VIP Series by Kristen Callihan – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read

VIP Series by Kristen Callihan – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.ilovenovels.com Sat, 17 Jul 2021 00:58:41 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=7.0 http://www.ilovenovels.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/favicon.png VIP Series by Kristen Callihan – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.ilovenovels.com 32 32 Exposed (VIP #4) Read Online Kristen Callihan http://www.ilovenovels.com/exposed-vip-4-read-online-kristen-callihan Sat, 17 Jul 2021 00:50:55 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/exposed-vip-4-read-online-kristen-callihan Genre: Contemporary, New Adult, Romance Authors: Kristen Callihan Series: VIP Series by Kristen Callihan
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Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 123058 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 615(@200wpm)___ 492(@250wpm)___ 410(@300wpm)

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Read Online Books/Novels:	Exposed (VIP #4)
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Kristen Callihan Books
Language:	English
ISBN/ ASIN:	B096R3JF2C
Book Information:
Brenna There are some people in life who know exactly how to push your buttons. For me, it’s Rye Peterson. We can’t spend more than ten minutes together before we’re at each other’s throats, which makes working together that much harder. Rye is the bassist for Kill John, the biggest rock band in the world, and I am his publicist. It doesn’t help that the man is gorgeous, funny, talented, and…never takes anything seriously. Avoidance is key. But everything changes when he overhears something he shouldn’t: a confession made in a moment of weakness. Now the man I’ve tried so hard to ignore is offering me the greatest temptation of all—him. Rye Brenna James is the one. The one I can’t have. The one I can’t get out of my mind. Believe me, I’ve tried; the woman loathes me. I managed well enough—until I heard her say she’s as lonely as I am. That she needed to be touched, held, satisfied. And I could no longer deny the truth: I wanted to be the one to give her what she craved. I convinced her that it would just be sex, mutual satisfaction with nothing deeper. But the moment I have her, she becomes my world. I’ve never given her a good reason to trust me before. Now, I’ve got to show Brenna that we’re so much better together than we ever were apart. Things are going to get messy. But getting messy with Brenna is what I do best.
Books in Series:	VIP Series by Kristen Callihan
Books by Author:	Kristen Callihan Books

Chapter One

Brenna

There is a time in a woman’s life when her friends start finding their true loves and suddenly everything is a couple’s deal, complete with private looks and inside jokes that you’re no longer part of, and ugh! Somebody hand me a drink already and get me out of this nightmare.

Not very eloquent, I realize, but that’s my general sentiment at the moment.

I mean, who among us hasn’t watched the great Adam Sandler bellow “Love Hurts” in The Wedding Singer and empathized? Maybe that’s just me. God, I hope it isn’t just me.

Not that I don’t believe in love; I dwell under the blinding light of its shining splendor almost every day. I see the happiness being in love has brought my friends. I’m a believer. But after years of dating, years of searching for that spark and getting only tiny flickers, I’m done waiting.

More to the point, I’m busy.

Even so, I’m in a tetchy funk as I head into my favorite neighborhood bar for a much-needed vodka tonic.

Thankfully, my still-single—and thus not moony-eyed—friend Jules is waiting for me in a booth near the back. It’s Thursday night and crowded with young professionals like myself who just want to let loose and perhaps get laid if opportunity strikes. Unfortunately, I’m also done with hookups. They’ve given me nothing but annoyance and mild regret. The kind you have when you order the dinner special because it sounds fantastic, but it ends up leaving you with raging heartburn.

“Hey,” Jules says with a smile. “I’ve already ordered for us.”

After three years of working together, she knows exactly what I like to drink. And I could kiss her right now for saving me from needing to flag someone down. “You are a goddess of the highest order. You know that, right?”

“Of course, I do. You’re in a mood, aren’t you?” Jules asks as I plop down opposite her.

“I just came back from dinner with Jax, Stella, Sophie, Scottie…” I hold up a finger to ward off her comment. “And Killian and Libby.”

Jules’s nose wrinkles in sympathy. “Stuck in a lovefest, eh?”

“You know it.” And she does. Jules and I both work for Kill John, the best rock band in the world—that’s fact, not opinion, if anyone asks. I’m the head of publicity, and Jules is an assistant to Scottie.

Singer-guitarist Killian is my cousin, and he’s married to Libby, who is an exceptional singer in her own right. Jax, also singer-guitarist, is now living with his girlfriend, Stella, who handles our charity fundraising efforts. And band manager Scottie is married to the band photographer and social media liaison, Sophie. I love my guys. I love my ladies. All of them are my closest friends. That doesn’t mean they don’t get on my nerves now and then.

A server drops off our drinks, and I take a long, cooling sip of vodka tonic before sighing in contentment.

Jules toys with the little spear of cranberries in her pink martini. “How did you end up being the oddball out? Where were Whip and Rye?”

Whip and Rye make up the other two members of Kill John. Whip, the drummer, is a sweetheart but is becoming more and more distant from the rest of us. “Whip is nursing a cold and didn’t want to risk anyone else getting sick.”

I’d missed hanging out with him, but I have the feeling that, like me, he’s weary of all the couple love.

Jules raises an expectant brow. “And Rye?”

Rye. The bass guitarist. The ass. The constant thorn in my side.

Rye and I can’t spend more than ten minutes together before wanting to kill each other. I guess we both get off on it. It isn’t productive, but we haven’t found a way to stop.

“Date,” I grind out. “If you can call any of his encounters ‘dates.’” Which I don’t. I don’t care who he does or how many he does. I do care, however, about putting sex before our family dinners. Because that’s what we all are: a family of our own making. Not that I particularly want Rye in my family. But the rest of my family loves him, so he’s part of it, for better or worse. The least he can do is show up.

Scowling, I take a sip of my drink. I’m not going to let him get me worked up when he’s not even around. He doesn’t get any more space in my head than he’s already claimed.

“Dinner was fine, really.” My shoulders slump. “I’m just…jealous.” God, that stings to say.

Jules leans in, her pretty brown-hazel eyes shining in sympathy. “You want to fall in love.”

It feels as though the entire bar holds its breath, which is weird since no one is paying attention to us. Or maybe it’s just the way Jules watches me intently. I find myself laughing, the sound full of snark.

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Idol Read online Kristen Callihan (VIP #1) http://www.ilovenovels.com/idol-1-read-online-kristen-callihan Wed, 28 Nov 2018 01:57:33 +0000 http://www.test123.demo2.xyz/idol-1-read-online-kristen-callihan Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, New Adult, Romance Authors: Kristen Callihan Series: VIP Series by Kristen Callihan
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Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 103602 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)

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Read Online Books/Novels:	Idol (VIP #1)
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Kristen Callihan
Language:	English
Book Information:
Libby I found Killian drunk and sprawled out on my lawn like some lost prince. With the face of a god and the arrogance to match, the pest won’t leave. Sexy, charming, and just a little bit dirty, he’s slowly wearing me down, making me crave more. He could be mine if I dare to claim him. Problem is, the world thinks he’s theirs. How do you keep an idol when everyone is intent on taking him away? Killian As lead singer for the biggest rock band in the world, I lived a life of dreams. It all fell apart with one fateful decision. Now everything is in shambles. Until Liberty. She’s grouchy, a recluse—and kind of cute. Scratch that. When I get my hands on her, she is scorching hot and more addictive than all the fans who’ve screamed my name. The world is clamoring for me to get back on stage, but I’m not willing to leave her. I’ve got to find a way to coax the hermit from her shell and keep her with me. Because, with Libby, everything has changed. Everything.
Books in Series:	VIP Series by Kristen Callihan
Books by Author:	Kristen Callihan Books

Prologue

Music can be your friend when you have none, your lover when you’re needy. Your rage, your sorrow, your joy, your pain. Your voice when you’ve lost your own. To be a part of that, to be the soundtrack of someone’s life, is a beautiful thing.

—Killian James, lead singer and guitarist, Kill John

The Past—

Killian

The Animal is a temperamental beast. It can love you one moment, then hate you the next, and you never know what side of it you’re going to see until it’s upon you. If it hates you, there’s nothing to do about it but endure and hope you survive without being completely shredded until you can safely make your escape. But when it loves you?

Damn, but it’s the best feeling on Earth. You crave that time with the Animal. Live for each encounter. It becomes life. Your purpose. Your entire world. And because you become so dependent on it, you come to hate it a little bit as well.

Love. Hate. No down time. No middle ground. Just highs and lows.

It’s out there now, waiting for me. Growling with a slow, gathering rumble. I feel it in my bones, in the subtle charge that lights the air, and in the tremble beneath my feet.

My heart rate begins to rise, adrenaline already kicking in.

“You ready to dance with the devil?” Whip asks no one in particular. He’s chugging a bottle of water, his free hand tapping an agitated rhythm on his knee.

Devil, Animal, Mistress—we all have our name for it. Doesn’t matter. It owns us, and for a time, we own it.

The roar grows louder, followed by a thump, thump, thump. My name. It’s calling for me.

Killian. Killian.

Panting, I rise. A shiver licks over my skin, my balls drawing tight.

I answer its call, and a wave of sound and sheer energy crashes over me as I walk into the light.

Hot, blinding.

The Animal screams. For me.

And I am the one who controls it. I raise my arms, walk up to the mic. “Hello, New York!”

The answering cry is so loud, I rock back on my heels.

A guitar is placed in my hand, the smooth neck both a familiar comfort and an adrenaline kick. I settle the strap over my head. Whip’s drums start up, a pulsing beat, and my body moves with it. Jax and Rye join in, their riffs weaving an intricate pattern. Harmony. Poetry of sound. A scream of defiance.

I begin to strum, my voice rising. Music flows through my veins. It pours out of me like lava, igniting the air, inciting a riot of eager screams.

Power. So much power. The Animal responds, its love so potent that my dick gets rock hard, the hairs on the back of my neck lift. Everything I am, I put into my voice, my playing.

In that instant, I am God. Omnipotent. Endless.

Nothing—nothing—on Earth gives a charge like this. Nothing compares. This is life.

But that’s the thing about life; it can change in an instant.

All it takes is one instant.

For it

to all…

End.

The Future—

Libby

“There’s been so much written about your involvement with Killian James. But you and James have been rather closed-mouthed about the topic.” The reporter gives me a slight but encouraging smile, her blue hair slipping over one eye. “Given last night’s performance, would you care to offer us a little bite?”

Curled up on a leather-and-chrome hotel room chair, my back to the New York City skyline, I almost smile at the question I’ve heard about a thousand times now.

But training kicks in. A smile would convey either acquiescence or that I’m being obnoxiously coy. I don’t want to give up a “little bite,” and despite what critics say, Killian and I have never been coy. We’ve just never wanted to let the public in. The Killian I knew was mine, not theirs.

“There isn’t much to tell that the world doesn’t already know.” Not really true. But true enough.

The reporter’s smile has an edge to it now—a barracuda searching for blood in the water. “Oh, now, I’m not so sure about that. After all, we don’t know your side of the story.”

I resist the urge to pick at the cuff of my white cashmere tunic. God, the sweater—hell, my underwear—cost more than I would have spent in a year before he walked into my life.

I turn my head and catch a glimpse of water bottles nestled in a silver ice bucket: a dark green bottle, one that’s gold, another bedazzled with crystals. Earlier an assistant proudly proclaimed that the green one, supposedly from Japan, cost more than four hundred dollars a bottle. For water.

Suddenly, I want to laugh. At the craziness of my life. For going from tap to designer water. For the fact that this penthouse suite is my new normal.

And then I want to cry. Because I would have none of this without him. And not a single fucking bit of it has any meaning without him to share it.

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Managed Read online Kristen Callihan (VIP #2) http://www.ilovenovels.com/managed-2-read-online-kristen-callihan Tue, 27 Nov 2018 13:57:33 +0000 http://www.test123.demo2.xyz/managed-2-read-online-kristen-callihan Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Funny, New Adult, Romance Authors: Kristen Callihan Series: VIP Series by Kristen Callihan
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Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 109637 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)

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Read Online Books/Novels:	Managed (VIP #2)
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Kristen Callihan
Language:	English
ISBN/ ASIN:	9780990715733
Book Information:
It started off as a battle of wits. Me: the ordinary girl with a big mouth against Him: the sexy bastard with a big...ego. I thought I’d hit the jackpot when I was upgraded to first class on my flight to London. That is until HE sat next to me. Gabriel Scott: handsome as sin, cold as ice. Nothing and no one gets to him. Ever. He’s a legend in his own right, the manager of the biggest rock band in the world, and an arrogant ass who looks down his nose at me. I thought I’d give him hell for one, long flight. I didn’t expect to like him. I didn’t expect to want him. But the biggest surprise? He wants me too. Only in a way I didn’t see coming. If I accept his proposal, I leave myself open to falling for the one man I can’t manage. But I’m tempted to say yes. Because the real man beneath those perfect suits and that cool façade just might be the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And I just might be the only one who can melt the ice around his heart. Let the battle begin…
Books in Series:	VIP Series by Kristen Callihan
Books by Author:	Kristen Callihan Books

Chapter One

Sophie

* * *

You know those people who Lady Luck always seems to be kissing on the cheek? The one who gets a promotion just for showing up to work? Who wins that awesome raffle prize? The person who finds a hundred-dollar bill on the ground? Yeah, that’s not me. And it’s probably not most of us. Lady Luck is a selective bitch.

But today? Lady Luck has finally turned her gaze upon me. And I want to bow down in gratitude. Because today, I’ve been upgraded to first class for my flight to London. Maybe it’s due to overbooking, and who knows why they picked me, but they did. First fucking class, baby. I’m so giddy, I practically dance to my seat.

And, oh, what a beautiful seat it is, all plush cream leather and burled wood paneling—though I’m guessing it’s fake wood for safety reasons. Not that it matters. It’s a little self-contained pod, complete with a cubby for my bag and shoes, a bar, an actual reading lamp, and a widescreen TV.

I sink into the seat with a sigh. It’s a window seat, sectioned off from my neighbor by a frosted glass panel I can lower with the touch of a button. Or the two seats can become one cozy cabin by closing the glossy panel that sections off the aisle. It reminds me of an old-fashioned luxury train compartment.

I’m one of the first people on board, so I give in to temptation and rifle through all the goodies they’ve left me: mints, fuzzy socks, sleep mask, and—ooh—a little bag of skin care products. Next I play around with my seat, raising and lowering my privacy screen—that is until it makes an ominous-sounding click. The screen freezes an inch above the divider and refuses to rise again.

Cringing, I snatch my hand away and busy myself with removing my shoes and flipping through the first class menu. It’s long, and everything looks delicious. Oh man, how am I supposed to go back to the cattle-roundup, meat-or-chicken-in-a-tin hell that is economy class after this?

I’m debating whether to get a preflight champagne cocktail or glass of white wine when I hear the man’s voice. It’s deep, crisply British, and very annoyed.

“What is that woman doing in my seat?”

My neck tenses, but I don’t look up. I’m assuming he means me. His voice is coming from somewhere over my head, and there are only male passengers in here aside from me.

And he is wrong, wrong, wrong. I’m in my seat. I checked twice, pinched myself, checked again, and then finally sat down. I know I’m where I’m supposed to be—just not how I got away with it. Hey, I was as surprised as anyone when I went to the ticket counter, only to be informed I was in first class. No way am I going back to coach now.

My fingers grip the menu as I make a pretense of flipping through it. I’m really eavesdropping at this point. The flight attendant’s response is too low to hear, but his isn’t.

“I expressly purchased two seats on this flight. Two. For the simple purpose that I would not be seated next to anyone else.”

Well, that’s…decadent? Whacked? I struggle not to make a face. Who does that? Is it really so awful to sit next to someone? Has this guy seen economy? We can count each other’s nose hairs back there. Here, my chair is so wide, I’m a good foot away from his stupid seat.

“I’m so sorry, sir,” the flight attendant answers in a near purr, which is weird. She should be annoyed. Maybe it’s all part of the kiss-the-first-class-passengers’-asses-because-they-paid-a-shit-ton-to-be-here program. “The flight is overbooked, and all seats are spoken for.”

“Which is why I purchased two seats,” he snaps.

She murmurs something soothing again. I can’t hear because two men walking past me to get to their seats are talking about stock options. They pass, and I hear Mr. Snooty again.

“This is unacceptable.”

A movement to my right, and I nearly jump. I see the red suit coat of the flight attendant as she bends close, her arm at the man’s screen button. Heat invades my cheeks, even as she starts to explain, “There’s a screen for privacy…”

She stops because the screen isn’t rising.

I burrow my nose in the menu.

“It doesn’t bloody work?” This from Snooty.

The rest goes just about as well as you’d expect. He rants, she placates, I hide between page one and two of the menu.

“Perhaps I can persuade someone to exchange seats?” the helpful flight attendant offers.

Yes, please. Fob him off on someone else.

“What difference does it make?” Snooty snaps. “The point was to have an empty seat next to mine.”

I’d love to suggest he wait for the next flight and save us all a headache, but that’s not in the cards. The standoff ends with the jerk plopping into his seat with an exasperated huff. He must be big, because I feel the whoosh of air as he does it.

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Fall Read Online Kristen Callihan (VIP #3) http://www.ilovenovels.com/fall-3-read-online-kristen-callihan Wed, 23 Aug 2017 13:57:33 +0000 http://www.test123.demo2.xyz/fall-3-read-online-kristen-callihan Genre: New Adult, Romance Authors: Kristen Callihan Series: VIP Series by Kristen Callihan
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Total pages in book: 151
Estimated words: 144042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 720(@200wpm)___ 576(@250wpm)___ 480(@300wpm)

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Read Online Books/Novels:	Fall (VIP #3)
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Kristen Callihan
Language:	English
ISBN/ ASIN:	B07H3M1XJ8
Book Information:
The first time I met Jax Blackwood things went a little sideways. In my defense, I didn’t know he was Jax Blackwood—who expects a legendary rock star to be shopping for groceries? More importantly, a blizzard was coming and he was about to grab the last carton of mint-chocolate chip. Still, I might have walked away, but then he smugly dared me to try and take the coveted ice cream. So I kissed him. And distracted that mint-chip right out of his hands. Okay, it was a dirty move, but desperate times and all that. Besides, I never expected he’d be my new neighbor. An annoying neighbor who takes great pleasure in reminding me that I owe him ice cream but would happily accept more kisses as payment. An irresistible neighbor who keeps me up while playing guitar naked–spectacularly naked–in his living room. Clearly, avoidance is key. Except nothing about Jax is easy to ignore—not the way he makes me laugh, or that his particular brand of darkness matches mine, or how one look from him melts me faster than butter under a hot sun. Neither of us believes in love or forever. Yet we’re quickly becoming each other’s addiction. But we could be more. We could be everything. All we have to do is trust enough to fall.
Books in Series:	VIP Series by Kristen Callihan
Books by Author:	Kristen Callihan Books

“If my eyes could show my soul, everyone would cry when they saw me smile.”

—Kurt Cobain

Chapter One

Stella

* * *

There is a man following me. I’m 99.5 percent sure of it. Though it should be freaking me out, I’m more intrigued at this point. I slide a glance over the organic apple bin at the stalker in question. Tall, lean, fit—at least judging by the way his coat hugs his broad shoulders—even features, good jawline. Chocolate-brown hair and tan skin. Chocolate and peanut butter. Yum.

I bite back a snort. It’s never a good idea to shop for food when hungry; everything starts to look tasty. And, okay, maybe I’m about 80 percent sure he’s following. Examine, if you will, the facts: Mega Hot Dude has appeared in every aisle that I’ve been in, but he doesn’t seem the type to follow anyone around. There’s something too self-possessed about him, as if he’s actively trying not to be noticed. Good luck with that. The guy has a luster that has nothing to do with looks but is closer to sheer magnetism. It’s so strong that he seems vaguely familiar, which is just ridiculous. If I’d met him before, I’d remember his brand of hotness.

Is he following me? The jury is still out. More study is needed.

Possible stalker guy glances up, his big hand wrapped around a rosy Honeycrisp, the same type of apple I’d put in my basket a moment earlier. I’m snagged by jade-green eyes beneath expressive dark brows before I look away, my heart thudding from being caught in the act.

Nope, he definitely can’t be stalking me. Guys like him never look at girls like me. They favor tall, thin goddesses with perfect bone structure, or diminutive elfin pixies with big eyes and perky smiles. They do not look at girls of average height, average weight, and average looks. I ought to know; I’ve been overlooked by guys like him my whole life. All the way back to first grade when little Peter Bondi chased all the girls for a kiss—except me.

It’s a terrible thing to realize that you’re the only girl whose cooties are so repellent, even the class booger-eater won’t touch you. The memory of watching all the other girls run around screeching while Kissing Peter chased after them during recess still stings a bit.

Not that I have a right to complain. I have my share of good features: clear skin—always a bonus—and decent lips. Mom used to call me Bardot, not because I looked like the ’60s movie star, but because she thought I had a mouth like hers. Bee-stung lips, my mom called them, which sounds really painful and hideous. I have also been blessed with silky, red-gold, softly curling hair.

Now, I love my hair—and it’s taken me to the age of twenty-nine to be able to say that without worrying I sound vain. But some men see the hair and expect more from my face. They expect stunning beauty, not average attractiveness. How do I know? I’ve been told that very thing a few times. Ouch. And of course, the hair comes with the freckles. Men either love them or hate them.

Honestly, I am more likely to attract comic-book geeks. Soft-bodied guys with sharp minds. It works for me. Give me personality over muscles any day. All of which to say, Mr. Smolder is probably wondering why I’m everywhere he is, and is not at all interested.

Shaking my head at my paranoia, I head for the cookie aisle. The shelves are sadly bereft. Snowzilla, as the media is calling it, is headed this way. Since it’s March and New Yorkers were just starting to enjoy spring, no one is particularly happy about the surprise storm. In the true spirit of city dwellers faced with the possibility that stores might actually close, panic has ensued. People have been stockpiling necessities such as toilet paper, bread, water, and junk food.

I never understood the whole bread thing, because no one ever seems to purchase anything to go with the bread. Peanut butter is still stocked, as is jelly. What do these people do with their bread in the event of an emergency? Huddle down beside their piles of toilet paper and eat plain slices of bread until help arrives?

Whatever the case, all that’s left are a few chocolate chip bags and one lonely package of Double Stuf Oreos. Not to worry, my little Double Stuf delights, I’ll find you a good home. I grab the pack and am about to put it in my basket when Mr. Peanut Butter and Chocolate turns the corner. Again?

His long stride stutters as he catches sight of me, and his brow lifts a touch as though he too is thinking, you again? He glances at the Oreos in my hand, and his fine lips flatten. Because they are fine, those lips. Well shaped, wide, not too full, not too thin but just …

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Exposed (VIP #4)

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Idol (VIP #1)

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Managed (VIP #2)

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Fall (VIP #3)

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B07H3M1XJ8