Amarie Avant – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read

Amarie Avant – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.books2020.com Thu, 26 Feb 2026 08:21:25 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=6.9.4 http://www.books2020.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/favicon.png Amarie Avant – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.books2020.com 32 32 Big Country – Romcom Set in Nola Read Online Amarie Avant http://www.books2020.com/big-country-romcom-set-in-nola-read-online-amarie-avant Thu, 26 Feb 2026 08:21:25 +0000 http://www.books2020.com/big-country-romcom-set-in-nola-read-online-amarie-avant Genre: Alpha Male Authors: Amarie Avant Advertisement

Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 74383 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)

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Big League Energy, Single Momma Energy, and a fake relationship shadier than a Louisiana live oak.
MONTANA
“Big Country.” That name—my name—had Dodger Stadium shaking when I won the World Series. Now they’re talking suspension? Please. I’m a national legend. The pride of NOLA. But the only thing dragging my six-foot-four frame into my Creole restaurant is her … Journey.
That woman’s a walking challenge—sharp tongue, soft smile, and eyes that promise trouble. One look from me and she fumbles that cool facade. One look from her and suddenly I’m reconsidering every rule I’ve ever followed.
So yeah, I’ll polish my image with her—and maybe blur the line between business and pleasure.

ZURI
That damn face of Montana’s? Unfair. His voice? Dangerous. His presence? A whole problem I don’t need. But when Big Country offers a contract that could change my life, I read the fine print.
Hell, he doesn’t even know my real name. My locs stay tucked under a wig that smells like coconut oil, chaos, and bad decisions. And nobody will ever know the truth about my son’s father.
But the problem isn’t pretending. It’s the way he looks at me—like he sees straight through the disguise. And if I’m not careful, he might see the woman I swore I’d never let anyone touch … again.

This brand-new, hilarious fake dating romcom will have you planning a trip to New Orleans!

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

zuri

. . .

Ibacked through the swinging kitchen door into the Hot Chicken & Peach Pit Maison dining area, a Creole hotspot on Royal Street. Sunlight poured through tall arched windows, hitting emerald banquette booths and velvet chairs around dark wooden tables. A classy setup that whispered Black, bad, bougie … and prepared to ruin your diet on sight. Creole spices twirled in the air. Honestly? Stretchy pants should’ve been the uniform because these slacks would hold on by grace if I sampled the menu.

Balancing two peach cobblers, I scanned the restaurant, studying patrons’ faces before settling on Darius, who sat coloring dinosaurs. Safe … ish.

These days, I had a PhD in reading faces. One wrong look, and I snatched my four-year-old and ran. Momma Bear: Witness Protection Edition.

It wasn’t always this way. Once upon a time, I was Dr. Zuri Caldwell, ER trauma specialist. Steady hands and cool nerves during a Code Blue. Now, I tried to remember what it felt like to save lives instead of just surviving mine.

The French doors of the entrance swung open, carrying in jazz off the Quarter and trouble. I halted mid-step. A white T-shirt hugged a massive chest and broad shoulders like it had a crush. The man’s smile promised danger. I swear my survival instincts threw in the towel as my gaze took a joyride over smooth pecan skin, smoother than all these velvet seats.

“Hey, ma’am, is that our Peach Cobbler á la Soul?” someone called.

“With a couple of scoops of Bless Your Heart.” I recited the ridiculously long name for the ice cream paired with every dessert. I took one step. My toe caught on the handle of a Birkin bag—the Birkin I’d asked Miss Bougie with the microbraids to move.

A gasp shot out of me—cartoon chaos, zero cuteness. Plates tilted in slow-motion doom. The first plate smashed onto the diva’s bag. Midway through an internal victory fist-pump, plate two found his chest. That fortress of muscle? Breached. Peach cobbler filling now streaked his white shirt.

I froze while the empty plate made a dramatic mic drop onto dark herringbone wood with a vendetta against my dignity.

A hush fell over the HC&PP Maison. Then laughter rippled. Welcome to my oddball life.

Heat roared up my cheeks. All eyes on me. Oh, God. My cover. My job. Everything.

“I-I’m so sorry!” I snatched napkins from my apron, dropped even more, and scrubbed his chest like I was erasing every sin that forced my son and me to live in secret.

“You know what, sir? I’ll wash your shirt. We have a washer-dryer combo. Sleek. Stackable. Have you ever seen a stackable?”

The flatlining of my dignity and Ms. Berkin’s sharp tongue drowned out his reply. But was I listening to her gripe about her purse’s price tag? Nope. My focus? Glued. To. His. Chest. The shirt fit him so deliciously.

The look the man gave Ms. Berkin must’ve untightened those microbraids because she clamped her lips. Okay, so he was my hero now. I pushed through.

Knuckles tightened, I scrubbed. And, hell, he stood there all calm and sculpted, watching me lose my last ounce of normal. I returned to our conversation. “The HC&PP Maison—Maison stands for house, by the way—will get your shirt cleaner than clean. Whiter than white.” Wipe. Promise. Smear. Promise. On repeat. “While you wait, pick something off the menu. My treat.” Ugh, Zuri, you can’t even afford to buy him the cheapest appetizer.

“It’s fine, bébé.” His voice was an entire situation—deep and low. Temptation. That Creole lilt made my thighs want to sign a nondisclosure agreement. No, you didn’t, Zuri! Men are off the menu. Forever.

But eye-level with his chest, I saw muscles for days and a … peachy-orange blur. “Oh. It’s not coming … out. I’ll buy you another shirt. A whole pack.” Of course, I gripped the hem of his shirt. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I told myself to promise Ms. Berkin I’d scrub her purse next.

Hyper-focusing in the ER helped me triage unconscious patients without knowledge of their medical history—deadly allergies and such. Now, I couldn’t stop myself. I yanked his shirt upward. Why, Zuri?

The man laughed—a low rumble that curled around me. His hands claimed mine, stopping the madness. My wide eyes met his.

His gaze remained easy. “Pardon me, bébé.”

I muttered another apology.

“You got me covered in your peaches.” White teeth flashed against his thick lips as he peeled gooey fruit from the sleeve of his shirt with two fingers.

Again, I apologized, this one included a wince.

He popped the peach into his mouth. “Not bad.”

Lawd, his voice sounded like sin and sweet tea. Hold up. Was he … flirting? Not that it mattered. I’d hung up my flirting license almost five years ago and burned up the renewal notice. Besides, I was surprised Ms. Birkin didn’t collapse into his chest like “This witch destroyed my bag. Hold me.” Instead, her glare hit the side of my neck.

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Advertisement Fearless Entanglement Read Online Amarie Avant http://www.books2020.com/fearless-entanglement-read-online-amarie-avant Sun, 01 Feb 2026 09:23:17 +0000 https://www.books2020.com/fearless-entanglement-read-online-amarie-avant Genre: Alpha Male, Mafia Authors: Amarie Avant Advertisement

Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84901 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)

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To destroy a powerful man—target his heir. His seed. His only daughter. Me.

I’m Natasha Resnova. The miracle child who shouldn’t have survived. I hide behind a camera instead of facing my violent, blood-soaked legacy. The Resnov bratva breathes brutality. I breathe silence.

Until one photo puts me in the path of two powerful men.

One sees me.

One hunts me.

And between them, everything shatters.

LORENZO

She was my mark. Vassili Resnov’s daughter—the doorway to vengeance. I returned from a black-ops mission with one seduce Natasha, break her, and use the pieces to burn her father’s empire to the ground.

But Natasha’s not breakable. She’s gorgeous. A light I never knew existed. I wanted her. Damn, I wanted her.

Then he appears, with a look that says he’d destroy the world to save her.

But Lachlan won’t come between me and Natasha.

This will end in blood. Hers.

LACHLAN

I should’ve put her first.

But I’m Lachlan MacKenzie—Dodger’s golden boy with a baseball bat. I tried to juggle it my family’s criminal secrets, sports fame, and cherishing Natasha.

I was wrong. And I lost her.

Natasha needed me. I gave her excuses. She offered me her trust. I dropped it.

Now her “friend” Lorenzo circles her, a wolf ready to taste her fear.

I will do anything to regain her affection. Natasha is not just the miracle child of a Bratva king.

She’s my everything.

And I’m done letting monsters near her.

Fearless Entanglement is a pulse-pounding love triangle, laced with dark obsession, hidden agendas, and a love that cuts deeper than lies.

No cheating—only jaw-dropping twists, betrayal, romantic suspense, and an HEA worth the wages of war in this interracial romance!
Other common themes Military soldier, superstar baseball batter, Russian Bratva, Scottish Crime family mafia, second chances, friends to lovers, hero, possessive anti-hero, dark past and more, some "we're definitely gonna die" energy LOL, all with a smooth finish!

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

PROLOGUE- LACHLAN

Dundee, Scotland

Shouldn’t have left her alone.

Not after what happened.

Not after the ambush.

But the last twelve hours in this God-forsaken hellhole had been our only peace since bullets flew, the sickening crunch of bone, the searing pain of a broken finger.

My sawed-off, severed, and now reattached forefinger. Man, I needed to get my arse and Natasha back to civilization. To a world where the biggest threat involved a fastball to the head, not a bullet to the chest.

“Tasha … Natasha …” My voice was a low rasp in the stale air. I reached my left, nondominant hand up, the good one, since the right one was wrapped in bloodied gauze. A dark smear stained the greasy paper bag of street food. Great. Shouldn’t have clutched the breakfast so tight, despite the cold fury rising in my veins. Fury born out of our predicament, of why we were hiding out.

The second my knuckles rapped against the paint-peeled door, it pushed ajar.

No lock.

No resistance. Just … open.

The bag dropped to the cracked cement floor with a soft splat. I drew my Glock.

As I pushed through the door, my thunderous heartbeat echoed in the crappy living room. I cleared corners, every shadow a potential threat.

“Tasha?” I called her name again, eyes traveling across the threadbare loveseat. Images flickered: Natasha, full lips pulled into a smirk, a peach glow over her honeyed, clear complexion. Now the couch is not rat-infested, Lach. It’s love-infested.

She’d grinned like she wasn’t the daughter of a Bratva Tsar. Like we weren’t hiding out like fugitives from war.

I shoved the memory away, guilt resurfacing. I’d lived without her long enough. For over two years, she’d allowed Lorenzo Ferri to slither into her life because of the mistakes I’d made. No cheating, just not committed. I hadn’t given her the same space in my heart as baseball.

I started for the bedroom when a shrill ring cut through the silence.

I rushed back to the small kitchen with its two-burner stove, scarred and grimy. On the counter sat coffee mugs we’d filled with cheap whiskey. Natasha’s lipstick, a vibrant slash of life, on a cracked rim.

I zeroed in on an orange ceramic bowl. Dug through the rice. There. My phone. No longer dead.

I answered. “Dad, we need help. Nat⁠—”

“Never been more ashamed of me son,” he said, his voice a raw rasp, laced with a rage that caught me off guard. Sure, he led a Scottish crime syndicate deeply entrenched on the West Coast. But he reserved anger for enemies. Traitors. “Da⁠—”

“You’re at it again. You think this family survives because I’m soft? Do not mistake my silence for weakness! The video⁠—”

“What video?” My mind flitted to Lorenzo. Sniper rifle. Chunks of wood breaking across the— “Listen, Natasha and I need help.”

“You? Nay! She does. I’ve seen more of you and the young lassie than I’d ever need! Natasha is a sweet girl, Lach. But you know her family. Ye will see me entire clan dead because of thinking with your pants. So hotheaded, you put the girl on video.”

A guttural curse ripped from me as my hand swiped against the bowl. Rice scattered along the warped linoleum floor. My boots pounded toward the bedroom, the phone clutched to my ear while Dad tore me a new one about footage that included compromising positions. Me. Natasha … Resnova. Bratva Princess.

“I wouldn’t do that to her,” I snarled, the words a desperate defense, as I neared the closed bedroom door. “Someone set us up,” I cut in while he called me every bawbag in the book. “Get the clan together. Call you with more orders soon.” I killed the connection.

At the closed bedroom door, dread settled in my gut. Had Lorenzo seen us last night and captured what we’d cherished? He must have. Had he shared our first time with just my parents? Or the world?

I shouldn’t be surprised by Dad. Not like this hadn’t happened before. When the first video exploded, I was twenty-two—Natasha’s current age. A rookie in the Dodgers, bedding any beautiful woman who crossed my path.

With protection.

Guess I should’ve protected myself by not sleeping with groupies in their hotel rooms. A random hookup had somehow recorded me without my consent and turned my baseball stardom into something I didn’t want. Temptation. More women. More lust. Got tired of that life.

I pushed open the bedroom door and scanned the room in seconds. No hiding spaces. No closet—just a pipe fixed on the wall.

A mattress slumped on the floor. In seconds, I’d searched everywhere and couldn’t find my reason to breathe. Just signs of her. Natasha’s orange Converse All Stars sat kicked off near the wall.

A cross pendant glinted on the floor near the window. I dropped to my knees. She wore it constantly, a too-large gift from Vassili Resnov, her father.

I clutched the cross. My heart wedged in my throat.

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Advertisement Fight for You – MacKenzie Scottish Crime Family Read Online Amarie Avant http://www.books2020.com/fight-for-you-mackenzie-scottish-crime-family-read-online-amarie-avant Sat, 16 Aug 2025 22:26:04 +0000 http://www.books2020.com/fight-for-you-mackenzie-scottish-crime-family-read-online-amarie-avant Genre: Alpha Male, Crime, Dark, Mafia, Suspense Authors: Amarie Avant Advertisement

Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86177 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)

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He promised to save me. Then he left me behind.
JORDYN
Jamie MacKenzie was my light in a childhood of captivity—until his clan ripped him away and left me in the dark.
Now, he's back. No longer a boy, but a battle-hardened ex-Marine, armed with vengeance and regrets.
He says he’ll burn the world to the ground to free me—even if I fight him every step of the way. But I’m not just haunted by my past… I belong to a ruthless Bratva tsar who branded me as his. And he won’t let me go without a war.

JAMIE
I failed Jordyn once. I'll never make that mistake again.
She doesn’t trust me. Doesn’t want saving.
But I'm done letting others hurt her.
I"ll go to war with the Russian who owns her—or the family I was born into—if that's what it takes.
Clan MacKenzie doesn't forgive betrayal. And neither do I.

This fierce, emotionally charged BWWM romantic thriller is packed with heart, vengeance, and high-stakes redemption. While this story contains mature themes, including trafficking and the loss of a child, these elements are handled with care and sensitivity, reader discretion is advised. At its heart of the suspense is a story about finding light in the darkest places—and the fierce, unrelenting fight to reclaim hope, love, and freedom.

✔ A Scottish hero with a warrior’s soul
✔A powerful Black heroine who won’t be broken
✔ Tension, redemption, and a love worth fighting for
✔ An explosive collision between past loyalty and present love
✔ Forced Proximity
✔ Enemies to lovers (Well, Jordyn feels 'hate to love' for a while)
✔ HEA

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

1

TARZANA HILLS, CA

Jordyn

July

8791 days captive

Oppressive darkness enveloped me, leaving me trapped and hopeless beneath its weight. His weight. With each of Aleksandr’s contented snores, his muscular body pressed deeper against my chest—against every part of me—and I struggled for oxygen. Girl, if you don’t get up, you will stay under this man forever.

Uh-uh. That was a lie. The Russian would sell me before forever came. All the men before Aleksandr traded me more than a prized MLB card. I’d gone from a compound in Saudi Arabia to a king in South Africa. Hell, I allowed my imagination to dream while there. Though I felt at home beneath the warm sun, that man treated me no better than the Albanian that preceded him or the British Prime Minister afterward.

Though I’d seen the world, a cardboard box in Downtown Los Angeles’ Skid Row sounded more appealing than crossing paths with the male species. Once these men thought they’d used the last ounce of beauty and worth from my body, they’d sell me to the highest bidder. Sadly, the word highest didn’t hold the same weight—monetarily speaking—over the years. Not since I was an innocent five-year-old with puff balls and⁠—

Don’t go there, Jordyn. If you think of Ja⁠—

Unwilling to allow my mind to tumble down the road marked with regret, I recalled the past few months Aleksandr had given me cleaning duty. I found more solace in scrubbing marble than in kneeling before him. Was it realistic for me at my current age of twenty-nine to envision myself spending my life in someone else’s kitchen? Not at all.

I shimmied beneath the stench of his pleasure, depending on me, myself, and I to rescue me, even though some hothead had offered to help me tonight. Another shimmy and Aleksandr’s lashes brushed his pale skin. His eyes opened.

Oh, no.

My heart rate ramped. I was already dead.

His eyes rolled closed, and sleep pulled him under. I moved the last few inches from beneath his body.

Plush carpet tickled my toes. I slipped past a red chaise lounge before the massive four-poster bed and opened one of the double doors. In the wide hallway, chills broke over my naked flesh. Cold marble didn’t worry me—neither did being nude; I’d lost that sensibility long ago—but Aleksandr’s men did. They instilled in me a terrifying fear with each breath. This warm July night couldn’t stop the icy fear that clawed at my throat.

Seated on a chair at the top of the sweeping staircase, Denis murmured, “What are you doing here, girl?”

Terror filled every part of me. Unimaginable terror. My heart pounded heavy in my ears. Swoosh, swoosh. “I, um …”

As I approached, Denis smiled in my direction, eyes closed. “I love you,” he mumbled.

Oh, really? This one was chatty when Aleksandr wasn’t around, offering to take his toys. He’d run away with an inflatable doll if she said yes. Nobody took the loudmouth seriously. Who’d have guessed the guard talked too much in his sleep too?

Tiptoeing past Denis, I descended the stairs to my small bedroom next to the kitchen. Aleksandr’s other women enjoyed more luxurious rooms. I knew the drill. The nicer you are to guys like Aleksandr, the higher their expectations. This was shaping up to be the quickest move because of my desire to work in the kitchen. I smirked, tugging my thick hair into a ponytail. All of Aleksandr’s sweating caused it to shrink so much that I sported an afro. I snatched into a pair of undergarments, a shirt, and with each step back toward the door, I was slipping on jeans like my life depended on it. Because it did.

At the front door, my hand rested on the knob. An exhale pushed through my lips. I opened the door, breathing in the warm summer night air. Never had I opened a front door. I did it! I’m free.

My eyes followed the iron gates. Just beyond them, a row of short, thick palmetto palm trees blocked the direction of Los Angeles—where my ride was coming from.

C’mon, where are you? Here I was, trusting someone again. What a mistake that might⁠—

From my position within the doorframe, I peered farther out. I’d never been on my own. Didn’t have a mama or daddy to remember. So, in my weakness, I couldn’t just take another step into freedom. A car’s shadow in the night sent my heart leaping into my throat. The headlights, which had been off, flashed. Once. Twice. Three times.

Sweet, sweet freedom.

That was my ride.

I stepped one foot out of the house, then the other.

From behind, a hand grasped my throat, yanking me against a hard chest I knew well. Aleksandr’s chuckle scratched at my eardrums. He dipped his head, nipping my ear. “I thought I’d broken you when you arrived, my little Black matryoshka?”

“I’m not a doll! Nobody breaks me.” Mouth set in an angry line, my elbow flew backward. His muscular forearm prevented the surprise attack. The hand at my throat slung me to the ground. His bare foot hovered over my face. Trapped between him and the doorway, with no ability to roll away, I grabbed his foot and pushed it.

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Advertisement Lunchtime Chronicles – Mai Tai Read Online Amarie Avant http://www.books2020.com/lunchtime-chronicles-mai-tai-read-online-amarie-avant Thu, 10 Nov 2022 23:02:05 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/lunchtime-chronicles-mai-tai-read-online-amarie-avant Genre: Contemporary, Romance Authors: Amarie Avant Advertisement

Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 22496 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 112(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >24

I have her all tied up . . .
A gorgeous, 40 something walks into a bar, orders a Mai Tai and flirts with a man that checks every box in a sexy, dangerous, dark yakuza romance.
Sounds like it would make for good conversation right?
Except I’m that woman. I’m a shy geometry teacher who gets talked over, looked over, and took a good chunk of her 401k plan to fulfill a getaway vacation, that so happens to include the optional “smutty romance fantasy.”
But halfway through drinks, flirting, and kissing on the first night, I realize I finessed the wrong drop, dead gorgeous guy.
Don’t get me wrong, Ryoichii’s as beautiful as sin. But, he’s not the man I pre-purchased to reenact my steamy book boyfriend fetishes lightyears away from my small Texas town. Ryoichi is the real deal . . .
A yakuza boss!
Tonight gets a whole lot darker when I see my very first murder.
And now I’m all tied up–literally.

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

Chapter

One

Ryoichi

* * *

Until the age of fourteen, my palate consisted of rice and the occasional egg that I was fortunate enough to save from falling off the back of a farmer’s truck as they traveled to the street market. All the rarer was fish. For someone who resided in a small mountain town, the taste of fish paste was rare and extraordinary. My first taste of fish was yellowtail, and it was heaven.

Though my stomach often screamed in protest for more nourishment, I had ventured to foreign countries and domestic cities between the pages of secondhand literature.

That was then—a tarnished upbringing, not suitable for a future saiko komon to Osaka Tatchan. Every hardship prepared me for this.

Now, nothing but the best touches my body. The best hand-sewn yukata. Tailored suits crafted from vicuña wool. And only the finest geishas, the most beautiful creatures.

Even while vindicating forgotten Tatchan bylaws, as blood pours over my skin like warm summer rain, I wear the best.

At age forty-seven, I take orders out of respect and obligation. I do not toe the line between light and darkness. Good and bad.

The House of Tatchan is the central pillar of the community. No orders are carried out without Osaka Tatchan’s blessing. Not until . . . today.

Chapter

Two

Ryann

Santorini, Greece

As I stand at the diamond-framed window of my suite in a five-star hotel, I stare at the softest tissues that have ever touched my skin and contemplate stuffing my bra. I know that seems like child’s play, especially after I’ve spent over one hundred grand of my 401(k). I splurged for the first time, all because of a flyaway punch.

A flyaway punch from a Black kid with so many infractions against him. Suspensions from school. Hated because of his skin tone and size. I didn’t put much thought into stopping the fight between him and another boy—a boy who called him out of his name. I just stepped up as I had done so many times before.

That single hit sealed my eye shut and awakened something in me.

Something that hungered for a different life than the physics teacher who donated every lunch hour to struggling kids for the last twelve years. Hell, I even had AP and Honors physics kids knocking at my door, saying they heard through the grapevine I had a way of teaching.

I’m forty-two years old, luckily but barely, not a virgin, and ready to start the rest of my life. So, I dropped cash on the vacation of a lifetime.

Australia.

Jamaica.

New Zealand.

The list goes on. An entire month of vacation will end at an anime convention in Tokyo. But before I get to my precious obsession, I will indulge in my book-boyfriend fetish. I’ve waited two weeks into the holiday for this. Though I’ve splurged on every night, this one, in particular, is the most important. I’ll meet my book boyfriend tonight through the exclusive online company BB Extraordinaire.

All in all, the price tag and their excessive questionnaire seemed legit. Plus, the reviews from confidential, satisfied customers were everything.

Yessss! Tonight is my night for absolute indulgence.

I stop the self-condemnation of having a small rack, and a smile tips my lips as I glance over my first designer garb—a sleek, black mini dress with a built-in tummy trimmer and ass lifter.

“Nah. No tissue. We probably won’t even—” I bite my lip, smoothing down my dress and sliding one foot into a six-inch stiletto. A second later, I’m discarding said stiletto.

Damn, should’ve gotten the push-up bra and left these heels at the checkout.

“It doesn’t matter,” I mutter, pulling on cubic zirconia flip-flops. “I didn’t pay for a male gigolo. I dropped cold, hard cash for a professional to pretend to be Tatsun Tanaka, the yakuza dude from my favorite manga, The Red Dragon.”

Butterflies charge through my abdomen as I climb into the glass elevator, which overlooks chandeliers dripping twinkling lights over a sparkly hotel atrium. Per the contract I signed, my book boyfriend will have researched The Red Dragon and will follow Tatsun’s mannerisms.

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Advertisement Lunchtime Chronicles – Tequila Sunrise Read Online Amarie Avant http://www.books2020.com/lunchtime-chronicles-tequila-sunrise-read-online-amarie-avant Sun, 09 Oct 2022 12:19:26 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/lunchtime-chronicles-tequila-sunrise-read-online-amarie-avant Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Erotic Authors: Amarie Avant Advertisement

Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 27128 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >28

Tequila mixes well with everything except… decisions, and I’m old enough to know better.

ESSENCE
With a face chiseled in arrogance, Antonio Emmanuel Rivas pushes all my buttons. The younger artist acts like my gallery, and everything in it belongs to him.
Including me.
Secretly, I crave Antonio’s dominating hands all over my body like I’m one of his signature pieces.
But he’s a tyrant. A monster. Trouble.
He’s dangerous for my business and heart.
While the beast chases me relentlessly, I wonder if the man I should hate is also the man my soul can’t llive without.

ANTONIO
I’m only gentle with a paintbrush, and Essence Traver’s cruel, luscious mouth has incurred my wrath.
I respect Essence’s curation acumen. However, the pulse between her thighs and at her throat leaps in defiance when my name is involved.
There’s no secret I imagine adorning every inch of her body with . . . paint.
So while Essence intends to keep me at arm’s length, I’ll have my obsession in my arms soon enough.
All men have a vice; mine happens to be tequila and a blank canvas.
Until her.

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

Chapter 1

Essence

“Maybe being fashionably late will give more guests time to arrive?” my assistant, Kyleigh, suggests, pushing a few crinkled braids away from her babyface.

Compared to the young lady, I only hold softness in my hips, ass, and, unfortunately my arms. The Good Lord didn’t see fit to put the extra weight into my breasts instead of my biceps.

I fork a nervous hand through my natural, thick tresses. I’m fashionably late, as it is! It doesn’t get any sexier than this. I’m wearing Italian silk, and the champagne color compliments my dark skin.

“How many people are here?” My stilettos echo over the natural wood of the upstairs of my gallery’s loft. From my vantage point, outside the glass-walled exit, there’s not a single person in line. The prime location of A Touch of Essence apparently hasn’t appealed to the Saturday night crowd.

Kyleigh places herself in my way before I reach the steel railing and can really glimpse below.

She winces. “Give it another 30 min...”

“Honey, our Essence here can wait all night long. The exhibit will have ended, but there’ll still be enough wine to pass around for the next few art showings.” The words of my critical mentor are followed by the diva herself, gracing us with her presence as she ascends the stairs. Imani Whitfield has the same honey complexion and the regal style as the actress who shares her surname.

“Imani, it can’t be that bad,” I say laughingly, thumbing my gold bangles.

“You’re showcasing nobodies. I will say this, most of whom aren’t the legal drinking age.”

Maybe I should take that as a reason there will still be wine left. I wrap my arms around myself, then think better of wrinkling the dress I desperately want to keep, but my finances aren’t built that way. Not yet.

Oh, screw it. Let it wrinkle. I need this hug. Arms wrapped around myself, I retort, “Imani, out of a million black girls, you gave me a start. What type of person would I be for not returning the favor?”

“You have, extensively. Would it hurt to add a name to the roster?”

Fury burns beneath my cheeks as I snap, “Shame on those who value art after gleaning the signature on the corner of the—”

“Actually, Miss Imani, Miss Essence,” Kyleigh cuts in, gripping the railing. Her attention must be on the ghost town of an art showing below. “Essence invited... invited one of the most sought-after artists in the world, and damn if rich, old ladi—ahem… If he isn’t drawing in art critics!”

She names a few prominent people while my eyebrows pinch together. I invited who?

I’ll be damned if my mentor’s swagger doesn’t exceed mine as we walk over to the top of the landing.

The servers on rotation, with Sam’s Club microwaved canapés, are college interns. The violinist is a sistah from my sorority. Imani’s right, I invest more into supporting others than... myself.

I glance down at the sea of faces, noticing the four young artists who’re on display tonight and people. More living, breathing beings than my art gallery has seen in the past few years combined.

And every single upturned nose or lustful, wealthy gaze fades as I scope out what every other woman is staring at.

Desire draws my nipples to irate diamonds that slide beneath my dress with every breathless exhale. My eyes relentlessly follow the same pursuit—dragging over the archetype of sex appeal I neither invited nor would I ever.

Antonio Emmanuel Silva appears mysterious, with piercing dark eyes, long hair, and golden skin that no palette of paints could recreate.

His body leaves a sigh curling past my lips; lips I had no idea were ajar until said damnable sigh.

There’s confidence in Antonio’s swagger and how he holds himself. A person might forget how almost three years ago, Antonio beat a critic at an art show.

Beat the man half to death.

I’ll admit, I’ve been in my feelings before. My art means everything to me. Granted, I’ve never seen a flaw in Antonio’s vibrant paintings or in the physicality of the man himself. But you don’t go around bashing an appraiser of your work, no matter how baseless their statement might have been.

Now, the reminder of Antonio’s misconduct breaks the compulsion.

“Essence, you are no man’s fool,” I undertone to myself. I would, otherwise, mentally dictate the mantra. But dammit, speaking those words into existence helps, while my gaze roams the lines of his tailored suit. A linen shirt is tucked in, boasting what steel, muscular planes lie beneath. He’s left it unbuttoned at the collar.

Not too much.

Just enough to reveal a chest that Michelangelo lacked the skill to carve.

You’ve been played by an artist before, Essence. Cut it out. He ain’t that fine.

Oh, yes he—

“I do believe a grand entrance is in order,” my mentor suggests with her tone excitedly pitched. “It would be an honor to announce you.”

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Advertisement Deviant Royal (Duke of Tudor #1) Read Online Amarie Avant http://www.books2020.com/deviant-royal-duke-of-tudor-1-read-online-amarie-avant Sun, 09 Oct 2022 12:19:25 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/deviant-royal-duke-of-tudor-1-read-online-amarie-avant Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary Authors: Amarie Avant Series: Duke of Tudor Series by Amarie Avant
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Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 67518 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >71

Victor Tudor, a man wrapped in mystery and temptation, gets everything he desires.

And for the moment, he craves… me.

I fought. It was a losing battle.

I ran. His relentlessness ensnared me.

I'm a token. A trinket. A toy for Victor's amusement.

He's seductive. A dangerous deviant.

Although I can't stop the madness, staying is lethal.

**

Luxury Whitson, a young beauty with a heart of gold, never catches a break.

And for a brief time, she will be mine to possess.

She's cheeky. I'll train her mouth.

She's defiant. That kink will be straightened.

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

PROLOGUE

LUXURY WHITSON

Twenty-eight days ago, his eyes captivated me. Tranquil blue pools transformed autumn in Manhattan into a warm, sunlit day.

I saw light in them.

In him.

Turns out, Dr. Victor Finch was nothing but a beguiling devil.

Now, steam emerges from my brick-and-chrome bathroom as I open the door, creeping across the darkened bedroom. My heart pitches into the pit of my stomach. I’d turned on every light after coming home from our disturbing date and scrubbed the blood off my skin.

Throat contracting, I stare at the monster I ran from. A dim glow from the dresser lamp spills over my beautiful nightmare’s marbled features while he dominates the reading chair by my bed.

Acrimony pours over my clammy, freckled skin. Mouth stiff, I enunciate, “Get out of my home.”

An alpha on his throne, Victor scrutinizes me like a fat gazelle ambling through the Sahara. His intense stare sends an irrational drum to the pulse between my thighs.

“Bollocks, Luxury.” A tantalizing British accent holds a consolatory note while fingers fork through dark hair, creating the only disarray in the otherwise immaculate beast. “Everything went balls up. It’s not what it seems.”

“What part of us screwing in Central Park, less than an hour ago, followed by you murdering random strangers is not what it seems? I texted you—”

“Never to call?” Reigning in his demons, Victor smooths the lapel of his suit, tailored over raw muscle. Oh, God. I’d thought his all-black attire was alluring, but realization hits. It hides the blood.

With aching tenderness, his eyes follow my curves. “You’re in shock. That’s to be expected—”

I widen my stance, gritting out, “You know my past. You friggen retraumatized me. The second you snapped; our relationship ended!”

Tone ignited in fury, Victor warns, “Allow me to remind you, Luxury, you and I are under a binding agreement—I own you.”

The claim plows into me. He did own me.

While flipping me

Left to right.

Up and down.

But he doesn’t own me. “Dick was involved,” I gasp.

“Wrong answer. You gave your word. The rights to that luscious cunt are mine.”

In the company of a madman, I take a tentative step toward the door. A split second later, I’ve opened it and dashed down the stairs.

“Dad—Daddd!”

“Lux!” My father, who spends his downtime watching old sitcoms, pops up from his seat. One might think living at home with their father at age twenty-three is pathetic, but I also own a failing floral shop, so there’s that.

Standing before me, my father is a solid five-foot-five, and I’m an inch shy of five feet. What am I doing? Neither of us are a match for the madman in my room.

Descending the steps, Victor grits out, “Luxury, listen to every word I tell you.”

Disappointed, Dad removes his prescription glasses. “Luxury, we have an agreement. If you’re inviting company—”

Curly hair dashes in my face in a quick decline.

Victor gives a nonchalant chin jut. “I came through the front door. You were amused by the telly.”

Further enraged, Dad exclaims, “Dr. Finch, I’m calling the po—”

A bullet blazes through the window. Cold dread zaps through my veins as glass skitters across the floor. Bits of brick break off the wall, inches from Dad’s head.

Eardrums ringing, I find my body crushed beneath the steel of Victor’s dominating frame.

“Get down, Dr. Whitson!” he commands.

My father conceals himself behind his La-Z-Boy. “What the heck?”

A stream of blood drips from his ear. My eyes glide from the look of fear one never expects to see in their own father’s to searching the dark blue depths of Victor’s eyes. “I have to check on—”

“No, no, I’m fine, honey,” Dad reassures, bewildered.

“That sniper’s here for you, Whitson.” Victor’s calm tone, which once made me mad, frustrated, even euphoric during sex, envelops me now. “Lux, I saved your life tonight.”

My life?

Victor’s mouth lowers, devouring my worries.

A stunned silence falls over me, and more glass showers over us. Victor captures my bottom lip in his mouth, tugging softly, and his tongue swipes over the agonized flesh. Once I’m a mess of moaning need, fire lights in Victor’s voice. “Lux, right now, I need you to be that cheeky, confident young woman I first met. No fear.”

1

VICTOR TUDOR

THIRTY-THREE DAYS BEFORE . . .

“Three-thousand nine hundred and fifty-two meters of bloody fucking perfection,” I murmur. With a keen gaze, I stare the lengthy distance through the scope of my rifle. Approximately two and a half miles away, a man’s enjoying libations with a few members of his militia. He’s dead and doesn’t even know it. The blistering Arabian sun pours down over me as I lie on my stomach on top of a clay building at a higher vantage point. A white towel covers my head to deflect the heat, and beige tactical gear camouflages me from head to toe.

Amongst the hubbub of cars, bikes, and pedestrians, the dead man raises a bottle in a toast. I’m aware of the precise second the blood in his veins will stop pumping. Although the wanker will never know he’s on the receiving end of my three thousand, nine hundred and fifty-two meters. A bloody fucking world record. A phenomenon I’ll not boast about either because this is what I live for.

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Advertisement Possessive Royal (Duke of Tudor #2) Read Online Amarie Avant http://www.books2020.com/possessive-royal-duke-of-tudor-2-read-online-amarie-avant Sun, 09 Oct 2022 12:19:24 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/possessive-royal-duke-of-tudor-2-read-online-amarie-avant Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary Authors: Amarie Avant Series: Duke of Tudor Series by Amarie Avant
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Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >79

Our first encounter, ended with me hot and bothered.
Our first date, I wouldn’t wish on my worst of enemies.
That is until the ruthless beast tempted me with a side of Victor I never saw.
On day twenty-eight, I broke the compulsion and my heart. Victor Tudor simply doesn’t have a heart.
And I thought he was gone for good. But Victor groveled. I conceded. The process repeats.
He tastes like power, sin, and an unbreakable addiction.
While I’ve become Victor’s to possess, I can’t help the finagling feeling that I can’t have Victor Tudor, the man himself.
***
On our first encounter, I bloody saved the beauty, or so I thought.
The cheeky Luxury Whitson said she needed no savior.
And while my greatest trait is taking lives, she brought out a side of me I never knew.
I decline my next mark—who I soon learned is her father.
I revived her.
She still hates me, even after I’ve concede to a new challenge–keep both Whitson’s safe, and tame Luxury.
Luxury tastes of innocence, honey, and pure rain.
While I’m captivated with her, I can’t bloody have her. I’m not just an assassin, I’m a Royal. Duty bound to my Queen.

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

PROLOGUE

Victor

Arlington, England

Present

* * *

My fist beats against the towering doors of the stone-walled estate. The flesh of my callused knuckles pulls back. With each hit, I leave a bloody trail.

The door cracks open, and I set my sights on Lake Russell, the pasty wanker, dressed in boxers and a white undershirt. Sleepy eyelids peel open.

“Victor, it’s not yet five in the morning. Why—”

My fist slams into his right eye. Lake stumbles on his toes. A wall assists the tosser in gathering his bearings.

“Ars-Arsehole!” Lake stammers. “I’m telling your grandmum!”

“You’ve given yourself too much credit. You’ll not survive this.” The power punch to Lake’s flat stomach shuts him down. Shoving up the sleeves of my blazer, I plant my legs wide. My large thigh muscles press against the confines of bespoke pants. I grab Lake’s collar with my left hand, crunching his nasal bone with the right.

I revel in carnage.

“Every tender word, every affectionate caress. All hinged on a lie.” Luxury had said those words in a subdued, bloody palpable tone. The devastation I caused her hadn’t moved me in that moment.

Now, adrenaline pumps a heart I long ago assumed had stopped ticking.

Fury fueled by the instances Lake flirted with Luxury.

His eyes loll.

Those fucking eyes locked onto my lady.

Desired what belonged to me. Belongs to me.

I come alive.

Knuckles wash in the heat of his blood.

Pounding Lake’s mouth, eyes, and chin, my brain only registers one stream of thought.

I woke in the bed I shared with my Little One—and that bed was void of her presence.

This here wanka abetted Luxury.

Helped her leave.

I’m a relentless, possessive bloke. After he’s dead, I will scour the ends of the earth and return my lady to her rightful place—at my side. And I’ll stop breaking her lovely heart.

1

Luxury

Early November

Cool air stroked my heated flesh as my ass rested against the side of a bench in Central Park. Victor stole the space between my thighs. A mouth created for sin crashed into mine. Depraved lips swept over mine while a single finger pumped my core, and a thumb toyed dangerously with my clit.

“Vic!” I teetered on the brink of agony.

A stunned silence fell over me as Victor licked his finger. “Tastes like you were on the verge of cumming.”

My fists curled around the lapels of his blazer, and I released a declaration that I felt in my soul—one I’d never in a million years contemplate vowing. “Fuck me, or I’ll murder you, Victor.”

A vicious mouth concealed my threat. Victor unzipped his pants, threw my thigh over his shoulder, and shoved aside my thong. In one agonizing sweep, he’d rammed into the depths of my pussy. Victor moved us away from the bench, fucking me roughly. Victor’s arms flexed, pumping me up and down. I glanced over at a dark, covered bridge and a stand of trees obscuring the street. I groaned, “This is soooo bad. We’re screwing in the park.”

“Are you . . .” A voice tugs me out of a sultry nightmare. Seven whole days ago, my knight in shining armor transformed into Satan right before my eyes.

Hellllll no. “I’m okay.” I’m not.

I nail the perfect smile while glancing up at Brick, the more outspoken of the private security team hired for my father’s protection and subsequently my own. By way of outspoken, he actually says a few words—occasionally.

With an understated nod, Brick pauses at the door to my father’s hospital room, taking in the area in one quick sweep. The other guy on his team, a guy whose red hair makes my copper curls look more like a dull brown, removes himself from the chair near the door. Dad is seated in his wheelchair, placing items into an overnight bag.

Conquered by the past, my gander flickers toward the glass wall lining the corridor. Down below is a playground for the families of patients. Sheesh, laughing kids are playing tag. How was that triggering, Luxxie, c’mon.

“Worthless,” Dad hisses as the redheaded bodyguard assigned to him slips out of the room.

“They can hear you,” I grit, pulling the door flush behind me.

“Are you positive he’s not deaf?”

I stalk over to my father’s wheelchair, planting myself in front of the tiny wraith. “Ah, I see. He wasn’t a sounding board for any of your medical drivel?”

At his lack of response, I snort. “Hmmm, I’ll take your silence and that frowny face as a yes; your bodyguard lacked interest.” I focus all my attention on happiness for his sake. “Dad, after seven solid days of mushy-ass hospital food, are you ready to count your blessings?”

Pulling off wire-rimmed glasses, Dad looks around the cream walls of the sterile room. “Shit, you have a point there, Lux. If I could get up and run, I would.”

I let off a practiced chuckle, heart lacking the follow-through. Luckily, Dad’s too busy carting himself around in his wheelchair, searching for missing reading material. I throw away a few pots of dead floral arrangements from Dad’s employer, Greco Technologies. I pick up the Rubik’s Cube his ex-best friend, Uncle Red, brought. The colorful puzzle had gotten pushed behind larger bouquets and cards.

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Advertisement Redeemed Royal (Duke of Tudor #3) Read Online Amarie Avant http://www.books2020.com/redeemed-royal-duke-of-tudor-3-read-online-amarie-avant-2 Sun, 09 Oct 2022 12:19:22 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/redeemed-royal-duke-of-tudor-3-read-online-amarie-avant-2 Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary Authors: Amarie Avant Series: Duke of Tudor Series by Amarie Avant
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Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >67

There is no greater fear than the loss of love.
I’ve buried the woman I once wanted to spend my life with.
Lost the son that I should be teaching to play rugby now.
To lose Luxury Whitson is a pain worse than death.
As a duke and a billionaire, I’ve always gotten what I wanted.
She was always meant to be mine.
Mine to own.
Now, all I own are my bloody tears, and I’m not ready to let those fall yet.

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

PROLOGUE

Victor

Arlington, England

Blood dries along the jagged scars, tightening the torn flesh across my knuckles. With my fists tightened around the steering wheel, I look to Burt, who’s kept mum in the passenger seat.

Though, he knew it.

Bloody hell, I knew it, too.

My woman hadn’t disappeared in the middle of the night . . . not for a wanker like Lake Russell.

“Victor, I offered to drive.” Burt’s hesitant tone rouses me out of my musing.

I glare through the gloomy window at the Give Way sign. Bloody hell, I’m stalled at the fork in the road, too consumed with yesterday. I damn well swear the woman who birthed me should’ve received my wrath and not Lake Russell.

“Are we commencing a pity party, Victor?”

I nudge my chin to a vehicle off in the distance. Even if I were playing immortal, there would be ample time to cross. “Yes, a bloody pity party is in order. Find me a new organization like X?”

Finally, I veer across the lane and start up the slope, which leads to the home I’ve come to abhor for many reasons.

“I’ll have to decline,” Burt snips.

“Old chap,” I chuckle contritely, “you’re not in the position to decline. It is I who employ you.”

“And we’ve had this conversation multiple times, Victor. You’ve overcompensated me over the years, signifying I’ve the means to leave when I please. Now, I’m not in the mood to enable you. We must call Luxury.”

The wheels scream, sweeping across wet asphalt. Hardly able to repress the destruction unleashed in my soul, I shout, “Is it not apparent to you, Burt the Butler, that she . . . she left! After cock-up after cock-up on my part, the woman I once referred to as Mother ran Luxury off last night!”

“Rubbish,” he mutters. “No, I’ve more to say. Luxury is with chi—”

“I’ve had it with the ‘I’ve a question,’ or ‘I’ve more to say.’ ” I glare at Arlington Manor as it comes into view.

“Very well. I’ll say everything on my mind, starting from the top.”

I come to an abrupt stop in front of my home and climb out of the driver’s seat, slamming the door behind me. The rebuff hasn’t stopped my butler from stomping out of the vehicle to list off his grievances.

“Yes, it’s all gone pear-shaped, Victor. Nevertheless, you’ve become this beastly, infantile, compulsive—”

“Compulsive?” Halfway to the front steps, I spin around to attack him verbally. “I’ve not gone after Lux, have I? Compulsive, my arse! I’m giving her time to deal—after all I’ve done—all the mayhem Princess Mary has initiated.”

As I grit out my mother’s name, her horrible schemes charge the forefront of my mind. As Her Royal Highness swore Madeline and I were engaged, I declared my love for another woman. The entire duchy witnessed the bloody profession—everyone—except the young lady I literally love.

“Luxury,” Burt stammers, “Luxury is—”

The vibration of my cellular from the pocket of my blazer causes Burt to stop speaking. Truth be told, any time he utters my lady’s name, I am seconds away from finding her.

She’s in New York, obviously.

Is she at her friend’s place, or has she returned to the home she shared with her father?

Shite! I’d forgotten all about Dr. Jonah Whitson. Before answering the ringer, I order Burt, “Find Luxury. Update me, please.”

Sight unseen, I answer on the last ring. “‘ello!”

Kaboom!

Suddenly my two-hundred-pound, all muscle frame soars back as the earth shakes.

I hear a constant ringing in my ears as I’m blown back on my arse. Burt lands a few yards away, face bewildered and suit caked with soot. His leg twists at a ghastly angle.

As debris flies around us, my mind is a rush of vivid images of Luxury. My phone, still clutched in my fist, buzzes again. My previous answer must’ve detonated the explosion wreaking havoc before my eyes—one not intended to kill me but to prompt my attention.

I answer with a growl. “Who the fuck is this?”

“Ah, well, hello, Victor Tudor. Have I finally gotten your attention, friend?”

Older male. Possibly seventies.

Farsi . . . no Arabic. “Who the bloody fuck are you, mate?”

“Al Rafi.”

Blooooody . . . Fuck.

My eyes close as my worst nightmare comes to fruition. He cannot have Luxury. There’s no way. She’s in New York.

She is in New—

“Those little fireworks. Did they cool you down from your current search?”

A liquid-like substance, I haven't felt stream down my face in forever, burns my eyes. “Luxury belongs to me!”

“At one time, I would be inclined to agree. But my hands are tingling as I patiently wait for my newest piece of propert—”

“Property?” I snarl. Every obscenity detonates in my head. However, no matter the promises I made to Luxury, the way this morning has transpired, I've molded back into the conniving bloke who handles his shite.

“You see, I thought to myself. I invited this man to my country. Though, I did not know you were a mutual billionaire, as your association with X-Member offered anonymity. Still, I gave you money to complete an assignment,” Al Rafi pauses, “and you helped yourself to what wasn’t yours. My innocent child!”

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