Contemporary – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read

Contemporary – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.ilovenovels.com Sun, 12 Jul 2026 16:12:26 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=7.0.1 http://www.ilovenovels.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/favicon.png Contemporary – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.ilovenovels.com 32 32 A Lick and A Promise (Avenging Angels #5) Read Online Kristen Ashley http://www.ilovenovels.com/a-lick-and-a-promise-avenging-angels-5-read-online-kristen-ashley Sun, 12 Jul 2026 16:12:26 +0000 https://www.ilovenovels.com/a-lick-and-a-promise-avenging-angels-5-read-online-kristen-ashley Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Crime, Funny, Suspense Authors: Kristen Ashley Series: Avenging Angels Series by Kristen Ashley
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Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 139088 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 695(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 464(@300wpm)

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Luna Nelson and Knox Chambers fell together fast, and they did it hard. It was so big, so special, they wanted it just for themselves and kept it a secret from their found family: the Avenging Angels and the Hottie Squad.

They both knew this was it. Together forever.

What Luna didn’t know was that Knox had secrets.

Secrets that tore them apart.

But when Knox asked for them to continue being friends—for the sake of their crew, and so he wouldn’t lose her—Luna loved him enough to say yes. Yes to the torture of being in the life of a man who was the love of hers, but he let her go.

Then, Knox gets shot. He gets shot not because he’s got a dangerous job (which he does), but because his family is an absolute mess.

With the man who means everything to her recuperating, Luna can’t keep away.

While Luna tries to keep the Angels safe from interfering in Knox’s family’s criminal enterprises, she and Knox circle each other, drawing a different kind of blood.

Will Knox continue to keep his secrets?

And will both of them be safe in the Chambers Family Feud?

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

ONE

HE WANTS YOU

I shouldn’t be here.

I knew I shouldn’t be here.

But when Raye called, even though my mind said one thing (that I shouldn’t be here), my body (okay, my heart) said another.

So I was here.

The good news: I was just one more body in the mix, so it wasn’t like I was the cast-off chick hanging around, embarrassing herself pining for some dude.

In other words, that hospital waiting room was a crush seeing as all the Hottie Squad was there, all the Angels along with Tex, Nancy, Shirleen, Marjorie. Even Tito was there.

So I was just another person in a sea of people worried as fuck Knox got shot.

That was the bad news, Knox had been shot.

Twice.

He’d been shot…twice.

Oh yeah.

That was the way bad news.

He did not get shot while conducting Nightingale Investigations & Security business, which it was my understanding was a possibility, if not a probability in their line of work due to them not being your average, everyday private investigations and security business, but a whole lot more.

He got shot because his family was a nightmare.

More good news, the surgeon came out and told us he was out of surgery, stable, resting and no lasting damage had occurred. Though he’d need some time to mend and do physical therapy to regain full strength in his shoulder and leg.

Okay, so that was mixed good news because, absolutely, no lasting damage was obviously a good thing.

But he had to recuperate from two gunshot wounds he got because his family was borderline ready for their episode of Evil Lives Here, and that totally freaking sucked.

More of that mixed good news, my staring contest with Cheyenne was over.

Although I sensed why she hated me—even though it was lame as hell, since she’d had him for a while, and I didn’t (well, I did, but it wasn’t a very long while)—what I didn’t know was why she was there at all.

They’d broken up.

But by damn, when the surgeon came out, the bitch popped out of her seat like a demented jill-in-the-box and shouldered even Cap and Mace out of the way (respectively, Knox’s best bud and his boss) to belly up to the doc.

She also lied and said she was Knox’s partner, so she got to be the first to go back and see him.

Usually, the dudes were super cool with chicks. Lots of patience (needed), lots of understanding (also needed—what could I say? we were a bunch of nutso broads), all kinds of room to be who we were and do what we did (as, of course, it should be—save Knox in that scenario, but that was a longer story).

But when Cheyenne did that, everyone got pissed, and even the dudes didn’t hide it.

And when she did it, Raye took my hand (again, she’d been holding it on and off for the last three hours), and Brady shot me a look.

Truth: Brady and I had screwed the pooch.

Honestly, it seemed a good idea at the time.

Okay, not a good idea. A demented, in-your-face, heartbroken idea. But when you were heartbroken, demented ideas often seemed like good ones.

Then again, I was learning not to lead with the heart. Though, admittedly, I was learning this by messing up royally because I’d done something stupid at the edict of my heart.

My heart had me sitting right there, benched, because I meant nothing to Knox except being a member of his friend posse.

A distant one.

Someone he was around who he tolerated.

And that was it.

And my heart led me to pretend-flirt with and, okay, semi-kinda fake-date Brady (really, it was just two friends hanging out, but we wanted Knox to think it was something else) after Knox got together with Cheyenne.

We did this so he might feel a little bit of what I was feeling since Cheyenne was suddenly at all of our AAHS shindigs (Avenging Angel/Hottie Squad, for your information, of which I was a member of the former, and for more information, that former was unprofessional, unpaid chicks who stuck our noses in places they shouldn’t be, but someone had to do it, and the latter was professional, trained, skilled badasses).

And since Knox scraped me off, and he knew where I was at with him, he had to know how that would sting.

Sure, he’d made himself clear, and as such, I had no claim, so who was I to engage in some harebrained fake-dating scheme to make the guy I liked (right, okay, dammit…loved) jealous?

The idea was doomed from the start.

Why I couldn’t get a guy like Cap, like my bestie Raye did—a man who struggled with our whole Avenging Angels vigilante gig, but he got a lock on it because he knew how important it was to his woman—I did not know.

Or an Eric or Gabe, my other friends, Jess’s and Willow’s dudes, who were super chill and didn’t kick up a fuss at all.

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All Bets Are Off Read Online Jessa Kane http://www.ilovenovels.com/all-bets-are-off-read-online-jessa-kane Sun, 12 Jul 2026 16:12:24 +0000 https://www.ilovenovels.com/all-bets-are-off-read-online-jessa-kane Genre: Alpha Male, BDSM, Contemporary, Erotic, Novella Authors: Jessa Kane Advertisement

Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 48412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 242(@200wpm)___ 194(@250wpm)___ 161(@300wpm)

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Vida works as a maid at Reserve, an ultra-exclusive resort on the Massachusetts coastline. She’s been warned about entitled trust fund boys for years, but when she catches the ultimate rich boy’s eye, he’s anything but typical. Tripp Sterling is a billionaire and comes from a vastly different world than Vida. One of yachts and glitzy parties and Ivy League educations. There are strict rules against guests socializing with staff, but the moment Tripp sees the stunning maid, he’s consumed. He’s going to have Vida, no matter the cost. But first he’ll have to convince her to enter his world of wealth…an often judgmental world that sticks to their own and doesn’t like change

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

ONE

Vida

I push the laundry cart down the luxurious corridor, stopping outside of room 721. Using the edge of my universal key card, I tap lightly on the heavy cream door.

“Housekeeping.”

Tucking the card back into the pocket of my uniform, I rub the stiffness from my neck and wait for a response or any indication that the occupant is still inside the room. There isn’t one. And honestly, there shouldn’t be anyone inside. It’s a gorgeous July day outside on the coast of Massachusetts, the waves lapping gently against the cliffs, the gulls calling to one another gently. All the trust fund kids who arrived today are at a welcome soiree on the beach, sipping the resort’s signature cordials and soaking in the sunshine.

Technically, I’m not employed as a housekeeper for Reserve, the Northeast’s premier beach resort designed for the upper class, but I have been filling in for my aunt a lot. Her arthritis is causing her to come home in too much physical pain lately, so I stepped in and took over.

What is she going to do in the fall when I start my freshman year at Dartmouth?

Worrying my bottom lip between my teeth, I proceed to gather the towels I need off the cart. My mind is still on my aunt, however. Peggy raised me from the age of ten, and she’s worked around the clock to support us both, through bad times and good. I probably wouldn’t even have applied to colleges if she hadn’t insisted. Can I really leave her when the time comes? Who is going to cover her shifts when she’s weakened with pain?

Setting aside the worry for later, I let myself into the room with an armful of towels.

I’m brought up short when I find the curtains are drawn, leaving the room dark. Most of the new arrivals dropped off their luggage and went straight to the beach. Warily, I turn on the lamp to my right, which is perched on a modern, oak desk with gold hardware. My eyes widen a little at the size of the room that is revealed. Is this the presidential suite? I don’t think I’ve ever cleaned a room this large. This isn’t even the bedroom. It’s merely the seating area.

“Hello?” I call, wetting my lips. “Housekeeping.”

Silence.

No water running.

“Just leave the towels and go, Vida,” I whisper, advancing toward the hallway, the sounds of the ocean growing louder as I draw closer to the bedroom. Based on the orientation of the room, the sleeping quarters must overlook the Atlantic. How incredible it must be to wake up in such a room. Why would anyone want to keep the sunlight out?

Reminding myself that rich kid behavior is none of my business and I’m just here to clean, I step soundlessly into the bedroom and gasp, barely able to keep my jaw off the floor.

It’s extraordinary.

Modern in whites and creams and golds, the curtains billow gently behind the mostly closed windows. As if someone didn’t want the light, but they wanted the sound of waves. A finger of discomfort creeps up my spine at the feeling that someone is either in the room or only recently departed. The maids are supposed to operate without being seen or heard. We’re the unseen facilitators of comfort, not meant to be underfoot. Ever.

If I were to jeopardize Peggy’s position at the resort, I’d never forgive myself.

No one is here. Calm down.

Taking a deep breath, I sidestep toward the bathroom and lower the heavy, carved gold handle, pushing inside⁠—

A man stands at the double sink, his hands planted on the alabaster marble, wearing nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs. His head is bowed forward, giant noise-canceling headphones covering his ears—and the music must be blasting, because I can hear the bass from five feet away. No wonder he didn’t hear me calling.

I’m frozen in indecision. Run? Make myself known and apologize?

Oh God. What do I do?

Trapped by uncertainty, I can’t help but notice the man I’ve just intruded on is…Something to behold. To call him a work of art would be an understatement.

He’s easily six foot four, generously muscled. His hands and bare feet are huge. Tension tightens the cords and sinew of his broad shoulders and triceps. Even without seeing his face, I can deduce that he belongs in a grand room such as this. It’s a room fit for a lord or a king. A god among men. That’s exactly what he is. But gods come armed with wrath, and that means I need to get my butt out of here. Unseen.

Embracing my flight instinct, I back up a step⁠—

His head lifts. Whips around.

I’m pinned by a pair of turbulent blue eyes.

My breath jams in my lungs and I drop the towels.

I’ve never seen more attractive features in my life. Not even in the movies.

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Autumn’s Winterhaven – A Novella Read Online Samantha Young http://www.ilovenovels.com/autumns-winterhaven-a-novella-read-online-samantha-young Sun, 12 Jul 2026 16:12:19 +0000 https://www.ilovenovels.com/autumns-winterhaven-a-novella-read-online-samantha-young Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Novella Authors: Samantha Young Advertisement

Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 30857 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 154(@200wpm)___ 123(@250wpm)___ 103(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >32

When my friends invited me on their annual trip to Colorado, I decided leaving behind Glasgow and a trail of bad relationships for some guy-free time at Winterhaven Ski Resort was just the thing I needed to find myself.

However, I wasn’t counting on colliding with Hudson Ward on the slopes. I’ve never met anyone like him. Hudson is confident, smart, with a wicked sense of humor, and he makes the men I’ve dated seem like boys.
My intense attraction to him puts me on the defense because being open-hearted in the past has only gotten mine broken.
Yet it becomes increasingly difficult to resist a man who is not only determined to seduce me, but is adamant about helping me embrace the person I am so I can find my purpose in life.

I know I shouldn’t fall for Hudson. It can only end badly.

After all our lives are divided by an ocean and our inevitable separation is just another heart break away…

Previously published under the title Hold On: A Novella

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

1

Winterhaven Ski Resort, Colorado

February

The fresh, cold air stung my cheeks as I stared down the snowy slope through my ski goggles.

“Bloody Nora,” I muttered under my breath, watching mostly kids skiing on what they called the bunny slope. There were a few adult beginners but they were with ski instructors.

“You should go out with an instructor,” Catie had said a mere twenty minutes ago, seeming concerned as we strapped on our boots at the rental just across from the lodge.

I’d seen the young instructors, probably college kids making a few extra dollars during the ski season, and they seemed perfectly competent. However, beneath my laidback façade was a great deal of stubbornness and I believed I could do this alone.

It wasn’t like I hadn’t skied before.

I had.

I’d also broken my leg the last time I’d strapped on a pair of skis.

“Bloody Nora,” I repeated.

What was I doing here?

Not here in Colorado—here. I only had to lift my gaze over the snowy mountains to know why anyone would want to visit Winterhaven. I meant, what the hell was I doing here? Here in snow boots clicked into the skis, wearing goggles, a hat, thick gloves, and an admittedly adorable emerald green snow suit I couldn’t resist buying.

Because what I really wanted to do was go back to the lodge and wait for my afternoon spa appointments to begin. I wanted to lounge by the pool with a glass of wine and write down my life plan. That’s what I was here for. To get some space from my life back in Glasgow and “find myself” in the snowy hills of Colorado. Like a heroine in a Reese Witherspoon movie. Just me and my thoughts. And the occasional third wheeling of Catie and her husband Kyle’s annual holiday.

My friend and her hubby were currently on the top slopes as they were experienced skiers.

“Face your fears, Autumn,” Kyle had said before we got on the chairlift that would drop me on the bunny slope.

Face my fears. Yes, I knew that’s what this moment was supposed to symbolize.

When I was fourteen I’d broken my leg on a high school skiing trip and I’d vowed never to get on skis again. But this year had been rough and I’d grown increasingly afraid of facing the fact that I was floundering in life. Strapping on a pair of skis was supposed to help me face those fears. If I could ski again, I could get my life back in order.

But…

“What utter rubbish,” I huffed.

Skiing was rubbish! I hated it. You only faced a fear if it was going to make your life better. How was skiing going to make my life better?

A massage.

A massage would make my life infinitely better.

Decided, I pulled my ski poles out of the snow with a little too much vigor and immediately threw my weight off balance, my skis flying out from under me.

“Oh…oh…” I tried to right my center of gravity but threw myself too far forward. “Oh sh—” Suddenly I was heading down the slope. And I was heading for a woman and a ski instructor and I couldn’t remember how to stop!

“Out of the way!” I yelled in warning.

The ski instructor, his expression masked by snow sunglasses, looked up at me and then, instead of getting out of my way, got deliberately in it.

I smacked straight into his large body, winding myself and knocking him off his skis, taking him to the snow.

“Oof!” he grunted, sounding more than a little bit winded himself.

Mortified, I tried to clamber off him. Unfortunately, my knee connected somewhere it shouldn’t.

“Fuck,” he wheezed.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Somehow, I got off him without causing him any further injury and righted myself on my skis as he curled into a fetal position in the snow. “Are you okay?”

He waved me off, apparently unable to speak.

I looked at the woman who hovered over him, wincing. “Is he okay?”

She shot me a dirty look. “Does he look okay? If you can’t ski, you shouldn’t be out here without an instructor.”

“I was trying to leave. I slipped and lost control…” I looked back down at the instructor who was taking his time getting up onto his skis. He braced his hands on his knees for a moment and then straightened, his lips pinched together in pain.

It was then I realized how big he was. And even without being able to see his eyes because they were covered by snow sunglasses, I could tell he was quite a bit older than the rest of the boy-men instructors. “Are you all right?”

“I will be.” He put his hands to his hips as I looked up at him. I was tall for a woman at five foot nine but this guy was tall. He had to be at least six foot three. And broad shouldered.

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Belong to Me – East Coast Mafia Read Online Marian Tee http://www.ilovenovels.com/belong-to-me-east-coast-mafia-read-online-marian-tee Sun, 12 Jul 2026 16:12:17 +0000 https://www.ilovenovels.com/belong-to-me-east-coast-mafia-read-online-marian-tee Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Mafia Authors: Marian Tee Advertisement

Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 73372 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)

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He’d rather break her heart than lose his.

In Cruel Love, Bratva billionaire Anton Almazov decides to teach young paralegal Daisy Fletcher a lesson. There’s nothing he despises more than dishonesty, and he’s ruthless in his desire to punish and claim her in equal measure. By the time he realizes Daisy is not what he thought she was…it’s too late. He’s already destroyed her, heart, body, and soul.

In Close Enough to Kiss, Mia Robertson has decided she’s waited long enough. Since she was sixteen, she’s been in love with her billionaire guardian Alexei Almazov, and she doesn’t care if he also happens to be the most dangerous man in Monaco. But just when she dreams of forever…Alexei walks away and acts like that one stolen kiss between them never happened.

Note: Both books are standalone romances previously published under my pen name Martha Ruthie

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

Chapter 1

DAISY

The coffee is on my blouse before I make it through the doors.

Not a tasteful splash. Not something I can dab at with a napkin and pretend never happened. A full, committed spill, the lid popping clean off my travel mug as I trip on the marble step outside Keyes, Inc., and now there’s a river of medium-roast running from my collarbone to my waistband, and the glass doors are several feet away, and through them I can see women in silk and heels crossing a lobby that costs more than my parents’ house.

I'm seven minutes late on my second day of work.

The doors are heavy. They swing inward on some kind of hydraulic system that makes them feel like they’re judging you, and inside, the lobby of Keyes, Inc. smells like gardenia and money. White marble floors. Recessed lighting that turns everyone’s skin golden. A reception desk made of something dark and polished that might be ebony or might be the physical manifestation of my inadequacy.

“Fletch!”

Aunt Kaye crosses the lobby like she was born on marble. Her heels make no sound. Her hair is pinned in something architectural, blonde and immaculate, and her suit is the colour of graphite, and she is smiling at me with the specific warmth of a woman who once let me eat frosting straight from the can at Thanksgiving and now signs paycheques with a title under her name.

“Let me see.” She takes my shoulders, turns me, assesses the coffee damage. Her mouth presses together. “We’ll fix it. Come on.”

She steers me past the reception desk, past three women who track our movement with the polished disinterest of cats evaluating a mouse, and into a washroom that has actual hand towels. Cloth ones. In a dispenser.

“Dab, don’t rub,” Kaye tells me, handing me a towel. “The blouse is a loss, but the jacket will cover it. You brought the navy jacket?”

“It’s at my desk.”

“Good girl.” She leans against the counter and crosses her arms. In the washroom mirror, we are two versions of the same gene pool: her jaw, my jaw. Her blue eyes, my blue eyes. But hers come with fifteen years of Monaco and whatever it is that turns a woman from Boise into someone who moves through marble lobbies without making a sound. “How was the apartment last night? Did you find the grocery store I mentioned?”

“Found it. Bought pasta. Burned the pasta.”

She laughs. It’s a real one, head back and teeth showing, and for a second she’s just Aunt Kaye again, the one who drove me to the airport in Boise with the windows down and Promise me you’ll call every Sunday on her lips.

“You’ll find your feet,” she tells me. “Everyone does. The first week is survival. After that, it’s instinct.”

I nod. I dab. The coffee stain isn’t coming out.

KEYES, INC. OCCUPIES the top four floors of a building on Avenue de Grande Bretagne, and everything about it is designed to make you feel like you’ve wandered into someone else’s life. The conference rooms have glass walls. The partners’ offices have views of the harbour. There are fresh flowers on every surfaceand the women who carry files down the corridor do it like other people carry champagne flutes: with their wrists turned out, fingers long, as if the file itself is an accessory.

I carry mine pressed against my chest like a shield.

Blythe finds me at ten-fifteen.

She’s the other new paralegal. Or not new, exactly. She’s been here less than a year. But she’s the one Kaye assigned to “show me the ropes,” which so far has meant a tour of the copier room, a list of partners’ names I will never remember, and a single, devastating sentence delivered over the copier while it hummed: “The dress code is technically business professional, but everyone here is auditioning for something.”

Today she’s wearing a pencil skirt and a blouse that probably cost what I pay in rent. Her dark hair is blown out straight and her eyeliner could cut glass.

“You have coffee on your—”

“I know.”

“Jacket.”

“Wearing it.”

She tips her chin toward my desk. “Kaye wants the Marchetti files colour-tabbed by end of day. Red for litigation, blue for compliance, green for correspondence. You know how to tab?”

I pull open my desk drawer. Inside: a bag of adhesive tabs I brought from Idaho, sorted by colour, each strip pre-cut to the same length. Blythe bends down. Her eyebrows go up.

“You brought your own tabs.”

“The ones in the supply room are too wide.”

Something crosses her face. Not amusement, not quite. Something closer to recalibration. She straightens. “End of day,” she repeats, and turns on one impossible heel and is gone.

BY THURSDAY I HAVE a system.

Tabs: red litigation, blue compliance, green correspondence, yellow for anything that doesn’t fit the first three categories but feels important. I’ve added sub-tabs: small white ones that flag pages with signatures, dates, or dollar amounts. Every file on my desk is squared, spines aligned, a colour-coded map of someone’s legal life that I can navigate in the dark.

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The Rancher’s Fake Fiancee – Billionaires of Evergreen Texas Read Online Marian Tee http://www.ilovenovels.com/the-ranchers-fake-fiancee-billionaires-of-evergreen-texas-read-online-marian-tee Sun, 12 Jul 2026 16:12:15 +0000 https://www.ilovenovels.com/the-ranchers-fake-fiancee-billionaires-of-evergreen-texas-read-online-marian-tee Genre: Alpha Male, Billionaire, Contemporary Authors: Marian Tee Advertisement

Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 24637 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 123(@200wpm)___ 99(@250wpm)___ 82(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >26

He hired me to play his fiancée for a week. Neither of us planned on the part where it stopped being pretend.
I’m forty years old, broke, and the kind of woman nobody looks at twice.
And I’d made my peace with that. Really!
Then billionaire Loukas Karalis summons me to his ranch with an offer I’m too desperate to refuse.
“I’m about to offer you the only thing in the world you want,” he tells me with a smile as annoying as it’s seductive. “Of course I can ruin it.”
And the offer: one week, one ring, and one glamorous train across Texas where I’m to smile and cling and make every last investor believe I’m madly in love with a man I hate.
Easy.
Except the coldest man in Texas keeps forgetting to be cold when it’s only me. And the longer I wear his ring, the harder it gets to remember I’m only borrowing it.
I swore I’d never be a fool for a man again.
He swore love was a bad investment.

But the closer we get to the end of the deal, the harder I find it to let go. I’m so tempted to ask him the one thing I swore I never would…until the night it all falls apart, and I finally hear what he’s been telling me all along. Loukas doesn’t do love, and he never will. I was just too busy falling to listen.

Note: A slow-burn, later-in-life, fake-engagement, enemies-to-lovers romance. No cheating. HEA guaranteed

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

Chapter One

OKAY. SO HERE’S A THING I know about myself: I’m not a woman who gets into strange trucks.

I want that on the record before I tell you what I did, which is get into a strange truck.

In my defense, it was a very large truck, and it belonged to a man named Loukas Karalis, and eighteen years ago Loukas Karalis stood up in a lecture hall full of people and announced that no one alive could ever love me. So really, getting into the truck was an act of tremendous personal growth. Most women would’ve set it on fire.

The ranch hand who came to fetch me couldn’t have been more than nineteen. He tipped his hat and called me ma’am and told me, going pink, that Mr. Karalis was expecting me for lunch and was, and I’m quoting this poor sunburned child word for word, “not real comfortable waiting.”

Not real comfortable waiting. As though waiting were a thing that happened to other people, as though Loukas Karalis had ever once stood on a platform in his life and watched a train pull out without him on it.

I should’ve said no. I had a whole speech ready, and it was a good speech.

I got in the truck.

Look, I’ll explain. You’re going to need context, otherwise this just sounds like I’ve got no spine, and I’ve got loads of spine, I’ve got an excellent spine, ask anyone.

Eighteen years ago I was twenty-one and idealistic and taking a business ethics class purely to fill a requirement, and a smug second-year named Loukas Karalis stood up and argued that marriage was a financial merger and anyone who married for love was, in his exact words, subsidizing their own poverty with feelings. I argued the opposite. For ninety minutes. The professor was delighted. I thought I’d won.

Then, while everyone was packing up, Loukas leaned across the aisle and told me, very pleasantly, that he finally understood why I’d never been seen with anyone, since no one alive could fall in love with a shrew.

So I told him I finally understood why all his girlfriends were rumored to be on retainer, the only way to keep a woman near him being to pay her by the hour.

And then we didn’t speak for eighteen years, which suited me fine. Great. Perfect. Couldn’t have planned it better.

I’ve thought about him approximately once a day for those eighteen years though, and speaking of things I keep to myself, that’s the real reason I got in the truck, and it’s nothing to do with old grudges.

It’s everything to do with the four red notices currently fanned out under a magnet shaped like a roadrunner. Electricity. Water. The feed supplier who’s stopped, very politely, returning my calls. And the big one, property tax, the number that wakes me at three in the morning and sits on my chest like something with talons.

I run a raptor sanctuary out in the Hill Country. Forty acres of recovering hawks and owls and one extravagantly resentful red kite named Sergeant, who’s hated me personally and by name for six years. There’s a flight enclosure with a north wall that won’t survive another winter. There’s an education program for school groups who pay nothing, on purpose, the entire point being that they pay nothing.

And there’s, under all of it, a low permanent hum of money-terror that I wear like a second, itchier skin.

In about six weeks, barring a miracle I can’t afford and can’t quite let myself imagine, I’m going to lose every bit of it.

So when the richest man in South Texas sends a truck to my gate, I do the math.

The math is humiliating. The math wins.

So I’m off to see the wizard. I mean the wicked. I mean an old college friend. Yes. Let’s go with that.

I brace myself on the long drive in for a glass tower, something cold and tall and pleased with itself, the architectural version of that lecture-hall smirk. What I get, when the truck crests a rise and the land opens up the way it does out here, all at once and bigger than seems strictly necessary, is a ranch.

A working one, and I know the difference. I’ve spent my whole adult life learning to read a piece of land the way other women read a room. This isn’t a rich man’s stage set with a rented longhorn for atmosphere. The fences are tight and honest. The stock tanks sit where the water actually wants to go.

Out past the barns a red-tailed hawk’s riding a thermal in slow professional circles, not wasting a single wingbeat, and I feel myself go quiet inside the way I only ever go around the birds, and for one disloyal second I forget I’m here to grovel to a man I hate and just watch her ride.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >26

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Big Stick Energy (New York Legends #2) Read Online Sarina Bowen http://www.ilovenovels.com/big-stick-energy-new-york-legends-2-read-online-sarina-bowen Sun, 12 Jul 2026 16:12:13 +0000 https://www.ilovenovels.com/big-stick-energy-new-york-legends-2-read-online-sarina-bowen Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Erotic, Sports Authors: Sarina Bowen Series: New York Legends Series by Sarina Bowen
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Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 98324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >101

A hockey team captain and a bubbly staffer mix business with pleasure when they start fake dating through the wedding season in this hot sports romance perfect for fans of Mariana Zapata and Elle Kennedy.

Darcy Kendrick is used to putting out fires. As an overworked admin to a hockey team, she’s seen it all. But nothing prepares her for accidentally DMing her very private, very NSFW fantasy to the subject of this fantasy: team captain Eric Tremaine. Nobody actually dies of embarrassment. Right?

But when a wedding invite puts them on a collision course with her chaotic family and his emotionally fraught past, Eric suggests a plan: they fake-date their way through the “Wedding Experience.” It’s mutually beneficial. Totally strategic. And definitely not real. Except between mini tacos, slow dances and lingering glances, Eric starts to wonder if the sharp-tongued assistant with a bottomless to-do list might be the one person who truly sees him. And for Darcy? The fire in her heart might be the only one she can’t put out.

It’s supposed to be fake. It’s supposed to be temporary. So why is it so hard to walk away?

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

Chapter 1

A Little Prickly

Eric

May

The bus rumbles to a stop outside our Fort Lauderdale hotel, and the collective groan tells me everything I need to know about the team’s energy level. We’re deep in the playoffs, and nobody has slept a full night in weeks.

“My legs are trashed,” DeLuca announces from the seat behind me. “I might need to be carried off this bus.”

“I’ll grab your head, the rookie can take your feet,” Patterson offers, already standing and stretching dramatically.

“I’m not touching anyone’s feet,” Weber grouses. “That’s not in the handbook.”

I clap my hands together. “Less whining, more walking. I’m hungry.”

“They’re feeding us again, right?” DeLuca asks.

“I’m sure. Get your asses off the bus, and then I’ll check.” Captain’s duty.

I watch as they file toward the front, a procession of exhausted millionaires griping like toddlers before nap time. Petrov has his sleep mask still pushed up on his forehead, Weber is limping slightly from a blocked shot that found the one unpadded spot on his ankle, and Larkin is already on his phone, probably checking in with his pregnant wife.

I’m always the last one off the bus. Captain goes down with the ship, or in this case, makes sure nobody leaves their phone chargers or lucky socks behind. I do a quick scan of the seats, picking up a water bottle Emerson left behind and a granola bar wrapper that somehow missed the trash.

That’s when I notice a flash of ginger up front. As I get closer, I realize that Darcy—the GM’s assistant—is still in the first seat, her head resting against the window, completely dead to the world.

For a second, I just stare. I’ve never seen Darcy Kendrick anything less than alert and efficient. She’s always three steps ahead of everyone else, anticipating problems before they happen, notebook in hand and a sharp comeback ready. But here she is, mouth slightly open, completely oblivious to the fact that we’ve arrived.

I reach for her shoulder but then hesitate. I don’t want to startle her. “Darcy. Hey there, Darcy?” I say softly instead. “We’re back at the hotel.”

But she doesn’t move. Her pretty face is slack.

“Darcy?”

Once again, nothing.

I’m going to have to be more assertive, but I’m not looking forward to it. Darcy is a fantastic asset to the team, but she’s always been a little prickly to me. And only to me. When everyone else is around, she smiles more. I irritate her, though, and I’ve never been able to figure out why.

Honestly, it bugs me.

None of that matters right now, though. We need to get off this damn bus, so I reach down and give her shoulder a gentle nudge. “Buddy, we’re back at the hotel. I don’t think you want to stay on this bus.”

Her eyes snap open with the suddenness of someone who’s been yanked out of a dream. When she looks up, her gaze meets mine, and for a brief second, there’s a flash of something almost dreamy in her expression before it’s quickly replaced by irritation.

“Damn it.” She leaps to her feet, her face flushing nearly as red as her hair. “I never fall asleep. Did anyone draw on my face?” Her hands fly to her cheeks.

“Nope. You’re clear,” I say quickly. Although it’s a legitimate fear. Last month, on a flight to Dallas, Johnson fell asleep with his mouth hanging open and DeLuca drew a handlebar mustache on him with a Sharpie, which didn’t fully wash off until three games later. The TV commentary was rough.

She scrubs at her face with her hands anyway, then gives me a furious look. “Don’t stare. It’s impolite.”

“I’m not. I’m waiting for you. Like a gentleman,” I insist. Then I change the subject. “Dinner is probably soon, right? That’ll perk us up.”

She hoists her bag onto her shoulder and gives me another frown. “I’m on it, okay? I’ll check with the kitchen before I go up to my room.” Then she marches off the bus as if I’ve offended her.

Which is fine, right? I don’t need everyone to like me.

They usually do, but whatever.

I thank the driver for his service and drag my tired ass into the hotel.

Chapter 2

Like a Pit Bull in the Sun

Darcy

The Florida humidity sticks to me even after I’ve staggered into the air-conditioned hotel lobby. But the heat makes sense, because I’m suddenly in hell. I can’t believe that Eric Tremaine just found me drooling on myself. So mortifying.

I’d been floating along in a dream state when I’d heard a low, sexy voice. “Darcy. Hey there, Darcy?”

My first reaction had been: Oh yes, baby. Say more. But when I’d eventually opened my eyes, I’d been filled with horror. Out of two dozen players, it had to be Eric Tremaine who found me? I let out a groan, and a bellhop gives me a quizzical look.

You’d groan, too, buddy. My working relationship with Eric Tremaine is already complicated. He’s at the tippy top of the Legends food chain, and I’m on the bottom. Since he’s the captain of the team, I interact with him more than with other players.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >101

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Bred by the Cowboys – Wild Rides Read Online Stephanie Brother http://www.ilovenovels.com/bred-read-online-the-cowboys-wild-rides-read-online-stephanie-brother Sun, 12 Jul 2026 16:12:06 +0000 https://www.ilovenovels.com/bred-read-online-the-cowboys-wild-rides-read-online-stephanie-brother Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Insta-Love, Novella Authors: Stephanie Brother Advertisement

Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 55305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 277(@200wpm)___ 221(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >57

One wild night between two rugged cowboys… which one has put a baby in me?

Brookes and Mason Caldwell are cowboys who ride hard, fight harder, and take what they want. I should’ve known better. But I wanted one impulsive, filthy, mind-altering night with Mason’s mouth on my neck and Brookes watching from the shadows like he couldn’t decide whether to join, or just make me beg.

When they find out what’s growing in my belly, they insist I move to their ranch.

They say it doesn’t matter whose baby it is. That I belong to them. That they’ll share.

But the idea of a life with two men like them? It’s reckless. Impossible.

They want me between them, held open, keeping them warm in the most intimate ways, and dripping with everything they’re willing to give.

They like to edge me, watch me beg, and make me fall apart over and over again.

The way they are should terrify me, but I can’t stop thinking about what it feels like with both of them around me, inside me, owning me.

But can a girl like me really fit between two rough ranchers with darker needs, and build a family that was never supposed to be?

In Rockwell Ridge, scandals don’t stay secret for long. Will the truth break us… or bind us together for good?

Hold on to your horse, because this kinky, forbidden, fast-burn, cowboy menage romance features a secret baby, found family, and two brothers who want to keep one woman full and on the edge

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

Chapter 1

Janey

Spending an entire evening trying to avoid staring at Brookes and Mason Fletcher would be easier if they didn’t make it so hard to look anywhere else.

We’re at a first birthday party, for heaven's sake. Not a bar or a club where ogling members of the opposite sex is expected.

And there has definitely been ogling in both directions.

The party wound down, with most of the other guests hitting the road, but not Brookes and Mason. They sit on their cousins’ porch swing, sipping beer like the whole wide stretch of sprawling land and open night air was built around them.

Mason leans back with one arm stretched along the backrest, his posture loose in a way that still manages to feel deliberate. Brookes sits beside him, his body more contained, his weight angled slightly forward, his attention sharper.

Two brothers. Same blood. Totally different gravity.

And I’m drawn to both.

I lean against the doorway, transfixed in a way I haven’t been over a member of the opposite sex in far too long.

Mason draws the eye first. His shirt pulls across his chest when he shifts, the fabric stretched, hinting at the thick, solid muscle underneath. The sleeves strain slightly at his upper arms, exposing sun-browned skin and a faded line of ink curling and disappearing beneath the fabric. His forearm rests along the back of the swing, strong and marked, with a pale scar cutting across it. His fingers flex idly, as if he's always half a second away from doing something with them.

Something filthy and amazing, probably. Or tough. He looks like the kind of man who could wring the neck of a wild beast or a violent man without breaking a sweat.

My gaze lingers on him longer than it should. Longer than I mean it to.

Brookes is different. He’s quieter in a way that makes him harder to read and, somehow, harder to look away from once I start. Where Mason spreads his arms and legs wide to take up space, Brookes seems to hold himself in, like everything about him is controlled. His sleeves are rolled as well, though the muscle there is leaner and more defined; the kind that’s formed by repetition rather than force. There’s a small, almost hidden mark at his wrist, ink that disappears when his hand shifts, subtle enough that it feels private. His hands rest loosely in his lap, though there is nothing soft about them. They look as capable, rough, and familiar with work as his brother’s.

I’m ogling.

Again.

Heat creeps up the back of my neck as I drag my gaze away, suddenly very aware of myself in a way I have been all night. Of how I must look. Of how I must seem.

Eager, probably. Hungry. Shameless.

Desperate to be grabbed by those hands and held down. Made to do things I really want to do, even though I’d pretend otherwise.

This is ridiculous.

I'm not a teenager. I don’t lose my composure over a couple of men who must be at least a decade older than me. I might be young, but I have a good head on my shoulders and a set of boundaries that keep me away from temptation and danger.

My eyes flick back anyway.

Mason shifts, dragging his boot across the porch floor, the movement slow and unhurried, pulling the denim of his jeans tight across his thighs, and the ease of it sends a small, unwelcome ripple through me. It’s his confidence. The complete lack of self-consciousness, as though he knows exactly who and what he is and has never once questioned it.

Brookes glances toward the house, and for half a second, our eyes almost meet. I look away before they do, my pulse picking up for no good reason.

Except there is a reason.

It sits low in my stomach, warm and restless, spreading slowly the longer I stand here pretending I'm unaffected and in control.

I shift my weight, pressing my thighs together slightly, as if that might ease the ache.

It doesn’t.

If anything, it makes me more aware of it. I’m warm and swollen down there, and maybe a little slick from all my filthy cowboy-centered fantasies.

Which is… deeply inconvenient.

I draw in a quiet breath, trying to center myself, though my attention drifts back out to the porch like it has a mind of its own.

Two brothers. Two rugged, older, imposing ranchers.

A very bad idea waiting to happen.

The worst part is how little that thought deters me.

“Earth to Janey.”

I jump, turning back into the kitchen to find my best friend Joelle watching me with a knowing expression, “Sorry,” I say. “I didn’t hear you come in. It’s been a long day.”

“Mm-hmm.” Her tone carries enough skepticism to make my face warm. “You planning on going to bed anytime soon, or are you going to keep pretending you aren’t interested in those two hunks of men out there?”

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >57

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Broken Pride – Texas Pride Series Read Online Kindle Alexander http://www.ilovenovels.com/broken-pride-texas-pride-series-read-online-kindle-alexander Sun, 12 Jul 2026 16:12:02 +0000 https://www.ilovenovels.com/broken-pride-texas-pride-series-read-online-kindle-alexander Genre: Contemporary, Erotic, M-M Romance Authors: Kindle Alexander Advertisement

Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 112850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >120

In recognition of current economic challenges, all Kindle Alexander titles have been reduced in price and will remain so for the foreseeable future.

Description:

Mega movie star Slade Whitaker lives under a constant microscope. Fame, fortune, and a global fanbase come at a hefty personal price of keeping his true self tightly under wraps. One he escapes from every year to his secluded West Texas ranch, far from the relentless paparazzi and the dark side of Hollywood.

For Mason Sutton, life used to be simple. Long days spent on the rich Texas soil and the quiet, steady comfort of his beloved rodeo mare, Wildflower. But one tragic afternoon shatters everything, leaving him alone to rebuild the pieces of his life. The last thing Mason wants is a sexy temptation with a great strut wreaking havoc on his broken life.

In the quiet countryside, far from cameras and gossip columns, the line between fantasy and reality blurs. Will they risk their futures for a chance at love, or will the fear of being exposed destroy the one thing that might finally make them whole?

A steamy MM celebrity romance featuring a movie star, a Texas cowboy, small-town heat, emotional hurt/comfort, and a secret relationship that could change everything

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

Prologue

Mason Sutton

7 years ago

The ear-piercing squeak of the swinging saloon doors came with all the creaking that only hand-carved more than a hundred-year-old white oak could achieve. How the batwing doors were still attached to the doorframe was a marvel in itself. As far as I knew, the hinges holding the doors in place were forged before the industrial revolution became a thing. Those double-action hinges had stood the test of time but did nothing to help my aching head or tired body. The clanking bells attached to the modern front door didn’t help either.

The culprit who let the doors make all that racket was technically the man who owned this bar. My grandfather, mighty Max Sutton, shuffled across the Texas walnut floor to his carved-out piece of the bar, the place he spent every day since his stroke more than three years ago. The swishing of each booted foot, along with the walker he used, hoisted all the sounds into the high-frequency range, stabbing like a knife into my throbbing head.

Darkness frayed the edges of my vision. My stomach twisted, scrambling me down each rung of the ladder in record time. Passing out, or even worse, spewing the contents of my semi-empty stomach, would be better at ground level. Obviously, replacing light bulbs was a job better suited for tomorrow.

“You drink too much,” my grandfather said in his stroke-inhibited speech pattern. Sometimes it was hard to figure out what he tried to say, and he’d get riled up, slapping the tabletop and raising his voice. Not this time, he was straight up telling me his opinion and the words held clarity I couldn’t mistake. The same sentiment revibrated through my head every day that I woke up in the mind-numbing existence I lived.

I rested my hands on my knees, closed my eyes, and breathed in controlled puffs, trying to get past another roll of my gut. My life was painfully monotonous. This same routine every single day. Something had to give. I counted the seconds until my body behaved.

My family had kept the nostalgia of the bar intact. Not because we needed it this way, but due to the generations of our ancestors who’d owned this property and parcel of land it sat on.

The generations of Suttons had updated the hundred-and eighty-year-old bar over the years. While the Silver Star Saloon kept its vintage appearance, we did have the conveniences of indoor plumbing, climate control, and a modern kitchen.

A trickle of sweat ran down my temple as the next spike of pain shot through my head, causing me to swivel on my heels in search of the first-aid kit to find some pain reliever and anything else that might help.

“Where you goin’?” my father, Les Sutton, called from the entry with another clank of those evil bells. “We got a truck full.”

“Give me a…” I lost the battle and grabbed the bar’s undercounter trash can, burying my head inside while emptying my stomach.

“He drinks too much.” My grandfather’s rough, gravelly voice was louder than before, this time with more clarity.

“He does drink too much,” my mom, Jilly Sutton, echoed. Though her tone hinted at both compassion and concern. Instinct told me that she was headed my way. A cold can of Dr. Pepper and a wet towel were her cure-alls for a hangover. First the soda then the damp rag appeared on the bar top in front of me. “He’s also not of legal age to be drinkin’ at all. We could get in trouble.”

Again, another thing I knew without needing a refresher course.

After a few seconds, I forced myself to man up, not even trying to hide the wince as I ran the rag over my forehead and went for the small sink, splashing water over my face and into my mouth.

“Is Lori here yet?” my mom asked, her hand caressing a comforting trail down my back. Where I’d reached about six feet in height, my mom was a tiny thing, having to lift to reach my shoulders. “Babe, I can get you some breakfast.”

Oh no, absolutely not. With a hard shake of my head, I rejected anything food-related and popped the top on the soda before taking several long gulps.

My mom and I shared a connection that meant something special. She read me like a book, and I didn’t want to hear what she had to say, stopping it before it started. “I won about seventy bucks last night,” I said, rubbing the rag over my wet face. “We ended about seven this mornin’.”

“You’ve been up all night?” she asked, her brow crinkling. “How can anyone play that much poker?”

A smile touched my lips as I rested a palm on the edge of the glazed countertop made of the same walnut as the floor. No one understood the draw of poker until they played, which she never had. Besides, the guys that used our back room for their Thursday night game paid to rent the space. They drank more alcohol than a week’s worth of customers. We profited from the weekly game.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >120

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Code Name Ember (Jameson Force Seattle #1) Read Online Sawyer Bennett http://www.ilovenovels.com/code-name-ember-jameson-force-seattle-1-read-online-sawyer-bennett Sun, 12 Jul 2026 16:11:55 +0000 https://www.ilovenovels.com/code-name-ember-jameson-force-seattle-1-read-online-sawyer-bennett Genre: Alpha Male, Angst, Contemporary, Erotic, Suspense, Thriller Authors: Sawyer Bennett Series: Jameson Force Seattle Series by Sawyer Bennett
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Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 78334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >82

A whistleblower is dead. A journalist is hunted. And only one man can keep her alive.

After a career in special forces, then as a smokejumper, Cole Mercer is ready for a new challenge. When he hears that the world-renowned covert operations team at Jameson Force Security is opening a facility in Seattle, Cole knows exactly where he belongs. What he doesn’t expect is to come face-to-face with the woman he never stopped loving—the one who walked away before either of them said goodbye.

Investigative journalist Tessa Ward has uncovered proof that a powerful real estate developer is tied to a string of deadly wildfires in the Pacific Northwest. It’s the kind of story that could make her career… or end her life. When her source is murdered in cold blood, Tessa realizes the truth is more dangerous than she ever imagined. With no other options, Tessa knows she has no choice but to turn to the one man she swore she’d never ask for help.

Some fires are set on purpose. Others never stop burning.

Their past ended in heartbreak, but when it’s clear she’s being hunted, Tessa and Cole are forced to set aside their hurt. As they chase a trail of corruption, arson, and murder, every life-or-death decision reignites old passions. But the closer they get to the truth, the more dangerous the game becomes—and one wrong move could cost them everything, including each other

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

CHAPTER 1

Cole

Gunfire cracks through the training bay, sharp and contained, the sound ricocheting off steel beams and reinforced concrete. The air carries the acrid smell of burned propellant left behind by the sim rounds—the small polymer bullets we shoot at each other rather than real ammunition.

I pivot left around a fabricated drywall corner, Glock up, both hands steady. The digital overlay in my heads-up display flashes a red silhouette through the partition—an armed hostile, two meters beyond the threshold.

I drop to one knee at the doorway, lean out just enough to clear the angle, and fire three rapid shots.

Pop. Pop. Pop.

The projection target flickers and dissolves. A chorus of electronic beeps confirms the neutralization, but the overhead scoreboard still burns bright above the bay doors.

SECOND PLACE.

“Hostage compromised,” the automated system announces in its calm, infuriating voice over the comms.

Fuck.

The third floor of the Jameson Force Seattle headquarters isn’t just a firing range. It’s a full-immersion tactical maze with modular walls on hydraulic tracks that can be moved around in various formations. Programmable lighting can drop the room into blackout mode in half a second and ceiling-mounted projectors are capable of projecting holographic moving civilians, vehicles or armed suspects into the simulation drills. On top of that, we have the standard pop-up targets that will appear out of nowhere and shave years off your life.

Today’s scenario is a hostage extraction inside a two-story urban warehouse. The program is giving us several hostiles, three civilians and zero acceptable collateral damage.

I clear the doorway properly this time, sweeping the near corner before shifting deeper into the room. A hostage mannequin lies zip-tied behind stacked cargo crates, an attached LED light blinking yellow to indicate a moderate but survivable injury. My HUD—the heads-up display projected across my smart lenses—flashes the damage report at the lower edge of my vision.

All hostiles neutralized. Zero civilian deaths. Clean shot placement. Response time four-point-two seconds behind optimal.

Second place by a margin that would have been invisible to anyone not running at this level. Reid was faster today, but it won’t happen twice.

Somewhere to my right, another three-shot burst echoes, perfectly timed, perfectly placed.

“Mercer,” Reid calls from behind a barricade, a grin in his voice. “You slowing down, old man?”

I duck as a fresh hologram pops up to my left. “You’re welcome for the cover fire,” I shoot back, nailing the digitized silhouette before it can light me up. “Maybe focus on not getting yourself killed.”

Josie’s voice crackles over the comms. “Focus, gentlemen. We’re supposed to be rescuing hostages, not arguing like frat boys.”

“Frat boys get to drink more,” Reid mutters.

“True that,” I commiserate, grinning despite myself. Reid’s Marine Corps swagger and Josie’s NSA-trained sharp tongue keep this place from feeling like a funeral. It’s almost enough to make me forget the smell of real smoke and blood.

Almost.

“Clock’s ticking,” Malik’s voice cuts in, calm but firm. “Two minutes to extraction.”

I roll forward, scanning the virtual layout on my wrist display. Target room dead center—two hostiles, one hostage. Breach-and-clear.

“Reid, flank left. I’ll take point.”

“Copy.”

“Josie, bring up the rear.”

She doesn’t acknowledge but hangs back three paces as we sweep the corner. Josie is our lead intelligence specialist at Jameson Seattle. While she’s most dangerous at a keyboard, Malik insists everyone trains the same, and her tactical skills are every bit as sharp as mine or Reid’s.

My pulse steadies but then again, it always does when the adrenaline hits. Everything narrows. Breath, sight, timing.

The door is magnetically locked so I plant a breaching charge, count down from three, and we flow through after it blows. Two paint rounds zing past my shoulder. I drop one target and Reid takes the other. The hostage dummy screams through the speakers in mock terror, a realistic element that sort of creeps me out.

“Clear,” I say, and Josie comes in behind us, holstering her weapon and cutting the restraints off the dummy while Reid and I cover her in case Malik sends in some surprise hostiles.

But then we hear his voice over the comms. “That was really good. Mission complete.”

Josie grins as she rises from the now freed but still inert hostage. “Nice work, boys. Only one of you is bleeding this time.”

I glance down at the red paint blooming across my shoulder plate.

Reid smirks. “You hesitated. Thought you were supposed to be the calm, collected one.”

“Next time, you breach first. Let’s see how calm you stay.”

We exit into the corridor, the air shifting from propellant and burnt plastic to crisp and filtered sweetness. The Jameson Force Security–Seattle Division facility still smells new. It’s been three months since we opened unofficially, a spinoff from the Pittsburgh division, which spun off from the original in Las Vegas.

Tonight is the grand opening proper, and our owner, Kynan McGrath, spared no expense. The building is a 1908 brick structure in Pioneer Square, formerly known as the Blackwood Exchange, but is now referred to among us simply as headquarters. It’s four stories with Romanesque arches lining the upper windows, ornate stone cornices, deep red masonry and tall, narrow windows trimmed in dark metal. From the street it reads as old Seattle wealth—respectable, established, untouchable. Nothing about the facade hints at what happens inside.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >82

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Hold Me Close (Dangerous Obsession #3) Read Online Nikki Sloane http://www.ilovenovels.com/hold-me-close-dangerous-obsession-3-read-online-nikki-sloane Sun, 12 Jul 2026 16:11:28 +0000 https://www.ilovenovels.com/hold-me-close-dangerous-obsession-3-read-online-nikki-sloane Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Dark, Mafia Authors: Nikki Sloane Series: Dangerous Obsession Series by Nikki Sloane
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Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 96460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >102

The only thing more dangerous than trusting him — is falling for him.

One last job. Once Captain Olivia Wallace flies her employer to South Africa and back . . . she’s free. Next time she won’t unwittingly agree to work for criminals, but when you’re running from your past, you can’t afford to be picky.

She quickly discovers the savanna is full of predators and the most dangerous of all is her boss’s new bodyguard. This man is intense. Lethal. Gorgeous.

Even when he’s wrapped in lies.

His name is fake, but their attraction is blisteringly real. He may claim he’s not a good man, but when violence erupts, he risks everything to save her—including his cover.

Except putting his desires above the mission sets them on a dangerous collision course with the Italian mafia, and its impact threatens to destroy so much more than just their lives.

TROPES:
- Alpha Hero
- Spy / Hidden Identity
- Mafia
- Guarded Hearts
- Protector
- Military
- Only One Bed
- Strong Heroine

Hold Me Close is a standalone romantic suspense. However, it is book 3 in the Dangerous Obsession series which is best read in order to avoid spoiling previous booksShe’s a flight attendant. He’s the billionaire who sat in 1A…until he bought the airline to keep her close.

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

1

OLIVIA

Elephants were on the runway, making landing impossible. This wasn’t a delay I’d encountered before. My co-pilot Rory and I guided the Bombardier down to buzz the landing strip, startling the impressive beasts on their way, before we maneuvered to make our approach.

It wasn’t much of a runway. More a level strip of grassy land that the luxury game lodge groomed for their wealthiest clients, so they had somewhere to set down their private jets. The only alternative was to land at Johannesburg and drive three hours to the middle of nowhere.

There was no way the eldest son of the Abramo family was going to put up with that.

The plane bounced and shuddered down the runway, and I had to fight the yoke in my hands to bring the aircraft to a stop on the dirt-packed, uneven road. Then I powered down the engines and the jet slowed to a crawl with South African soil beneath the wheels.

A few more flights and my trial contract as the Abramos’ pilot would be up. Usually, I flew for the patriarch, an intimidating man whose scrutinizing gaze made me break out into an uneasy sweat. I didn’t let people scare me, but every hair stood on end in his presence.

The Abramos didn’t speak English.

It was like that language was too ugly to come out of their refined mouths. The entire flight crew spoke no Italian, and this was by design. During my interview for the job, the translator explained the language barrier was so the Abramos could discuss sensitive business information in flight, but I wasn’t a fool.

I knew what type of business they were really in.

I unlatched the cockpit door and collided face-first with a man’s hard chest. I shot him a perturbed look, like it was his fault I’d walked into him.

Nathan.

The unfamiliar American was enormous, at least six and a half feet tall, all muscle stretched across his lean frame. Dark, straight hair that was longer on top and swept to one side. His eyes were magnetic. As black as the gun I’d seen holstered under his arm. I didn’t like armed passengers on my bird, but it wasn’t as if I could ask Giovanni’s private security guard to stow his weapon in the hold.

I couldn’t ask him because Nathan scared the hell out of me.

Giovanni’s usual bodyguard and translator for this safari had come down with the stomach flu at the last minute, and Nathan had taken his place. The moment I’d seen him, something tightened in my chest and my breath went shallow.

I’d spent most of the flight down here trying not to think about him, or how embarrassed he’d been when he realized I was the captain and not the flight attendant. After his apology, we’d had a quiet moment together. His job was to ensure nothing dangerous made its way onboard, and I told him I thought the most dangerous thing was probably standing in front of me.

He didn’t deny it.

In fact, there’d been no reaction at all from him.

He appeared to be the same age as I was, but maybe he was older than thirty-five. He looked tired, like he hadn’t slept during either leg of the flight. Even tired, this man still looked dangerous. That gun, those muscles, those furiously intense eyes.

Predatory and beautiful.

He stared down at me now, his face expressionless, but there was something lurking in his gaze. Curiosity? I’d always been good at reading people, which made me great at poker, but didn’t help with much else.

“Sorry if the landing was a little rough,” I said.

He shrugged as if he couldn’t care less, but again, there was an edge to his expression, hinting at something . . . else. “It was fine.”

His voice was deep and sent my stomach uncharacteristically twisting.

“We’ve both had rougher,” announced Rory, who lingered in the cockpit and finished powering down the electronics. He was Scottish with gray hair and a few extra pounds around the midsection, and an easy-going calmness that I admired.

He was right. I’d certainly had rougher landings, but I kept my face blank.

Nathan’s dark eyes narrowed, discerning. Like he saw past it, right to the dark memory of that crash I tucked away. I ripped my gaze from his and turned my attention to the young British cabin attendant who was setting the stairway in place. Stuart was nice. He was bright and happy and so polite that sometimes I felt inferior when he was around. Like there was something wrong with me for not being able to find a smile as quickly as he could.

It was pleasant outside, probably sixty degrees in the shade and warmer under the sun. Spring even though it was late November. Being south of the equator messed with my head.

On the tarmac, a collection of people waited, staff of the private game reserve. Nathan translated our boss’s demands to them, and while some began to unload the luggage, the travel party of two, plus my flight crew, were ushered into a waiting van.

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