik. She’s coming.”

Cold air makes crazy bumps on my arms when Mommy runs past me so fast you’d swear Anoushka, my nanny, was chasing her down with a scratchy, sodden washcloth.

“Quick, Andrik.” Mommy’s smile when she spins to face me makes my heart thump. I love it when she’s happy. It makes me happy too.

I run faster than my feet ever thought possible and then leap into her arms as we reach my bedroom. You’d never know my face is covered with chocolate icing for how tightly she pulls me into her chest. I’m making a mess, even more than I did when I snuck a big bite of my birthday cake just as the baker finished icing it.

It was delicious, and I can’t wait to share it with my friends tomorrow.

“Where should we hide, Andrik?”

I laugh like my mommy is as silly as she is pretty when she throws up the covers on my bed and points to the floor underneath. We’d never fit. There are too many monster trucks under my bed to squeeze in two whole people. It is also the first place Anoushka would look.

I always hide there.

Not anymore. I’m a big boy now.

Well, I will be tomorrow.

I’m turning five and about to have the best birthday party in the world. I’m not the only one who thinks so. All the kids from my hometown want to come to my party—even the ones who made Mommy cry when she found out about them.

I have three brothers, but I am the only one who grew inside my mommy’s tummy. She said Daddy has a condition that makes it hard for him to be faithful. I don’t know what faithful means. It seems important to Mommy. Anytime she talks about it, she gets wet eyes. She also makes me promise at least once a month that when I find someone I want to love more than I love her—which will never happen—that I’ll be faithful to them.

Maybe being faithful means that when I want to have babies, I will only have them with one person. I could be wrong, but that’s very unlikely. My mommy says I’m very smart. Only when I make steam come out of Anoushka’s ears do I take after my daddy.

I don’t like when my mommy cries, so anytime we talk about my brothers, I tell her she has nothing to worry about. I’ll never love anyone more than I love her, but if that ever changes, I will be faithful.

Life is too short to think about ifs and buts.

My mommy says that all the time.

You make a plan and you stick to it.

That’s her second favorite saying, so I do exactly that. I snatch up Mommy’s hand and race for the closet I had planned to hide in when I dashed out of the kitchen with sticky hands and a mouth full of cake.

We almost make it, but my legs are too tired from all the running I did earlier. My grandfather’s house is ginormous. It would have been quicker to run home than to the room I always use when we visit Grandpa. The last time I tried to do that, the secret service agents who follow Grandpa everywhere he goes got mad at me.

I promised them I wouldn’t do it again, and I like to keep my promises. They make my mommy happy, and that feels like my job lately.

I giggle, squirm, and squeal when Anoushka wraps her arms around my waist and pulls me back. My screams are loud enough to wake my grandpa, who went to bed ages ago, until Anoushka’s washcloth takes care of the mess Mommy’s shirt missed. She attacks me with the washcloth like she did in the bath, and I laugh so much I almost pee my pants.

I would have if Mommy hadn’t saved me.

She scoops me into her arms and blows raspberries onto my tummy until the thump I mentioned earlier makes me deaf. I feel warm and fuzzy when she places me in bed. I don’t think it has anything to do with the thick covers. It’s how she looks at me when our eyes lock and the pretty sparkles that dance through her eyes when she tells me she loves me.

“I love you too, Mommy,” I reply, yawning.

I’ve been waking up too early. It isn’t my fault. Party preparation takes time, and I overheard someone telling Daddy that Mommy did not have much time left, so I had to help.

After fixing my hair into place, Mommy twists to face Anoushka. “We will save the Big Angry Bear for tomorrow night.” Her eyes are back on me, happy and glistening. “Someone seems a little tired. I doubt he will make it through story time.”

I yawn again, proving Mommy right. I’m not surprised. She is smarter than me. I’m so tired she only rakes her fingers through my messy dark locks a handful of times before my eyelids grow heavy.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >187

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Doctored Vows (Marital Privilages #1) Read Online Shandi Boyes http://www.ilovenovels.com/doctored-vows-marital-privilages-1-read-online-shandi-boyes Sat, 31 Aug 2024 08:14:21 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/doctored-vows-marital-privilages-1-read-online-shandi-boyes Genre: Alpha Male, Dark, Mafia Authors: Shandi Boyes Series: Marital Privilages Series by Shandi Boyes
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Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 118309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >126

The Ivanov family exudes wealth and power, so when its founder shows up on the surgical roster of a third-year resident, even with me not laying eyes on her previously, I’m thrust under their spotlight.
Her son’s, to be precise.
Maksim Ivanov is a walking red flag. He oozes confidence, and appears to have never been told no, but despite our differences, sparks ignite the moment we trade sultry glances.
The tension is white hot. I’ve never experienced such an immediate mutual connection. But as quickly as his mother was placed under my care, she is removed.
I assume her discharge will be the last I’ll hear from the mysterious family, so I struggle to hold back my delight when I bump into Maksim weeks later.
He’s darker than the man I’d met previously. More unhinged. But I am still drawn to him like a moth to a flame.
Regretfully, he tries to make it seem as if the sparks are one sided.
He pushes me away as often than he draws me in, so you can picture my shock when I wake up after a night out drinking, wearing his ring.

I wanted to make him jealous.
I became his wife instead.
It could be mistaken as magical… until more than just the people I placed between us start showing up dead.

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

CHAPTER ONE

As I exit the medical equipment sterilization room at Myasnikov Private Hospital, I pull off my hairnet to dispose of it and my biodegradable hospital apron into an uncontaminated product waste receptacle. I’m taken aback when I catch sight of my watch while forcing part of my “uniform” into the overflowing bin. It is a little after 3 a.m.

I hadn’t expected a position I accepted solely to pay student loans to take up so much time. Alas, with increased surgeries comes a demand for the sterilization of reusable medical equipment.

When accepted into medical school, I thought the most challenging part of the transition from college graduate to wannabe surgeon would be the long study sessions and textbooks that cost more than my first car.

I was poorly mistaken.

My tuition was more than I could afford. I barely get five hours of sleep a night, and although my studies have now switched to a somewhat paid position, I have to accept jobs on the side just to make ends meet.

By ends, I mean rent. My student loans are still in the red, and I’m drowning in personal credit card debt, but I have a roof over my head, and my family is taken care of, so I guess I shouldn’t complain.

With the surgical department shockingly quiet, I detour through the space that smells like the chemicals that soak through my gloves each night while sterilizing the equipment used by this very department.

The rancid scent is the only reason my grandmother hasn’t questioned my latest moonlighting position. As far as she is aware, I’m doing double shifts at the hospital every night.

I am—just not in the way she believes.

Although there’s no shame in admitting you collect and sterilize medical equipment, I don’t want anything to taint the gleam in her eyes when she tells her Bura teammates that I’m a soon-to-be world-renowned neurosurgeon.

I cringe when I cross theater three. There must have been a last-minute add-on to the surgical register outside the usual operating hours. The room is void of a soul, but used medical equipment is strewn from one side to the next.

My sluggish steps toward the mess slow when a voice from behind me says, “I’ll get it.”

Relief bombards me, but guilt quickly follows when I spin to face Alla.

She looks as exhausted as I feel.

“Are you sure? I don’t mind helping.”

She rolls her eyes before shooing off my offer with a wave of her hand. “I’m not the one scheduled to return here in a little over”—she checks her watch, which is still hidden by elbow-high gloves—“eight hours.” When she returns her eyes to my face, she shoves her hands in her pockets and peers at me motheringly. Alla is only four years my senior, but since that places her in her thirties instead of her twenties, she acts like we have a two-decade age gap. “You can’t keep running on fumes, Nikita. If you only dip the rag on the odd occasion, it will eventually run dry.”

“I’m fine. I’ve only got…” My words trail off when I recall I only started the third year of my surgical residency three months ago. I’ve got a long way to go—especially if I want to specialize in pediatric neurosurgery.

When I finalize my reply with a groan, Alla twists me to face the exit. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” She barges me out of the OR with so much gall I crash into the nurses’ station desk, bruising my hip. “And if you’re good, there could be a пончики or two waiting for you when you finish your shift tomorrow.”

Пончикис are Russia’s version of doughnuts.

Alla smiles when I ask, “Glaze or sugarcoated?”

“Why can’t we have both?”

I laugh. Her imitation of a famous commercial exposes that her English is as poor as my Russian was when I moved here nine years ago. I’m slowly learning the lingo, but I don’t see myself mastering in it anytime soon.

“I’ll bring кофе.”

She jerks up her chin in appreciation half a second before her nose screws up. “Just not that latest craze the hobnobs are raving about. I don’t care if it is the president’s rat. I will not drink its droppings.”

I’m still smiling about her disgust of the latest coffee craze in Russia while darting through the nurses’ station for the interns’ locker room at the back. My pace slows for the second time when I spot the surgical schedule slated to start at 6 a.m. My mother was Russian, so my given name is common around these parts, but my father is British, so my surname is rarely seen unless it is attached to a foreigner.

Hoffman shouldn’t be on a surgical schedule, much less in the box that announces the lead surgeon for a patient’s procedure.

“Ivanov,” I murmur while trying to recall where I’ve heard the name before.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >126

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Protecting Nicole – Perception Read Online Shandi Boyes http://www.ilovenovels.com/protecting-nicole-perception-read-online-shandi-boyes Sun, 14 Jan 2024 20:20:30 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/protecting-nicole-perception-read-online-shandi-boyes Genre: Alpha Male, Erotic, Funny Authors: Shandi Boyes Advertisement

Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 91146 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >96

During her final night of freedom before a gruelling West Coast tour, the last place she should have ended up was in the arms of her recently-hired bodyguard…

With a hefty criminal record tarnishing his name, Laken Howell never anticipated spending the night with a beautiful, talented stranger only hours after leaving prison.

Nicole Reed was everything he’d dreamed of coming home to during his ten-year stint in a maximum security penitentiary.

She’s down-to-earth, funny, and according to Laken’s newly drafted employment contract he had yet to view, in need of protection.

They crossed the line before they knew he was hired to protect her, so what happens when one too many secrets means the only person threatening the upcoming music starlet’s happiness is the man paid to shadow her every move?Protecting Nicole is a standalone bodyguard/singer romance. Check author's website for TWs.

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

1

LAKEN

“Sign here.”

A clear plastic zip-pressed bag slides to the side of the counter before a pen follows its fumble. Inside the bag are possessions I haven’t seen for over nine years. A watch with a sentimental worth that will forever exceed its value, a money clip with a few crinkled bills, and a wallet that appears flatter than it did years ago.

I discover why when the officer preparing me for release says, “Your driver’s license expired during incarceration, so they will organize a new one through the BOP system.”

“BOP?” I ask, a little overwhelmed.

My release from federal prison is occurring as swiftly as my incarceration. The past month has been a blur of release prep meetings, two in-depth parole hearings, and multiple one-on-one prayer sessions with the prison chaplain.

I’m not a preaching man. I was merely willing to do anything necessary for a reduced sentence. Three years might not seem like much to the average man, but to me, it is more than I could have hoped for.

Not looking up, the officer replies, “Board of parole. You have a meeting with your parole officer tomorrow morning. Details are in here.” He slides a second baggie across the counter dividing us. It is thicker than the first and full of paperwork. “If you don’t want to return here by the p.m., don’t be late for your first check-in.” Finally, he looks up. “I don’t want to see you back here.”

Nothing but honesty rings true in my tone when I gabber out, “I have no interest in returning.”

He pffts me like he hears that line every day, before nudging his salt-and-pepper afro to my release form that states what items were in my possession when I handed myself in to authorities. “Unless something is missing, you’re free to go once that’s signed.”

“It all appears in order,” I mumble, more to myself than the prison officer with “Riley” marked on his uniform.

After scribbling my name across the slip I’ve been working toward for the past nine years, I stuff my wallet into the back pocket of my jeans and my bill clip in the front before securing my watch on my wrist. Its fit is as snug as my jeans since I've spent almost a decade working out and have gained significant muscle in my calves and thighs.

I had nothing else to occupy my time, so I kept my head as low as my percentage of body fat. Being incarcerated with mass murderers, rapists, pedophiles, and drug lords meant even if I didn’t want to play the part of a criminal, I had to look it, or I would have left prison in a body bag instead of the ride arranged by the parole office board when they granted my early release.

“Eleven a.m., Howell,” Officer Riley reminds me in a snide tone as I make my way to the double exit doors. “Don’t be late.”

“I won’t.”

Hot, sticky heat hits me in the face when I push through the paned glass doors. Summer ended a few weeks back, but Florida never seems to get the memo.

After relishing the warmth of the late afternoon sun on my face, I drop my chin and scan the guarded grounds. The officers walking the jail's external walls are armed like the ones manning the yard from above, but since I’m wearing jeans and a ripped white T-shirt instead of a federally issued jumpsuit, they don’t pay me any attention.

Well, that is until my name is shouted across the grounds in an egotistical jock-running-onto-the-field way.

“Laaaa-keeen Hooowwwelll.”

Even with a low-hanging cap hiding his eyes, and his stubble the thickest I’ve seen it, there’s no mistaking the face of the man catcalling my name. His visits were sporadic over the past twelve months, and his care packages nonexistent six months prior, but before a possibility of early probation was sniffed at, his visits were bi-monthly.

Noting the surprise on my face, Knox slaps his hand into mine before using his sweaty grip to pull me in for a man hug. “Did you seriously think I’d let the parole board reintroduce you to society?” With his free hand, he whacks my back until the nerves in my stomach rattle free. “How the fuck have you been, Laken? Feels like forever since we’ve caught up.”

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >96

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Single All The Way – Ravenshoe Christmas Read Online Shandi Boyes http://www.ilovenovels.com/single-all-the-way-ravenshoe-christmas-read-online-shandi-boyes Sat, 25 Nov 2023 22:13:10 +0000 https://www.booksnovels.com/single-all-the-way-ravenshoe-christmas-read-online-shandi-boyes Genre: Alpha Male, Funny, Novella Authors: Shandi Boyes Advertisement

Total pages in book: 41
Estimated words: 38786 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 194(@200wpm)___ 155(@250wpm)___ 129(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >41

Being dumped weeks out from Christmas already sucks, so imagine your fiancé replacing your position with his high school sweetheart while you’re snowed in at his family’s estate that’s meant to host your wedding.

Things couldn’t get any worse—so I won’t mention the hot chocolate incident, insensitive demand for the return of my engagement ring, or my luggage being stolen mere feet from my apartment when I can finally fly home—but it’s December, the second most romantic month of the year, so things can only go up, right?

Wrong.

After too many drinks to numb the ache, and an unexpected advertisement for a male esc0rt company, I decide to gift myself a night of plea$ure instead of wading through a handful of duds to find ‘Mr. Do Me Right.’

I’m set for a night of fun until I skip halfway across Ravenshoe before recalling I have no access to the funds needed for my festive night.

Thank goodness good old Saint Nick points me in the right direction.

The mysterious stranger is everything I want to find under my tree Christmas morning. He’s gorgeous, flirty, and single all the way…

So why does it feel like more than Christmas magic will fuel our union when he offers the services I’m seeking for free?

Single All The Way is a standalone Christmas Novella on brand new characters who live in Ravenshoe. Think a cute Christmas read but with plenty of $picy scenes.

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

CHAPTER 1

Kelsey

“Two. Cheaper for two.”

While stuffing my bag under the seat of the first airport transfer company I come across while exiting the domestic terminal, I reply, “I don’t need two seats.”

“Yes, two,” misunderstands the man with a heavy Russian accent. “Great prices. Get you to hotel quick smart.” He nudges his head to my triple-strength expresso that’s supercharging my veins with more than caffeine. “Hot chocolate still be hot at the reception desk.”

Dark locks swing against my bare shoulders when I spin to face him. Considering the month, it should be chilly. Florida just never seems to get the memo. Or perhaps it’s the nip of bourbon you added to your coffee with your duty-free purchases when the barista wasn’t looking?

After shrugging off the possibility that more than disappointment is heating my skin, I say, “I’m single.” When he looks at me, confused like I spoke in a foreign language, I try again. “Sin… gle.”

Breaking it up won’t help, Kelsey.

After holding my left hand in the air, I highlight my bare ring finger. “Single. No love. I’m going to be alone for the rest of my life.” My last five words come out with a low, pathetic whimper. It is December, the second most romantic month of the year—unless you’re single. Then it is as painful as a table for one on Valentine’s Day.

“Ohh…” the stranger drags out dramatically. “Single.” His bottom lip drops into a pout before he guides me into the empty seat next to the driver. I ignore the scorching burn of the coffee and bourbon as it slides down my throat when he adds, “Keep the good seats for the couples. Better tippers when in love. Everyone happy that way.”

“One hotdog or two? We have a buy-one-get-one-half-price special for Christmas.”

“I’m single,” I reply to the hotdog vendor one block up from my apartment building, my words slurred since I discovered I’d happily face the fiery burns of hell if it fades memories I don’t want to rehash. “Uno. Solo. Without el compañero.” My Spanish is horrible given I haven’t visited my parents' home country in years.

When I take in the vendor’s shadowed jaw, tight body, and inky black eyes as he prepares my dinner for one, I murmur, “And available?”

Don’t look at me like that. Every woman on this side of LA knows there’s only one way up when you’re down.

With a star-inspiring orgasm.

The vendor’s smirk reveals he appreciates my underhanded compliment that I think he’s hot, but he still holds up the hand I flashed an hour ago.

He’s married. For a long time, by the looks of it. His ring is embedded in his finger. He couldn’t remove it even if he wanted to.

Although I want to be in the ‘who cares if he’s taken’ stage of my life, I’ve not yet reached that level of desperation, so I accept the loaded hotdog he’s holding out for me before wishing him and his wife a happy upcoming holiday season.

The vendor flashes a second grin. “Merry Christmas to you too, ma’am.”

Ma’am? How old does he think I am?

Don’t answer that. I don’t want this week to get worse.

As I trudge to my apartment building, my steps slow and sluggish, loved-up couple after loved-up couple pass me. Even a super cute old couple is holding hands on a bench. They’d have to be in their eighties, and the tips of their noses are red, but they’re staring up at the stars like their tongues are going to catch the first snowflakes of winter.

That’s what I want.

That’s what I thought I was getting.

Then he threw it away for someone with a pathetic name like Noelle.

Who cares Christmas is only two weeks away? The other eleven months of the year, she’ll look foolish pimping her Christmassy charm on unexpecting naïve men who shouldn’t be looking at her oversized baubles since they’re already in a committed relationship.

Ugh. We were in Oregon for crying out loud. Sweaters should not have been optional.

After tugging on the hem of the micro shirt I stupidly tossed on before demanding Peter to drive me to the airport, I endeavor to pull open the door of my apartment building without letting go of my luggage.

I thought reminding Peter that Noelle isn’t the only woman in Oregon with ornaments on her chest would have him regretting his decision to ditch me for his high school sweetheart, which definitely wasn't what we'd travelled to his home town for.

I’m insulted to advise his eyes never veered my way—not even while requesting I return the engagement ring he’d gifted me only three months earlier.

“Don’t look at me like that, Kels. It’s a family heirloom,” he said as he pulled into a free spot at the front of the departure entrance. “So it wouldn’t be right for you to keep it.”

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