Donna Alam – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read

Donna Alam – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.books2020.com Mon, 27 May 2024 20:58:08 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=6.9.4 http://www.books2020.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/favicon.png Donna Alam – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.books2020.com 32 32 The Gamble Read Online Donna Alam http://www.books2020.com/the-gamble-read-online-donna-alam Mon, 27 May 2024 20:58:08 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/the-gamble-read-online-donna-alam Genre: Alpha Male, Billionaire Authors: Donna Alam Advertisement

Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 138003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 690(@200wpm)___ 552(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)

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My husband devours me with every glance.
Kisses me like he’s starved and I’m his only sustenance.
And when he holds me in his arms, the whole world fades away.
There’s just one problem.
It’s all pretend because he won me in a card game.

Let me rewind.
I’m no shrinking violet and I’m no one’s idea of a pushover,
But when a gorgeous stranger goes to this much trouble to get my attention,
I’m also secretly flattered.
I storm his office with the plan. I’ll tell him exactly what I think of his game…
Then find myself leaving it on unsteady legs, and wearing his engagement ring.

Raif needs a wife for one year and I need the money he pledges.
But there’s no such thing as easy cash with a man as calculated as he is charming.
As seductive as he is possessive.
The more time we spend together, the more I begin to wonder which of us is bluffing.

But he has a secret—the deck is stacked.
Too bad I'm already all in.

The Gamble is a deliciously steamy and swoony, banter-filled standalone romance featuring a marriage of convenience between a heroine who could start an argument in an empty room and a smexy (he falls first & hardest) billionaire. It includes fun, family, fire, and that all important happily ever after!

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

Set your life on fire.

Seek those who fan your flames.

~ Rumi

1

LAVENDER

I bet he’s a really good kisser…

Of course he’s a good kisser. With a mouth like that, how could he be anything else? Not that I’ve had that pleasure, and not that I think a kiss is the reason he’s brought me into this room.

I wish I had lips like his, full and soft-looking. I imagine kissing him would be just like kissing a girl. Better even, because that one time I kissed Jenny Sullivan at camp didn’t exactly rock my world.

“I tried to explain, but it’s like he wasn’t listening.”

I sway a little to the muted sound of the music playing in the other room. I ordinarily hate house parties, but this house is in Chelsea, and they’re serving champagne, not warm beer in disposable cups. The guests are dressed like it’s a debutant ball in fancy frocks and evening suits. And the party pills on offer are being passed around on silver trays. Not that party pills are my thing.

Anyway, Tod asked me to come with him tonight, and he’s pretty good at talking me into things I don’t want to do. But if nothing else, it’s a networking experience. Rich people enjoy investing in art, and I enjoy selling it to them.

“Then he said it wasn’t his problem,” he continues, throwing up his hands in a gesture of futility.

“Really?” I tilt my head as though engrossed. I suppose I am, but more with the shapes his mouth makes than the sounds. His voice can be a bit whiny. He makes shapes with his hands as he talks, too. I’ve never found a man’s fingers so intriguing. They’re kind of stubby, I suppose, but those calloused tips make me shiver with the slightest brush. Or they would if he ever touched me.

I don’t even mind the paint that collects under his fingernails. Much. And dirty fingernails usually give me the biggest ick.

“Please tell me you understand.” He makes puppy dog eyes at me, which is annoying, given he’s not a Labrador. “There wasn’t anything else I could do.”

One of these days, I’m going to get that mouth to kiss me and those hands to touch me, and then—

“Say something. Please.”

“Of course.” I place my champagne flute back on the table, my spiked heels echoing as I take a couple of hips-swaying steps closer. “Of course I understand.”

One day, he’ll notice the silken swish of my dress and the toned length of my thigh through the long split.

“Oh, thank God.” The words rush out, and when he smiles, it warms my insides like a mouthful of good whiskey. “You’re just the best, Ned.”

I almost grimace. It’s not the cutest of pet names, but I suppose it’s cuter than Lav. I hate it when my brothers call me that. It’s so undignified being referred to as a toilet.

“So you’ll go speak with him?”

“Absolutely.” I dust my hands across Tod’s shoulders, and when he lifts his chin, I adjust the angle of his dickie bow.

“I don’t mind telling you, I’ve never met anyone as frightening as him. Well,” he adds as his eyes dart down, “apart from you.”

“I’m not frightening,” I murmur.

“Lavender, you’re my best friend, but you’re fucking terrifying. Or at least, I used to think so.”

“Silly.” His boyish smile curves into my palm as I cup his cheek. Friends. Ours will be a love born from this friendship. I just know in the marrow of my bones that Tod will one day glance across the breakfast table, and like a bolt of lightning, he’ll realize I’m the only woman he needs in his life. Then we’ll sail off into the sunset, like some real-life Barbie and her Ken.

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Advertisement The Interview Read Online Donna Alam http://www.books2020.com/the-interview-read-online-donna-alam Mon, 24 Apr 2023 15:56:14 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/the-interview-read-online-donna-alam Genre: Alpha Male, Billionaire, Contemporary Authors: Donna Alam Advertisement

Total pages in book: 161
Estimated words: 154890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)

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When I turn up on Whit’s doorstep, resumé in hand,
I’m expecting an informal interview, not a honey-dripped seduction.
But that doesn’t mean I won’t grab it with both hands…

→ mistaken identity
→ brother's best friend
→ dirty talking, swoony hero
→ a sassy go-for-it heroine
→ office romance shenanigans
→ forced proximity goodness

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

Women are fickle, you know. And men are idiots.

~ Marc Levy

1

MIMI

Hello, Whit. It’s been a while.

I give my head a tiny shake, frowning at myself in the mirrored walls of the elevator.

Hi, Whit! Remember me?

My frown deepens because that’s even worse. I doubt he’ll remember me, given I had braces and pigtails the last time I saw him.

Hi, Whit. I heard you literally own your own bank these days, so I thought…

I’d turn up on your doorstep with my begging bowl. Fine, my résumé.

My thoughts are interrupted as the elevator comes to a smooth stop. The doors glide open, but I find I can’t move as I press my hand to my chest, my poor heart flapping like a landed fish. This is the chance you wanted, I remind myself. Spreading your wings. Doing all the things. The doors begin to close, and I spring forward like this is the last chance saloon, turning sideways as I slide between the two.

So it looks like I’m doing this.

No big deal. I haven’t seen him in a zillion years, but that’s okay.

I slide my phone into my one good purse and hike it higher on my shoulder. No need to check I have the right door because there’s only one on this floor. Plus, the guy at the fancy concierge downstairs called up to let Whit know I was on my way. There’s no mistake. I’m in the right place.

And what a place it is—the lobby downstairs was decked out like a fancy six-star hotel. The low tasteful hum of music overlaid by the sound of my heels on the onyx marble floors, sofas, and a concierge desk, light fittings that look more like art installations. I guess some important people must live here, given the muscle-bound security detail who insisted on going through my purse with a fine-tooth comb. They even made me take off my cute beret, and I don’t think they were expecting to find a marmalade sandwich, even if my new coat makes me look like that cute teddy bear the Queen of England, God rest her soul, had tea with last year. Paddington, I think he was called.

I slide off the beret, suddenly conscious of looking like an overgrown toddler. But London is so much colder than I expected. I thought March was supposed to be the start of spring, but it’s been gray and gloomy since I arrived. I’ve seen the sun twice, but I swear there was no heat in it.

The decorator sure liked mirrors, I think as I stare at my reflection in a passageway that is basically a hall of mirrors, without the maze connotations and crazy shapes, thankfully. Their surfaces are mottled with age, or at least, made to look that way, the copper and verdigris making a sepia picture of me as I throw my coat over my arm and slide a lock of my summer-blond hair back into place.

At the shiny, onyx front door, I straighten my white shirt and give my pencil skirt one last tug. When I raise my fist to knock, the first wrap of knuckles pushes the door open. No one stands behind it with a hello, or hi, Mimi, I haven’t seen you in over a decade. I pause, hoping for some sign of life before I press my fingers to the wood and push a little more, remembering every CSI episode that started this way.

“Hello?” My voice echoes as I take a tentative step inside the darkened apartment.

“Come in,” replies a voice deeper than I would’ve recognized. My stomach tightens in anticipation or recognition, it’s hard to tell. Is that truly Whit? He sounds so… grown-up, his tone low and kind of velvety.

Stop being an idiot, he was a grown-up back then. Of course it’s him—his mom gave me the address and the snooty concierge downstairs confirmed it, and they called up.

I fold my coat, placing it on a console then make my way deeper into a room where a wall of windows overlook the shadowy treetops of Hyde Park, the hum of the busy Knightsbridge streets inaudible from below. Recessed lighting falls in distant corners casting shadows against the walls and rendering the stylish space with an intimate glow. I don’t have time to process why the lights aren’t on because all I can think of is there he is. Whit is just a few feet away, seated in a pale-toned armchair. His shiny black oxfords are planted wide, his pants equally dark. My eyes follow the row of buttons up his torso, his shirt folded at his forearms and open at the neck. I can’t see his expression—can’t tell if he’s happy to see me or not because, thanks to the fall of the light, his face is wreathed in shadow.

“Whit?”

“Stop where you are.”

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Advertisement Love plus Other Lies Read Online Donna Alam http://www.books2020.com/love-plus-other-lies-read-online-donna-alam Fri, 18 Nov 2022 16:25:08 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/love-plus-other-lies-read-online-donna-alam Genre: Contemporary, Romance Authors: Donna Alam Advertisement

Total pages in book: 163
Estimated words: 157491 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 630(@250wpm)___ 525(@300wpm)

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“Until death do us part, darling. This is my solemn vow.”

Niko Vanyin.
Mogul. Dirty talker extraordinaire. Crime boss? And my brother’s best friend.
He broke my heart fifteen years ago,
I thought that was the end of our story,
But he's been playing the long game.

Recently divorced and raising my sons,
He was supposed to be an ego boost—a fun rebound.
What I got was a dance with the devil … all the way to the altar.

He has more secrets than the Medicis,
And I'm pretty sure I should be terrified by him.
Because he’ll scorch the earth to protect me,
Ruin those who get in his way,
But when he looks at me with those cool blue eyes, the world just melts away.

Ours is a story of three parts.
Before. Now. And what comes after I'm forced to marry him.

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

Prologue

They say you’ll always remember your first love. What they don’t tell you is why. It’s not for the love you shared, the memories, or the things you learned about yourself. Learned about love. It’s the heartache.

I fell in love with my brother’s best friend. He warned me not to, but I did it anyway. But that’s just the beginning of my story. There’s also a middle and an end.

A story of three parts.

Before. Now. And what comes after I’m forced to marry him.

1

Isla

THE MIDDLE – PRESENT

The wedding

“So how do you two know each other?” Kennedy, the bride’s sister, lifts her glass in an attempt to hide her smile. She obviously thinks something is going on between Van and me because she caught us earlier bickering in the gardens like an old married couple. She’s so wrong. We’re more like old adversaries than friends.

Old adversaries who sometimes have sex.

“Van is my brother’s best friend,” I answer with a tight smile.

At the same moment, he utters his own version in that infuriating drawl of his,

“I’ve been a devotee of this woman since she begged me to peel her out of her pants fourteen years ago.” And if that wasn’t mortifying enough, he adds, “Isn’t that right, Peanut?”

“They were stuck,” I reason instantly, resisting the urge to elbow him in the ribs. “The zipper was stuck, and I desperately needed to use the ladies’ room.” That’s why he (annoyingly) calls me Peanut. Pee-nut. That it infuriates me is just a bonus to him. “Also, it was fifteen years ago.” I want to swallow the admission immediately—inhale it, press reverse.

I might as well announce it with a neon light above my head: I STILL THINK ABOUT YOU.

“The passage of time hasn’t dimmed the image of you in those very, very tight pants.” His gaze flicks over me in that way of his, my skin prickling as though experiencing the physical brush of it. I also prickle outwardly. Bristle, in fact, unhappy that all these years later, he still has this effect.

“So old friends, then?” Kennedy’s eyes dart between us like she’s watching a match on center court at Wimbledon.

“Pfft, no!” I scoff.

At the very same time, he replies, “The very best kind.” A smile tugs at his lips like his own neon sign. His would probably read: I KNOW WHAT ISLA TASTES LIKE.

He’s infuriating. And infuriatingly handsome. He’s all harsh lines and dramatic angles, softened by that damn mouth of his. I swallow a sigh. He really does have a lovely mouth. His lips are soft and pillowy, and that tongue… all need to be wrapped in duct tape right now. Because his looks are nothing more than a testament to the unfair nature of this world. Because his personality? He’s like the human equivalent of nettle rash. Hot and incredibly annoying. An itch I can’t help but scratch.

“Isla, my God, you are amazing.” My cheek is the sudden and happy recipient of a smacking kiss as Holly, my brother’s bride, wraps me in a one-armed hug. A girl needs a free hand for her champagne. “How can I ever thank you for today?” she says with such misty-eyed happiness. “It’s been so magical.”

“It was my pleasure.” The tears glistening in her eyes are a precursor to mine. My brother deserves to be happy, and if Holly’s the one to make him so, then I’m glad to have had a hand in their day. Even if he did steal my nanny in the process. Even if he and I both know that love is, at best, unreliable. At its worst, well, it’s hell.

“Honestly,” Holly says, turning to her sister, “Isla makes it all look so easy. Organization, arrangements, and all that stuff. And this dress!” We all stare at the creation I had a hand in designing. She really does look like a modern-day fairy-tale princess. “I’ll never be able to run this castle the way you do,” she says, her earnest gaze rising from the tulle. And that’s castle as in my family’s Scottish ancestral home. “The castle, the kids, and running your own business. I’d be a mess, yet you’re so cool and composed and so freakin’ competent.”

I open my mouth to answer but find I’m not sure what to say. It’s all smoke and mirrors because my life is a mess. I have two beautiful sons who are learning to adjust to life post-divorce, an ex-husband I’d sometimes like to strangle, a business with a cashflow problem, and a mortgage I can barely afford on a house that’s falling down around my ears. I haven’t had a haircut in over a year, and I’m avoiding the hors d’oeuvres not because I’m on a diet but because the very lovely gown I’m wearing is a rental and needs to be returned on Monday.

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Advertisement Before Him Read Online Donna Alam http://www.books2020.com/before-him-read-online-donna-alam Sat, 18 Jun 2022 16:14:20 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/before-him-read-online-donna-alam Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Romance Authors: Donna Alam Advertisement

Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 162947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 815(@200wpm)___ 652(@250wpm)___ 543(@300wpm)

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Read Online Books/Novels:	Before Him
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Donna Alam
Language:	English
Book Information:
Fate taught me eight years ago what happens in Vegas doesn’t always stay in Vegas. It’s a tale as old as time. Girl meets boy (cute face, charisma, killer suit). A wild night is had, and girl later finds out she’s pregnant. Girl goes home. She doesn’t finish college. She makes her living serving coffee, smiling when she’s feeling stabby. But she does it all for her boy, the only man she’ll ever need in her life. Until Fate decides otherwise . . . And she finds herself looking into those twilight-coloured eyes again. He’s been looking for her this whole time. She should be happy, right? Because he’s living next door, shaking up her world, and driving her crazy! Softening her heart as she watches him father their child. But she can’t take a chance on loving him, Even after she drops more than her defenses. Because secrets have a habit of resurfacing, And her heart can’t take losing him a second time. *Before Him is a small town second chance romance full of fire, fun, and that other f-word. Yep, family 😉 *It features a gorgeously swoon-worthy hero, the woman determined to resist his charms, secrets, shenanigans, and that all important happy-ever-after. And it’s a standalone title!
Books by Author:	Donna Alam

To fear love is to fear life

~Bertrand Russel

1

Kennedy

WHO’S THE DADDY

I’m not a fan of people. This is not a fact that’s common knowledge or one you’d guess from watching my interactions. Maybe it’s not so much that I don’t like people but that I don’t expect a whole lot from them, which, I guess, can be put down to experience. It’s not like I go around tripping up toddlers or slapping old ladies. My thoughts are my own, and I mostly keep them to myself. Naturally, there are people I do like, and there are people who mean the world to me. I’d do anything for that small bunch, but the rest? They get a slice of polite (and mostly fake) interest and my customer service face. The face I’m pulling right now as the bell above the door jingles in welcome.

“Take a seat, ladies,” I call over. “The usual?”

“Yes, please, Kennedy, dear,” Ursula Kowalski, one of my regulars, happily calls back. “And one of those heavenly butter cookies, too.”

My smile widens at the pre-emptive delight evident in hers. Polite customer service face or not, Ursula is my neighbour. She’s also as sweet an old lady as any you could find. I defy anyone not to like her.

“Make that two,” Betty, her sister, adds with neither a please nor a thank you. While Betty is also my neighbour, she belongs to that other group of folks. The ones I’d refuse to engage my bladder for. You know, if they were on fire. Though I guess Miss Betty is old, so maybe I’d squeeze out a little pee for her if she really were aflame.

“Coming right up!”

“Urgh, pretend perky is so hard to deal with when it’s already after five.” Jenner, my grumbling barista, pulls a cup from the top of the coffee machine. “We should’ve flipped the closed sign already. The place was empty.”

“And now it’s not.” He’s just angling to get out of the cleanup like vacuuming is against his religion or something. “I have to be here when the new renter picks up the keys for the pixie place, anyway.” The pixie place is the holiday cabin I’d recently had built at the bottom of my yard, so named because of its size. Technically, it’s not quite a cabin but a tiny house, the kind that is all the rage for trendy vacationers right now. Not that this is exactly a vacation kind of town, but there are those who like to visit the coast, and then there’s the cheese factory, I guess. What’s important is that it’s turned out to be a pretty good investment.

“Why get them to pick the keys up from here when you already live there?”

“Because the renter is a single man, and I have nosy neighbours.” I slide a meaningful look to where the old ladies have taken the table closest to the counter. Not a whole lot goes on in this town, and they’re determined not to miss any of it. “Also, safety, Jenner.” The hint of censure goes straight over his blond-highlighted head. “I should just hand him a coil of rope along with those keys.”

“Sounds like my kind of date,” he replies, hip checking me out of the way.

“You are . . .” I shake my head. “I don’t have words for what you are. What do you think of the refurb, ladies?” I call over, changing the topic and conversational partner.

“Oh, I love it,” Ursula replies, lowering herself into a wooden bistro chair. “The ladies over at the quilting circle think it’s wonderful!”

I suppress a small smile of pleasure. I imagine the old biddies over at the stitch and bitch club were worried I’d give High Grounds a bared brick and light bulb hipster kind of vibe, like the coffee chain that shall not be named. Starbucks. When, in fact, the look I’ve gone for is probably much more their thing with plush velveteen, floral china, tablecloths, and mismatched chairs. Jenner thinks he’s being cute when he calls it old lady chic, but he knows in his heart the style is genteelly eclectic.

“Well, I think it’s too dang fancy,” Betty mutters, her eyes flicking disdainfully over the new décor. Her brows lower, and her mouth puckers like a cat’s butthole as her gaze flits from a tasselled lampshade to the front half of a tin zebra that appears to burst through the far wall. I might’ve gone a little overboard with this, but I like to think its surprised expression is the result of it finding itself not quite having escaped a hunter’s gun, even if it was salvaged from an old-fashioned carousel.

“But what could you expect?” Betty mutters in the manner of the senior citizen she is. As in loud enough for the whole place to hear. “The family just live to make a spectacle of themselves.”

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Advertisement Single Daddy Scot – Hot Scots Read Online Donna Alam http://www.books2020.com/single-daddy-scot-hot-scots-read-online-donna-alam Tue, 15 Feb 2022 09:43:36 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/single-daddy-scot-hot-scots-read-online-donna-alam Genre: Contemporary, Romance, Virgin Authors: Donna Alam Advertisement

Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80399 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)

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Read Online Books/Novels:	Single Daddy Scot - Hot Scots
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Donna Alam
Language:	English
Book Information:
#1 Rule of nannying? Don’t screw the daddy. It doesn’t matter that he’s single. Or that he’s more God-Bod than Dad Bod. Or that he’s got that whole rugged Scottish thing going on. He’s off limits. Gruff and complicated. And he recently rearranged his life for a son he never knew he had. Plus, he might be in love with someone else—someone he can’t have. The last thing he needs is a twenty three year old virgin lusting after him. So if that’s the case, why does he look at me like he’s about to tear off my clothes?
Books by Author:	Donna Alam

1

Mac

‘Your eyes are closed.’ Her wine-scented words whisper across my cheek. ‘Do you always keep them closed?’

I still. My body, my mouth against her neck, and my fingers freeze on her round arse—every part of me grinds to a halt immediately. Everything but my cock, that is, which, pressed between us, strains to grind.

And my eyes, which are clenched tighter now.

‘No, don’t stop.’ Her hands grasp my shoulders, pulling me closer, even as her words push me away. She sighs quietly as my mouth disconnects, her dress fluttering against my fingers as I straighten. Is it strange that I’ve only known her a few hours, but I feel like her sigh and I are intimately acquainted?

‘I don’t know what to tell you, hen.’ I bite back my frustration as I press my forearm against the wall and stare down at the confusion growing in her languid blue gaze. Such lovely blue eyes, though not quite the same as—Nope. Not going there, even if I’ve done it again. It’s pure coincidence, I tell myself. Blue-eyed blondes are what I’m attracted to. And Christ knows I’ve known plenty of them lately.

‘Maybe I was just lost in the moment.’ I lean in, grazing her hairline with my lips, my lids closing automatically. Again.

Fuck. Do I always close my eyes? When I’m kissing? Fucking?

You know you do, arsewipe. And you know why.

‘It’s just . . . ’ Her hand reaches out to touch my cheek as I straighten for the second time. ‘You never looked at me last time, either.’ Her words are slightly shaky, her shoulders lifting in a tiny shrug. ‘Not in the face, at least,’ she adds wryly, her change in tone barely concealing her embarrassment.

There was a last time? I fight to keep my expression passive as I scan my brain for some recognition of the girl pressed between my bulk and my living room wall. But it’s no use—all the images blend into one. Blonde. Blue eyes. Skirts hiked around waists. Knickers pushed to the side, dangling from one ankle, or abandoned to the floor. Bodies spread out across my bed or the sofa. Pressed against doors and walls. Pretty. Available. Temporary. They all look the same. But it doesn’t have to mean anything, does it?

Except when it does.

‘Are you not feelin’ it?’ I ask softly, running my thumb over her kiss-plump bottom lip. But the issue’s not with her—or any of them. It’s with me. ‘Darlin’, you’re . . . Ungph.’ My knees almost give way as she suddenly grazes the head of my knob with her fingers, simultaneously sucking my thumb into her mouth.

‘Well, I was definitely feeling it up until a moment ago,’ she says, her words turning sultry, her gaze dipping from my face to the bulge in my pants. ‘Wanting it. Feeling it pressed against me. Wondering when I would get to wrap my lips around it.’ From under her lashes, her gaze tracks up my body. ‘All while remembering what you look like when you come.’

‘Then I don’t see the issue,’ I reply, trying to rein in my smile. ‘That’s some picture you’ve painted. Very . . . vivid.’

‘When I saw you earlier,’ she begins, her eyes falling to my zipper momentarily. ‘I thought maybe you didn’t recognise me.’ I keep my expression blank; confirmation won’t help anyone. I’m not in the habit of cock blocking myself. Or hurting feelings, incidentally. ‘But you know what? I decided I didn’t care because this,’ she says, pressing her palm flat against the length of my dick. ‘I’ve been thinking about this since we last hooked up.’

‘So you’re sayin’ you only want me for my body?’

‘Does that bother you?’ She pouts softly, her fingers working their magic across the head.

‘Not at all. On you go, darlin’.’ The words come out gravelly, my body instinctively pushing into her hand. ‘Objectify away.’ She giggles softly, but as I begin to lower my head, she places a stilling hand against my chest.

‘I don’t mind that you don’t remember last time, but I want you here with me now . . . not somewhere else.’ She seems to take my furrowed brow as confusion, clarifying the point for me as her hand cups my cheek. ‘I know that look. I’ve been there; we’ve all been there. But you need to put her aside, whoever you’re thinking of. For tonight, at least.’

Oh, Rhianna. Brianna? If only that were possible.

My chest moves once in some semblance of a laugh—as if it were possible to lose myself in someone else. Resentment suddenly tightens my jaw because I’d like nothing more than to put it aside. To not think of the email I’d received earlier—to avoid the news that came with it.

What the fuck am I doing here in this situation again? I hadn’t meant to bring someone back tonight. I only went out for a couple of pints to stop myself from staring at the email attachment. The tropical backdrop, her body wrapped in the arms of that arsehole. Her absolute happiness. Their wedding bands glinting in the sunlight.

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Advertisement No Ordinary Gentleman Read Online Donna Alam http://www.books2020.com/no-ordinary-gentleman-read-online-donna-alam Tue, 26 Oct 2021 21:57:41 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/no-ordinary-gentleman-read-online-donna-alam Genre: Alpha Male, Billionaire, Funny, Romance Authors: Donna Alam Advertisement

Total pages in book: 192
Estimated words: 183663 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 918(@200wpm)___ 735(@250wpm)___ 612(@300wpm)

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Read Online Books/Novels:	No Ordinary Gentleman
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Donna Alam
Language:	English
Book Information:
The duke, his brother, and the lie. Or in other words, how I came to be trapped between two men in a remote castle in Scotland. Once upon a time, in a more carefree life, I met a man. Our gazes connected over the top of his newspaper as he watched me suffer through the most embarrassing moment of my life. Older, sophisticated, and so hot, he saved me from that awkward encounter, Then tried to send me away with a pat on my head. But I wasn’t ready to let him go . . . And the rest, as the saying goes, is history. Passionate, heart-stopping, the night of my life kind of history. But there was just one tiny problem. I lied to him. I told him I was a tourist and only in town for one night. So he wasn’t too impressed when I turned up again. In his Scottish castle. Yes, his freakin’ castle.
Books by Author:	Donna Alam

1

Holly

I love old people.

I don’t mean that condescendingly or even in a weird, fetish kind of way. I just like their company. The stories they have to tell, the things they’ve done and seen. It’s fair to say that I’ve never met an old person I didn’t like. I even find the crotchety ones interesting. You can learn a lot from just hanging out with older folks, though I can’t really explain my affinity to them except to say I’ve just always preferred their company over people of my own age right from being a little girl.

It’s not just seniors, either. Take the couple I’m currently sharing a table with. They’re not old, exactly. Just older. And such cool company. How I come to be sharing a table with them is thanks to the bar almost overflowing with people, which, the server tells me, is because of their popular happy hour and the nearby office crowd. But it’s a civilised kind of busy and the customers are mostly professionals judging by their appearances and the chiming of glasses and the low murmur of their voices. How I come to be in the hotel bar at all is thanks to my rumbling stomach, a hankering for company, and an aversion to paying the ridiculous room service surcharge for a coffee and a sandwich.

So here I am, basking in the bright spring sunshine streaming in through a wall of windows overlooking one of London’s quieter streets. The bonus of my extended lunch is Lukas and Annika, the older (but not old) couple who I’ve spent the last hour in the company of. It seems they’ve travelled the world several times over and have already been to a whole bunch of places that I want to visit, and I am absolutely drinking up their stories while swapping a few of my own.

Interesting, see?

“So you just arrived in London?” Lukas smiles encouragingly. He’s tall and angular, reminding me a little of Tom Brady. Or maybe what he’ll look like in ten years or so.

I nod in agreement and swallow a quick sip of my drink, having moved on from a cappuccino to a glass of wine at their invitation.

“I flew in from Florida yesterday, though I’m actually from Oregon.” Buttphuck Oregon. Otherwise known as Mookatill, home of the cheese by the same name.

“I don’t think we’ve ever been to Oregon,” Annika says, glancing at the hubs, who shakes his head.

“Home of tall trees and even taller mountain ranges,” I offer, sounding like I work for the tourism board. Mookatill might not be much to look at, but Oregon is beautiful.

“It sounds wonderful.”

“Oh, it is. The coastline is stunning coastline, not to mention, we have fourteen hundred lakes.”

“Isn’t there a state with ten thousand lakes?” Annika turns to her husband as he speaks.

“Minnesota,” I reply. The show-offs.

“But now you live in London.” Lukas reaches for his wine glass and swirls the blood-red liquid around the bowl. “It must be a little bit different to where you’re from.”

“Oh, just a little,” I reply with a laugh. “But I’ve lived here a year now.” And I love it, though I guess I’d be happy to be anywhere that isn’t buttphuck Oregon!

“Chelsea, did you say?”

“Yep. I’ll join the family in the morning. It’s just a cab ride away.”

It’s the family I work for and not my actual family who lives in Chelsea, but I’d already mentioned that. Not that anyone would guess I wasn’t born to squander a trust fund in super cool hotel bars because I’m dressed perfectly for the part. Skinny jeans, a white vest, and a Balmain blazer; the designer must-have. Okay, the blazer’s a dupe, but it’s a pretty convincing one.

I was supposed to go straight from the airport to the house, but when I’d switched on my phone after landing earlier today, I found I had a text from Martine, my boss, to tell me she’d booked me into a hotel in the city. Something about the decorator not finishing on schedule. As you can imagine, I wasn’t about to complain. The pair could fluff cushions and reposition artwork until their hearts are content because what kind of idiot would complain about an extended vacation?

“I imagine you need to be back early tomorrow,” Lukas murmurs, placing back his glass on the table between us.

“No, they have a driver for the school run.” I’m basically a tutor and social secretary to a couple of American tween-agers. It’s a pretty sweet gig, unlike driving in peak-hour London traffic, which would probably give me a heart attack.

“It sounds like a very good position.”

“It’s the best. Especially when you consider half term isn’t far away, and we’re off to Ibiza for the break.” Working for rich people is the best; cast-off Prada handbags and bougie vacations are just the start of it. “And then it’s Rome and then Lake Como when summer rolls around.”

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Advertisement Never Say Forever Read Online Donna Alam http://www.books2020.com/never-say-forever-read-online-donna-alam Sun, 28 Feb 2021 09:50:33 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/never-say-forever-read-online-donna-alam Genre: Billionaire, Romance Authors: Donna Alam Advertisement

Total pages in book: 176
Estimated words: 167940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 840(@200wpm)___ 672(@250wpm)___ 560(@300wpm)

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Read Online Books/Novels:	Never Say Forever
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Donna Alam
Language:	English
Book Information:
From the French countryside to Manhattan, falling for my one-night stand wasn’t supposed to be the plan. Dear Mr Hayes, I’m sorry you found me floating in your bathtub last night. And that you didn’t realize I was housesitting. I’m also sorry I crept out of your bed five years ago without leaving my name . . . My secret one-night stand. In another lifetime, we might’ve been soulmates, The memories of our passion have warmed my bed since. I’m going to pretend I don’t see the way your eyes devour me, And ignore how that makes me feel. You’re wealthy, charismatic, and sinfully sensual, And I burn every time you whisper my name. But I can’t give in to you. Not again. I know you’re hiding something. I’m not that girl anymore. My kisses aren’t trifles to be wasted, Single mothers aren’t afforded those luxuries. Why must you be so hard to resist? Falling in love with you was never in my plans, Discovering who you really are might devastate me ****Never Say Forever features a sinful billionaire hiding secrets, a red-hot night with no names exchanged, a second chance with heart-racing chemistry, and the sassiest four-year-old ever! Love, laughter, feels, and happy ever after!
Books by Author:	Donna Alam

“Behind every exquisite thing that existed, there was something tragic.”

~ Oscar Wilde

1

Fee

“Hello? Charles, can you hear me?”

The call connects, my friend’s response an ominous crackle followed by some mostly distorted vowels sounds.

“ . . . re . . . ou . . . i . . .”

“Charles?” I pull the phone away from my ear to glance at the screen, desperately hoping we’re still connected because I need help. Plus, I also have something very important that I need to tell him. “I could literally junk punch you right now.”

Exactly that.

“. . . ou . . . ee . . .”

“I’m stuck up the side of a mountain, lost. Which is bad enough, but Fred has a puncture, and guess what? There’s no spare tyre!” I don’t know why I’m bothering to tell him, considering he’s the reason Fred, my little Fiat, doesn’t have a spare. “This is the absolute last time I’m loaning you anything,” I continue. Okay, rant. “Seriously, you won’t get so much as a teaspoon from me, so you’d better start packing one with your lunch!”

“. . .ma . . . vou . . . rie . . .”

“You promised, promised me, that you’d get the tyre fixed last week.”

“Ai—”

The crackling halts, and I’m suddenly left looking down at the now-dead phone in my hand. With a strangled cry, I raise my eyes heavenward, but divine intervention isn’t in the cards today. Instead, the grey clouds part, allowing the late afternoon sun to beam down happily. If I feel like crying, the least the sky could do is cry with me.

It doesn’t, so I give in to frustration and kick the tyre instead.

“Fudge knuckles!”

But the action is more a glance than a blow, plus I use the sole of my shoe. Angry or not, I’m far too sensible to add a broken toe to my current woes. I fold my arms, then let them fall, carelessly dropping my dead phone through the open window. It bounces off my purse and tumbles to the floor, then I hear the sickening sound of the glass screen clipping something metal under the seat.

“Really?” I fume. I’m so done with today.

And I really should’ve told Charles I was lost before I bitched about the missing spare tyre. I’m generally not so short-tempered, but a girl can take only so much, especially after driving around aimlessly for an hour on scarily unfamiliar roads, including some without barriers and potential sheer drops down a freakin’ mountain! No wonder my nerves are fraught. And to add insult to injury, I’m lost up here because of him. He’d called a couple of hours ago, begging me to pick him up after he’d had an argument with his latest love interest.

“Because one swallow does not a boyfriend make, Charlie boy,” I grumble angrily, angry with myself for this situation and angry with him for not replacing the spare. And extra angry he’d sent me a text ten minutes ago to say he and Anton had made up and that he no longer needed rescuing.

“Urgh!” A wash of frustration floods my veins. I hate how this level of toxicity is poisoning my mood. So I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and try again.

“Ommm.” I push out the sound on a slow exhale, chasing away my critical thoughts as I try to bring a little peace to my mind, body, and soul. When I take a yoga class, Om is how we begin and end each of the classes; it is said to be the primordial sound, ancient and restorative. A sound that connects all living beings to nature and the universe.

I’d like to connect my hands to Charles’s neck . . .

Channel more Zen. It’s not like I have the greatest track record with dating either.

“Ommm.”

When I open my eyes, I’m still in the middle of nowhere. Though I’m at least calm enough to realise it’s a very beautiful sort of nowhere. Shielding my eyes, I gaze across a carpet of green hills and valleys, the road winding down like a smudge of white chalk as though all the way out to the Mediterranean Sea. As the crow flies, I’m less than thirty minutes away from both beach and city, but as I don’t have wings, I know I can kiss my planned afternoon of beachfront bottomless pomegranate martinis goodbye.

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Advertisement Liar Liar Read online Donna Alam http://www.books2020.com/liar-liar-read-online-donna-alam Fri, 03 Apr 2020 01:57:33 +0000 http://www.test123.demo2.xyz/liar-liar-read-online-donna-alam Genre: Contemporary, Romance Authors: Donna Alam Advertisement

Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 167759 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 839(@200wpm)___ 671(@250wpm)___ 559(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >177

Read Online Books/Novels:	Liar Liar
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Donna Alam
Language:	English
Book Information:
My first mistake? Causing the sexy Frenchman a concussion. My second? Telling the hospital staff that I was his girlfriend. In my defense, he didn’t speak English. My third? Taking him home, letting him sleep in my bed. Naked. I never said I was Florence Nightingale . . . He gave me a night I’ll never forget but when I wake, he’s already gone. I tell myself it’s his loss, that I wasn’t expecting him to stay forever anyway, And my life moves on. I get a new job. A fresh start in a new country and I stop counting my mistakes. Until those striking green eyes meet mine across the office, And it all comes rushing back. But he’s not that man anymore. Gone are his jeans and his playful attitude. Rich and powerful, he’s now sin in a suit. And his English is perfect. Were his kisses also lies? His caresses meaningless? I feel like such a fool—I want to wrap my hands around his neck. Though not to hug him, Because the man is a force of nature. A master manipulator. He’s also my new boss. And I already hate him. The biggest lies are the ones we tell ourselves.
Books by Author:	Donna Alam

Truths and roses have thorns about them.

~ Henry David Thoreau

1

Rose

MARCH

‘It’s not every day you find yourself in an Uber on the way home at four a.m. with a blonde wig in your pocket and a foot-long purple penis tucked into your purse.’

‘Yes, because my life is just that interesting.’

‘You’re crazy,’ Amber asserts through a chuckle.

‘Oh, I so am. Crazy broke and crazy tired.’ I swap my cell phone to my other hand as I lean down to rub my aching calf. ‘And maybe just plain crazy because why else would I be on my way home from a strip joint at pervert o’clock in heels and booty shorts?’

‘Because you have excellent morals and a strong work ethic,’ she replies evenly. ‘Your text earlier said you’d had an awful night. Did Shaun, the shitty shift manager, threaten to dock your pay for broken glasses again?’

‘The man’s name is Ted.’

‘Yeah, but alliteration, babe.’

‘Well, there was no broken glassware,’ I reply with a sigh. Thankfully, I’ve mastered the art of balancing a laden tray since my first shift last month. ‘But there are better ways to spend a night.’

‘I’m sure you’ll find something else soon.’ My friend’s tone turns sympathetic just as my Uber hits a pothole, jostling me against the back seat. I press my hand to my purse on the seat next to me, the action reminding me of the package I’d collected from the post office this afternoon. Package being the pertinent word. A blonde wig might be part of my new waitressing persona, but the purple penis, thankfully, is not.

‘I can’t believe you sent me this monstrosity,’ I murmur, my cheeks heating as I look down at the outline through the thin pleather of my purse.

‘Well, it’s certainly monstrous,’ she replies happily.

‘Want to tell me why?’

‘I thought you might’ve forgotten what one looks like.’

‘That could be true. I don’t recall them being quite so purple.’

‘The flesh-toned ones were too creepy,’ she offers by way of explanation. ‘You might be a little more grateful. It cost me a fortune to mail it from Sydney.’

The fact that she lives in Australia is the reason we’re having a conversation at four in the morning. The reason she sent me a sex toy is a little harder to understand. Out of all the things she could’ve sent—heavenly chocolate-dipped macadamia nuts or even a packet of Tim Tams—I get a stand-in penis big enough to hang a hat on.

‘I suppose I should also say thanks for your detailed description on the customs declaration form, too?’

She’d checked the box marked ‘GIFT’ before spelling out the contents in her neat penmanship. D-I-L-D-O.

‘I could’ve written substitute boyfriend instead.’

‘Lord, please send me wine,’ I appeal to the roof of the Subaru. After a month of waitressing in a strip joint, I have neither the time nor the inclination for men. Or even plastic parts of them.

‘Rub it in, why don’t you?’ she complains. ‘I can’t believe I have two whole months before I can indulge in a cool glass of Chablis, eat my own weight in Camembert, and tie my own damn sneakers again!’

My best friend happens to be pregnant after meeting the love of her life in Australia while we were backpacking there. Sadly, the only thing I found was thigh chafe.

‘But I called because you said you were having a nightmare night, so now I have my swollen cankles resting on a pillow and a glass of juice resting on my humongous bump. I am prepared,’ she declares a touch dramatically. ‘You may spill at will.’

I feel a brief pinch of envy suddenly picturing her there in her enormous home. She’s so settled and so in love. And she so doesn’t need the thing I have in my purse. I shake off the thoughts; it’s not as though love came easy to her. She deserves good things, but that’s not to say I deserved the night I had.

‘So, I spent the last five hours avoiding an, erm, older gentleman who insisted on following me around the club. Fun, right?’

‘That depends. Was he older in the super-hot yes, daddy way?’ she asks, her voice soft and breathy.

‘Nope. He was older in the creepy-assed retiree way. The man hassled me the whole night to take him into one of the private booths to dance for him.’

‘I assume these were requests you politely declined since you haven’t mentioned you were fired.’

‘I can be polite,’ I protest. ‘Especially when I need a job. Maybe I should dance. The tips are way better.’ There’s also less opportunity to be touched, though I keep that to myself. No need to worry, Amber.

‘Except customers would pay you not to dance.’

‘Hey, I’ve got moves, moves they haven’t seen.’

‘Oh, you’ve got moves all right. Moves I don’t ever want to see again. Did security throw him out?’

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