Forbidden Love Series by L.J. Shen – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read

Forbidden Love Series by L.J. Shen – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.ilovenovels.com Sat, 16 Aug 2025 22:26:58 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=6.9.4 http://www.ilovenovels.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/favicon.png Forbidden Love Series by L.J. Shen – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.ilovenovels.com 32 32 Handsome Devil (Forbidden Love #3) Read Online L.J. Shen http://www.ilovenovels.com/handsome-devil-forbidden-love-3-read-online-l-j-shen Sat, 16 Aug 2025 22:26:58 +0000 http://www.ilovenovels.com/handsome-devil-forbidden-love-3-read-online-l-j-shen Genre: Alpha Male, Billionaire, Dark, Forbidden, Mafia Authors: L.J. Shen Series: Forbidden Love Series by L.J. Shen
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Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 129676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 648(@200wpm)___ 519(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)

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I made a deal with the devil to save my mother…
But is it really hell if I love the way it burns?

Gia

The monster from my nightmares crawled into my reality, masquerading as my boss.
Tatum Blackthorne is Lucifer, personified.
When he discovers my weakness, he makes me an offer I cannot refuse, and I become his wife.
I always knew he was depraved, but as his twisted vendetta unfurls, so does my darkest secret.
Now we’re both the target of very nefarious people…
They’re about to find out no one matches my husband’s wrath.

Tate

I am a man of a few pleasures, one of which is destroying Gia Bennett.
Slowly. Patiently. Systematically.
My fixation with my secretary has an origin, but no limits.
When my revenge spree sparks into an all-consuming Mafia war, I expect nothing but a good time.
After all, death cannot come too soon.
Alas, it isn’t just my life that’s on the line now.
In this chess name, the king protects the queen.
Even at the price of burning down his entire empire.

Handsome Devil is a mafia-themed, enemies-to-lovers standalone romance. It deals with sensitive subject matters and includes violence, gore and explicit scenes some might find disturbing. Reader discretion is advised

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

All of them.

(I’m not kidding.)

If you still want the full list, please visit this website.

From: Dr. Arjun Patel, MD

(arjunpatel@stjohnsmedical.com)

To: Tate Blackthorn

(willnotanswerunsolicitedemails@GSproperties.com)

Tate,

While I understand your schedule is demanding, I urge you to pay me a visit in the next couple of weeks.

I instructed my secretary to prioritize this meeting. You are not well. I repeat, YOU ARE NOT WELL.

You have multiple disorders that need to be mitigated immediately.

I understand you prefer to liaise directly, but if this is a time constraint issue, I’d be happy to schedule appointments through your PA.

I eagerly await your reply.

Dr. Arjun Patel.

Roman baths of Bath

It wasn’t on my year’s bingo card to contaminate the water of two-thousand-year-old ancient thermae, but life had a way of surprising me every now and again.

“Perhaps now would be a good time to stop flailing about, Mr. Boyle,” I suggested stonily, my voice muffled by the plague doctor mask I was wearing.

Breathing through an upholstered leather beak was decisively inconvenient, but the Roman baths of Bath were littered with security cameras, and while severely allergic to humans, I had a feeling I was even more averse to prison food.

Plus, I had it on good authority that Boyle wasn’t a fan of crows.

I always appreciated a good Hitchcockian touch.

Nothing short of polite, Darrah Boyle stopped thrashing in the shallow water upon my request, but not before hitting his head on the edge of the Roman bath’s stair and splitting his forehead. The sound of bone cracking rang and echoed through the empty arena. My nostrils flared.

I despised clumsiness.

I especially hated mess.

Crimson crawled across the green-hued water, visible even in the pitch black of the night. Clenching my teeth, I tapped on the side of my right leg twice, then six times, then twice again.

I loathed going off script. This was definitely a diversion from my plan. He was not supposed to bleed. I wanted his corpse unsoiled and bruise-free.

It’s not in your plans.

It’s not in your plans.

It’s not in your plans.

“Plans change,” I said loudly, authoritatively, to myself.

Uncurling my fingers from his blood-soaked hair, I pushed up on my heels and watched as his ashen, naked frame drifted along the rectangle body of water, face down. A minute passed, then three. Because he wasn’t Aquaman, he was obviously dead.

I briefly considered leaving him inside the columned bath to be found. It would look like an accident. An inebriated ex-felon who came for a late-night dunk where swimming was prohibited. Knocked his head and drowned.

But I couldn’t. Wouldn’t.

There were rituals to follow. A ceremony to be made.

Two, six, two.

Two, six, two.

Two, six, two.

With an exasperated, long-suffering sigh, I strode into the thermae to retrieve my prey. Water enfolded my Tom Ford Chelsea boots, soaking my Brioni pants. The fog of the spring water swallowed his body in thick mist, and I had to fish my phone out of my peacoat and turn on the flashlight.

I checked for messages, but there weren’t any. Not even from my personal assistant, Gia, whom I called a half hour ago about a missing document I needed for work.

I would deal with her later.

The quiet swishing of the water as I treaded through it drowned out my slow and steady heartbeat.

Boyle’s body floated toward a corner of the stairway.

I gripped his hair in my gloved hand, dragging him up to the limestone pavement.

I used the tip of my boot to roll him over so that he faced me. A sloppy, sodden sound rang in my ears.

His blue face was splotchy, his skull distorted and slightly caved in from the injury. His lips were liver-hued.

You couldn’t even have a clean kill, Andrin’s voice mocked in my head. You just had to make a mess of it, didn’t you, Boy?

I shook my head, ridding myself of his voice.

It was my first kill. Practice made perfect, and I had at least two more people to help hone my craft.

See, five years ago, Darrah Boyle, along with two other inmates, murdered my father in prison over a bet. A game of cards. A reckless, meaningless moment.

My father was a powerful man. The type not to land himself in prison for anything short of murder.

As it happened, he did kill someone. Accidentally.

Nothing accidental about what Boyle did to him, though.

Paying with his life was the only logical outcome. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, et cetera.

I had always straddled the murky line between a businessman and a criminal.

Tonight, I stepped over that line.

Hell, I fucking sprinted through it, all the way to another continent.

To track down Boyle and his partners in crime, I had to get in bed with New York’s notorious Camorra organization.

The Ferrante family, who ruled the Italian Mafia in New York, was a lot of things.

None of them outstanding members of society.

“I suppose you could say you popped my cherry.” I reached for the inner pocket of my double-breasted coat, producing a black thorn still attached to the twig. I pressed it to Boyle’s cold, purple mouth. It was an unordinary, telling detail. Black thorn.

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Wildest Dreams (Forbidden Love #2) Read Online L.J. Shen http://www.ilovenovels.com/wildest-dreams-forbidden-love-2-read-online-l-j-shen Mon, 21 Apr 2025 22:19:45 +0000 http://www.ilovenovels.com/wildest-dreams-forbidden-love-2-read-online-l-j-shen Genre: Alpha Male, Billionaire, Contemporary, Dark Authors: L.J. Shen Series: Forbidden Love Series by L.J. Shen
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Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 130673 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 653(@200wpm)___ 523(@250wpm)___ 436(@300wpm)

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He’ll protect his best friend’s baby sister from anything…other than himself.

Rhyland

Dylan Casablancas is a forbidden fruit, undeniably delicious, but one bite just might kill you.
She’s my best friend’s baby sister, a single mom, and a royal pain in the ass.
When Little Miss Baggage moves downstairs to house-sit her brother’s Manhattan apartment, my potential business partner mistakes us as a couple.
He wants a family guy. I want access to his billions.
And Dylan? She needs a big, burly guy to scare off her loser ex.
Pretending to be engaged to the feisty girl next door gets messy when I take a bite of the illicit apple.
What can I say? I’m an instant gratification kind of guy.
We made a deal to walk out of each other’s lives once my contract is signed.
The only problem? She might take my heart with her when she leaves.

Dylan

Rhyland Coltridge is out of the question.
Unless the answer is: “Who’s the biggest man-whore you’ve ever met?”
Hedonistic. Wild card. Utterly corrupt. And those are just the traits the jerk prides himself on.
My life is too messy for a boyfriend. Even if it wasn’t, Rhyland would be the last man I’d consider.
He is supposed to be my ticket out of this nightmare.
But he’s fast becoming my wildest, most dangerous dream.

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

“Spiracle”—Flower Face

“Recomposed By Max Richter: Vivaldi, The Four Seasons”—Max Richter (My Brilliant Friend)

“Washing Machine Heart”—Mitski

“Soaked”—Shy Smith

“The Tortured Poets Department”—Taylor Swift

“Wildest Dreams”—Taylor Swift

“I Like the Way You Kiss Me”—Artemas

“Crazy Girls”—TOOPOOR

“Lilith”—Adeline Troutman

“Bulletproof”—La Roux

“I’m Not in Love”—10cc

DYLAN

There were worse ways to be greeted in your own home than by catching your mother spread-eagle, plastered against the glass backyard door, getting mauled by her fiancé. But I couldn’t think of any of them as I stood at the entrance tightening my fist around the door handle, fighting—and losing—a war against my gag reflex.

“Yes, Marty! Yes. Right there, dio mio—don’t stop.” Her muffled cries, blurred by his palm as he tried to make sure they wouldn’t wake the toddler upstairs, trickled into my brain, burning themselves into my core memory.

My knee-jerk reaction was to scream, “MY EYES, MY EYES!” à la Phoebe Buffay and charge out of the house, town, state, and planet with my arms flailing in the air. Unfortunately, I couldn’t do that. First, because my three-year-old was asleep upstairs and I wasn’t going to leave her behind. Second, because at the age of twenty-six, I still lived with my mama, albeit in the gorgeous mini mansion my brother had built for her. She had more right to this house than I did.

Third? Get it, Mama. Props to you for living your best life.

Throwing up a little in my mouth, I shut the door with a soft click and flung myself back into my red 1999 GMC Jimmy, giving them their privacy. I slammed the ancient driver’s door behind me. In retaliation, it tore off its hinges, collapsing onto the muddy ground with an angry thud.

Closing my eyes, I choked the steering wheel, inhaling deeply.

Everything is okay. More than okay. Great, really. You have a roof over your head. A steady job. A kid you worship…

My phone danced inside the flimsy front pocket of my diner uniform. The outfit consisted of a pale pink minidress short enough to moonlight as a napkin and a checked apron with an array of indistinguishable stains, from tomato sauce to coffee, vomit, and grease.

What can I say? It was a life of luxurious extravagance, but someone had to live it.

My eyes tapered to the image of my best friend Cal’s face on my screen. It was a photo of her with her head tossed back, laughing carelessly, my brother’s demonic face buried in her neck as he kissed her, with the Eiffel Tower as their backdrop. I chose this as her contact picture to remind myself of the one and only flaw in her otherwise sunny character: she was screwing Lucifer’s doppelgänger, a.k.a. my overbearing, controlling older brother.

I mean, they were married. And hella cute together. Maybe I was just annoyed because everyone around me was paired up, cocooned in their own loved-up universes. My only boyfriends in the past four years had been battery-operated and made of silicone.

I glided my finger across the screen but didn’t speak. I was afraid I’d throw up if I opened my mouth.

“Dyl,” Cal laughed breathlessly on the other end of the line. Row growled in the background in that grizzly-bear way he always used whenever he was kissing her.

I wasn’t jealous Cal was living her happily ever after. She’d earned it through taming my half-civilized sibling.

“You won’t believe who we just ran into in Cannes!” she shrieked.

Closing my eyes again, I talked myself out of a spontaneous mental breakdown.

Ed Sheeran? Taylor Swift? King Charles? God?

Their life was full of celebrity parties and Pinterest-worthy vacations and food too picture-perfect to eat.

It wasn’t Cal’s fault I’d just finished a twelve-hour shift at my dead-end job in Dahlia’s Diner. It wasn’t Cal’s fault I was a single mom. It wasn’t Cal’s fault I was still living with my mother. It wasn’t her fault my life felt like the middle section of a painstakingly boring book, the pages stuck together, a never-ending chain of to-do lists and chores.

“Dylan? You there?” Cal moaned after a few seconds of silence.

Unfortunately.

I thought I heard Row grunt the words “stand still and just take it.” Seriously, who’d I kill in my previous life to deserve tonight?

The wind shrieked and swirled in a violent dance, slipping into the car like a thief, burrowing into my bones.

“Row,” Cal chided, “I’m trying to eat here.”

“So am I.”

Oh god. Would Child Protective Services intervene for a twenty-six-year-old?

“I just caught Mama and Marty boning each other against the backyard door,” I blurted out.

This is why you’re bussing tables and not keeping government secrets, Dylan.

“Holy shit,” Cal—or Dot, because of the cluster of freckles on her nose and cheeks, proof God had sprinkled her with magic dust—said. “I mean, go Zeta. She deserves some action, but also…sorry for your loss.” Cal snort-laughed. “You know, of appetite, libido, et cetera.”

“It gets worse.” I mustered a smile, mainly so she could hear it in my voice. “They’re also going to leave a mark, and you know I’m the one who cleans the windows around here.”

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Truly Madly Deeply (Forbidden Love #1) Read Online L.J. Shen http://www.ilovenovels.com/truly-madly-deeply-forbidden-love-1-read-online-l-j-shen Mon, 23 Sep 2024 09:23:39 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/truly-madly-deeply-forbidden-love-1-read-online-l-j-shen Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Forbidden Authors: L.J. Shen Series: Forbidden Love Series by L.J. Shen
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Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 153268 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 766(@200wpm)___ 613(@250wpm)___ 511(@300wpm)

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This old flame just might set them on fire.

Conceited, unattainable, and downright delicious, renowned Michelin-starred chef Ambrose Casablancas has one passion in life—food.

Women are a distraction, and he doesn’t do those. Especially Cal Litvin, his baby sister’s best friend. Her entire existence is a complication; she’s awkward, eccentric, infuriating…

And, much to his chagrin, hotter than his kitchen.

Ambrose has a lot on his a new restaurant to open, a multimillion-dollar property deal to execute, and a violent stalker to tame.

Then Cal shows up at his doorstep, looking for both a job and salvation after their messy goodbye. His resolve, like his patience, is ebbing each day she works at his restaurant.

Because Cal is no longer a doe-eyed girl.

Now? She’s the woman he’ll do anything to conquer.

***

Quirky, compassionate ball of sunshine Calla Litvin can’t catch a break, and not just because she swore off running.

Back in her hometown to nurse her mother’s broken heart after losing her father, she finds herself jobless, hopeless, and penniless. She hopes to rekindle her friendship with her former BFF, but Dylan is attached at the hip to her cruel brother—the one Cal’s been secretly crushing on since middle school.

Falling for the bad boy the second time around would be a mistake of gargantuan proportions.

Too bad she’s always been clumsy.

Truly, Madly, Deeply, is a grumpy x sunshine, enemies to lovers romance. It is the first in the Forbidden Love series, but can be read as a standalone.

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

“Everyone wants to shine bright like a diamond, but no one wants to get cut.”

—Eric Thomas

“Truly Madly Deeply”—Savage Garden

“The Final Countdown”—Europe

“Creep”—Radiohead

“End of the Road”—Boyz II Men

“I’d Do Anything for Love (But I Won’t Do That)”—Meat Loaf

“Torn”—Natalie Imbruglia

“Basket Case”—Green Day

“Why Can’t We Be Friends?”—Smash Mouth

“Crush”—Jennifer Paige

“There She Goes”—Sixpence None the Richer

“Alive”—Pearl Jam

“Gonna Make You Sweat (Everybody Dance Now)”—C+C Music Factory

“Baby Can I Hold You”—Tracy Chapman

“I Will Always Love You”—Whitney Houston

“Human Nature”—Madonna

“All I Want for Christmas Is You”—Mariah Carey

“Lovefool”—The Cardigans

“Doll Parts”—Hole

“Friday I’m in Love”—The Cure

“Never Ever”—All Saints

“I Try”—Macy Gray

“Everybody Hurts”—R.E.M.

“You Get What You Give”—New Radicals

“Back for Good”—Take That

“Gold Soundz”—Pavement

“Whatever”—En Vogue

“What’s Up?”—4 Non Blondes

“Desert Rose”—Sting

“All That She Wants”—Ace of Base

“Ordinary World”—Duran Duran

“The River of Dreams”—Billy Joel

“Closing Time”—Semisonic

“Doo Wop”—Lauryn Hill

“Emotions”—Mariah Carey

CAL

“Creep”—Radiohead

Age Eighteen

If someone told me an hour ago that I would be pinned beneath Row Casablancas, partially naked and writhing against the hood of his black Mustang, I would have guessed he’d gotten himself into some kind of trouble and had resorted to drugging me and harvesting my organs to make a quick buck.

Row didn’t hate me. He didn’t love me either. I would guesstimate his feelings toward me were somewhere on the spectrum between look at this adorable little moron and shit, I forgot she existed.

I was his baby sister’s best friend. The awkward klutz who suffered from bouts of verbal diarrhea and extremely questionable fashion sense.

Fine. I didn’t suffer from the questionable fashion sense. I owned it. Sue me for celebrating my individuality.

I always figured he liked me in the same way people liked puppies—because they were cute, dumb, and adored the ground you walked on, even if you were a terrible human who peeled clementines in public places. But I digress.

Harboring a small, totally manageable crush on your best friend’s brother was a cliché. However, I was obsessed with the nineties, an era that celebrated true and tested formulas. Ergo, pining after him fit me like a tattoo choker.

In my defense, Row made it impossible for my adolescent self not to lust after him on account of him: 1) being six foot four inches of lithe, corded muscles, having floppy onyx hair, and a jawline stronger than my lifetime of New Year’s resolutions combined, and 2) having the entire bad-boy vibe down to a T—including a sports car, athletic genes, witty one-liners, a dimpled smirk, and unlaced combat boots with tight-fitting jeans stacked upon them.

To sum it up, he was a morally gray hunk who was a total red flag—my age group’s favorite color scheme. So, yes. Of course I, too, wanted to be ruined by Dylan Casablancas’s older brother. Who didn’t? Our entire high school worshipped at his altar. Fenna McGee once even made a sticker that said, I’m not saying that Row Casablancas and God are the same person—but have you ever seen them in the same room?

Point was, Row’s tongue was currently shoved so far down my throat, we were playing tonsil hockey. His ballistic missile–sized erection pressed against the buttons of my yellow plaid skirt, threatening to snap them and send them past the Milky Way. And all I could think about was how I was doing Dylan dirty.

Bile coated the back of my throat. Dylan hated it when her friends fell at her brother’s feet. She’d make gagging sounds every time someone we knew flirted with him, which made what was happening right now completely inexcusable. But I was semi-drunk, exceptionally raw, and uncharacteristically reckless. Plus…Dylan was so used to seeing Row ruining her friends like it was an Olympic sport, what was adding one more into the mix?

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