Fiona Davenport – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read

Fiona Davenport – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.books2020.com Thu, 23 Apr 2026 23:01:28 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=6.9.4 http://www.books2020.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/favicon.png Fiona Davenport – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.books2020.com 32 32 Rebel (Hounds of Hellfire MC #11) Read Online Fiona Davenport http://www.books2020.com/rebel-hounds-of-hellfire-mc-11-read-online-fiona-davenport Thu, 23 Apr 2026 23:01:28 +0000 https://www.books2020.com/rebel-hounds-of-hellfire-mc-11-read-online-fiona-davenport Genre: Alpha Male, Biker, Insta-Love, MC Authors: Fiona Davenport Series: Hounds of Hellfire MC Series by Fiona Davenport
Advertisement

Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 45131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 226(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 150(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >49

Ronan “Rebel” Blackwood had seen enough of his club brothers fall hard and fast to know Clara Winslet was his the second she crashed into him. The Hounds’ enforcer decided right then that the sassy woman was getting his patch.
Clara never expected Rebel to show up at her family farm night after night, locking the place down tight and stealing her heart in the process. But when danger creeps too close, Rebel will burn through anything standing between him and keeping Clara safe

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

1

REBEL

The Hounds of Hellfire MC clubhouse was filled with relief when we returned, the tension from earlier finally giving way to laughter and easy camaraderie. My muscles were still taut from the confrontation we’d just come from, my hands flexing instinctively as the adrenaline slowly faded. I stood slightly apart, observing quietly as my brothers spread through the space, each drawn toward their women like magnets, the embraces that followed unmistakably possessive.

The comfortable intimacy between the couples created a sense of envy in my chest. Not that I’d admit it out loud. It had been a damn long time since I’d let myself think about settling down or wanting someone that close.

Ace, our treasurer, moved immediately toward Poppy, his stride swift and purposeful. The intensity in his eyes told anyone watching exactly how much he needed to see her after what we’d just handled. We’d eliminated the threat against her, and I could only imagine his relief.

He caught her face in his big hands and kissed her deeply, unapologetic about his claim as he pulled her tight against him. Our president, King, approached them, a tiny lift at the corners of his mouth as he handed over the leather property vest he’d probably had for weeks. Ace had made it clear that Poppy was it for him right after they met.

Poppy’s eyes widened, her cheeks flushing with pure happiness as Ace settled the vest over her shoulders. It was impossible not to notice the way they looked at each other—raw, fiercely protective, and completely in love.

My gaze drifted slightly to the left, and every muscle in my body suddenly locked tight. Standing beside Poppy was a woman I’d never seen before, but in a single breath, she owned every ounce of my attention. A strange, possessive heat rolled through me as I took her in.

Thick chestnut hair was loosely braided and hung over one shoulder. The low lighting in the lounge was just bright enough to catch copper highlights threaded through the strands. She had the kind of curves that made my pulse spike hard. Her lush hips were wrapped in worn jeans that hugged her like they were made just for her. A simple flannel shirt was knotted loosely at her waist, accentuating those curves and drawing my attention exactly where it shouldn’t linger in public.

She wasn’t just beautiful, she was fucking captivating. Her skin was kissed by the sun, a delicate warmth that made my fingers itch to touch. She seemed completely unaware of my eyes tracking her every move. Her smile was bright and effortlessly radiant as she spoke with Poppy, her eyes dancing with animated laughter as she admired the newly presented vest. She had no idea I was watching, completely oblivious to the possessive heat coiling through me with every passing second.

The intensity of my reaction caught me completely off guard. As I watched her, that unexpected longing tightening my chest wasn’t envy anymore. It was something deeper, more primal—a fierce, instinctive recognition that she belonged to me.

She took a step back and bumped directly into my chest. Instinctively, my hands shot out to grip her arms, steadying her. Heat sparked through my fingertips at the contact, catching me off guard. When she spun around, those amber eyes met mine, wide and startled for a brief second before her full, pouty lips curved into a bright smile that sent another shock wave straight to my groin.

“Oops! Sorry about that.” Laughter bubbled beneath her voice as her gaze moved over me, curiosity and surprise clear in those mesmerizing eyes.

I managed a stiff nod, but words failed me. A brooding scowl tugged automatically at my features, masking the turmoil inside me. As my stare swept slowly over her face, the subtle flush on her cheeks, the curve of her neck, and those lush curves, I couldn’t hold back the muttered curse under my breath. “Fucking hell.”

Her smile faltered slightly, her brow furrowing in confusion as she turned back to Poppy and rolled her eyes in amused frustration. “I can’t imagine what it would be like to belong to one of these guys.”

Something possessive snapped inside me, instantly accepting what my body already knew—she was mine. Before I even realized what I was doing, the words were growling out of me, low and rough with irritation. “You’ll know soon enough.”

She whipped around to face me again, her hands landing firmly on those curvy hips, her chin lifting stubbornly as her brows rose. The defiance in her stance sent another hot rush of desire through me, nearly stealing my breath. “Pardon?”

I didn’t answer right away as my eyes held hers for a long, tense moment. I was acutely aware of Ace’s gaze on us, and the surprised silence that had fallen over the others nearby. But I was too caught up in this overwhelming certainty to care.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >49

Advertisement Ace (Hounds of Hellfire MC #10) Read Online Fiona Davenport http://www.books2020.com/ace-hounds-of-hellfire-mc-10-read-online-fiona-davenport Fri, 03 Apr 2026 23:15:13 +0000 http://www.books2020.com/ace-hounds-of-hellfire-mc-10-read-online-fiona-davenport Genre: Alpha Male, Biker, Insta-Love, MC Authors: Fiona Davenport Series: Hounds of Hellfire MC Series by Fiona Davenport
Advertisement

Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 43071 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 215(@200wpm)___ 172(@250wpm)___ 144(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >47

Colter “Ace” Maddigan didn’t gamble on anything he couldn’t control. Until a bubbly compliance assistant crashed into the grumpy biker’s world and rewrote the odds. Now the Hounds treasurer was all in.
Poppy Fairbanks always thought she was too much, but Ace acted like she’s exactly what was missing from his life. And when Poppy ended up in someone’s crosshairs, Ace was more than ready to show them how far he’d go to protect his woman

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

1

ACE

The rhythmic sound of my fingers flying across the keyboard was soothing. I leaned back slightly in my leather chair, my gaze fixed intently on the three screens arranged in front of me. The soft glow illuminated the scattered piles of paperwork that littered my heavy oak desk, each stack representing a prospective new member of the Hounds of Hellfire MC.

I paused to roll my shoulders, easing the stiffness from hours spent digging through every detail of the prospects’ financial histories. It was tedious but necessary. One of my roles as the club’s treasurer meant I wasn’t just responsible for our money but also ensuring every man we brought into our inner circle was financially clean, with no ties that could compromise our operations.

We’d always required background checks on anyone looking to prospect. But after we’d discovered a mole among them a couple of years ago, our president had our resident tech genius, Wizard, and me do deeper dives into each of them.

We were a family—not by blood but by choice. And whether or not we were single, we weren’t reckless bachelors living in a clubhouse circus. There were no club bunnies, no messy drama. This wasn’t a frat house; it was a home.

The club wasn’t always like this, though. More than two decades ago, the Hounds had a reputation for the patches being assholes with no respect for anyone and for crossing lines way past the gray zone. But shit had been cleaned up long before King patched, which was shortly before I prospected and earned my full rocker. When King became our president over seven years ago, I earned the office of treasurer and began building the financial backbone that enabled us to operate like a fortress.

Now, anyone hoping to patch had to earn our confidence before they could wear the colors. We had to know that we could entrust them with our lives and those of our families. Not to mention the details of our less-than-legal endeavors.

The Hounds of Hellfire MC could easily be seen as a group of outlaws, but we were far from the stereotypical chaotic biker gangs portrayed on TV. Sure, we operated outside conventional laws—leveraging connections, authority, and carefully placed donations to navigate around an imperfect legal system. But our brand of justice, which sometimes included violence, was precise and purposeful. Controlled until necessary. And even then, calculated rather than cruel.

Loyalty and honor weren’t just words stitched into our cuts—they were principles etched into the marrow of our bones. Any breach of the code, especially concerning women or children, was dealt with swiftly and permanently.

We had many legal businesses that kept the MC flush when combined with my wicked financial skills. However, our core business involved identity erasure and relocation—making people disappear into new lives. The operation was a good source of income, though in some cases we didn’t require payment. But those scenarios were closely guarded secrets to avoid having to deal with too many assholes with sob stories trying to get something for nothing.

Sighing, I reached for my coffee mug. The ceramic was cool against my fingertips, a disappointing reminder that it had gone untouched for far too long. The bitter taste lingered on my tongue as I took a sip and grimaced. Cold and stale—just like the rest of my fucking afternoon.

A soft ping echoed from the central monitor, and my attention snapped to the alert. A frown creased my forehead as I leaned in, my eyes scanning the series of tiny micro-probes hitting our shell companies. My gut tightened. It wasn’t theft since none of the transactions had attempted to move money, but the pattern was clear. Someone was testing our reaction times and mapping our financial perimeter.

“Son of a bitch,” I muttered, reaching up to run a hand through my hair. I traced the probe’s trail, quickly connecting it back to a regional compliance firm downtown. One of the few businesses in Riverstone not directly owned or managed by the club. The building was ours, but the company was a tenant. They had always seemed harmless enough. Apparently, not anymore.

My jaw tightened as I watched another micro-probe flicker across the screen, pinging lightly against one of our carefully shielded accounts. Not invasive. They were just testing our boundaries.

It pissed me off—like someone deliberately tapping their finger on glass, just to see if the thing behind it would react.

Honestly, the probe would most likely have been missed by anyone who wasn’t me. And it irritated me that they thought they could get this shit past me.

I’d earned my road name before I ever started handling the club’s finances.

As a prospect, I’d cleaned out plenty of the patched members in underground poker games without raising my pulse. I could count cards blindfolded, calculate odds mid-hand, and read betting patterns like spreadsheets.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >47

Advertisement Tomcat (Hounds of Hellfire MC #9) Read Online Fiona Davenport http://www.books2020.com/tomcat-hounds-of-hellfire-mc-9-read-online-fiona-davenport Sat, 28 Feb 2026 17:33:36 +0000 http://www.books2020.com/tomcat-hounds-of-hellfire-mc-9-read-online-fiona-davenport Genre: Alpha Male, Biker, Insta-Love, MC Authors: Fiona Davenport Series: Hounds of Hellfire MC Series by Fiona Davenport
Advertisement

Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 43456 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 217(@200wpm)___ 174(@250wpm)___ 145(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >47

Keegan “Tomcat” Connelly didn’t lose control. Not in the air or with women. As a fighter pilot and aerospace consultant, precision was his currency.
Linden Holbrook never meant to uncover anything dangerous. But while archiving old flight records, she found discrepancies tied to her brother’s deadly crash. Tomcat stepped in to protect Linden and fell for her faster than a jet breaking the sound barrier

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

1

TOMCAT

The tarmac stretched out in front of me, shimmering faintly under the relentless Georgia sun. The oppressive heat clung stubbornly to every surface. I stood beside a prototype jet, running my palm over its smooth composite surface, feeling for anything out of place. I’d been a consultant while the airplane was being designed. So I knew the curves and lines of this aircraft as intimately as my own hand, every panel and rivet burned into my memory.

Aviation was what I’d lived for since I was a kid. When it became clear that I was an accelerated learner and would graduate from high school at sixteen, my dad pressured me to fast-track my education and join the Navy. Rear Admiral (Ret.) James Connolly was highly decorated and very old-school. Luckily for him, it had been my plan all along.

I went to college and earned my bachelor’s in aerospace engineering before I turned eighteen. Then I joined the Navy, where I also earned my master’s and PhD.

My mind worked faster than most people’s, and the military gave me the structure to sharpen it into something lethal. I excelled in tactical planning and execution, high-risk operations and retrieval, and advanced weapons proficiency.

At twenty-five, I had been invited to attend the Navy Strike Fighter Tactics Instructor program, or Top Gun, as it was more commonly known.

The combination of my education and experience gave me the skills to become more than just a pilot. I was a problem solver. Eventually, I started contributing to the design and testing of multiple aircraft platforms. When I left the Navy ten years later, I didn’t leave the sky behind—because nothing else gave me the same clarity. I brought my skills somewhere I thought loyalty mattered more than rank. As a civilian contractor, I consulted on aircraft design and served as a test pilot for experimental aircraft.

This jet was a prototype for the classified defense contractor, Aegis Aerospace Systems. It was a sleek machine with cutting-edge stealth tech, custom-built for precision maneuvers and experimental weapons systems. It had become my responsibility to know her better than anyone else. But as my fingers moved along the cool metal, something tugged at the edge of my awareness, drawing my attention across the tarmac toward something far softer and far more captivating than a machine could ever be.

A woman was walking along the edge of the flight line, careful to stay out of the designated safety zone and following the rules to the letter. Her steps were measured, almost cautious, like someone who didn’t want to be noticed. But it wasn’t working.

She stood out, not just because of the way her honey-brown hair caught the light or the bright flats she wore. She looked entirely out of place in an environment built for unforgiving machinery.

My gaze tracked her automatically, cataloging details as she approached the hangar-side admin building. Her long hair was loose around her shoulders, glinting like polished amber in the sun. Her pale, pretty face was dusted with freckles across a delicate nose and cheekbones. She surveyed her surroundings with careful curiosity, and her bright green eyes widened slightly.

I’d been around women my whole adult life, seen beautiful ones more times than I could count. But none had ever made my pulse spike the way this one did. Her curves were lush, her soft hips rounded beneath a simple cardigan and jeans. She just needed a pair of glasses, and she’d put the sexy librarian cliché to shame. My body tightened involuntarily, my cock thickening and pressing uncomfortably against the front of my flight suit.

What the fuck?

I had a reputation for control and discipline that made pilots and operators uneasy in my presence. I had no other choice. One moment of distraction—a single slip-up or missed detail—could be the difference between life and death.

My mind and body obeyed me without question—until now. Here I was, watching this woman cross the airfield, and suddenly, every muscle in my body was on high alert. I had no right to feel protective of her. No reason to feel possessive over a woman I didn’t even know. Yet I did.

She paused at the edge of the marked path, clutching a folder to her chest as she stared at my plane with awe. It was ridiculous, but I felt a little burst of pride at the way she was admiring my new bird.

As she stepped forward, the toe of her bright shoe snagged on a chock line stretched across her path. My heart jumped in my chest as she pitched forward, her eyes widening, the folder flying from her hand.

I moved without thought, crossing the space faster than I realized I could. My arms came around her just before she hit the concrete, her body pressed tight against mine. A small sound left her lips, breathless and startled. The scent of her filled my senses— something soft, floral, and faintly sweet.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >47

Advertisement Kevlar (Hounds of Hellfire MC #8) Read Online Fiona Davenport http://www.books2020.com/kevlar-hounds-of-hellfire-mc-8-read-online-fiona-davenport Sat, 28 Feb 2026 17:32:26 +0000 http://www.books2020.com/kevlar-hounds-of-hellfire-mc-8-read-online-fiona-davenport Genre: Alpha Male, Biker, Erotic, Insta-Love, MC, Virgin Authors: Fiona Davenport Series: Hounds of Hellfire MC Series by Fiona Davenport
Advertisement

Total pages in book: 45
Estimated words: 42332 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 212(@200wpm)___ 169(@250wpm)___ 141(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >45

Lucas “Kevlar” Knox was built to take the hits so others didn’t have to. As the Hounds of Hellfire’s SGT at Arms, his focus was keeping danger where it belonged—far away from his club and civilians in their territory. Like Maren Whitlock.

Maren’s life was simple until one shift at the diner made her unforgettable to the wrong people. Drawn to his quiet authority, she found comfort in Kevlar’s protection. Once he decided Maren was his, nothing could touch her

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

1

MAREN

“Have a good night,” Jerry, one of my regular customers, called as he walked toward the door.

I beamed a smile at him. “You too.”

I enjoyed my last job as a hostess, but I was so glad I took this new one as a server at The Fuel & Flame Diner. Tips were a big boost to my income, and I really liked the late-night shifts. They were slower but paid well because my customers appreciated that we were still open.

One of the other servers had told me during my first week that the only better shift was weekend breakfast. Pure chaos, but worth it. You earned more, but you also busted your butt for it from what she’d said. After a month of experience, I still didn’t feel ready to juggle so many tables at once while under pressure to turn them over quickly.

“Order up!”

I changed direction to grab a plate from the pass-through window. “Thanks, Mark.”

The dinner rush had thinned out hours ago, leaving only a handful of occupied booths. I headed toward the one in my section. “Here’s your short stack with a side of bacon. Extra butter and syrup.”

“Thanks.”

I snagged the coffee from behind the counter and moved between tables on autopilot, refilling an empty cup. Then I started a fresh pot and wiped my hands on my apron, glancing at the clock above the pass-through. Still a couple of hours until my shift ended.

I leaned against the counter for a moment while the coffee brewed, and my mind drifted the way it always did when things slowed down. I tried to guess how much I’d make tonight, thought about the chores I needed to do at home, and wondered whether I’d finally pick a direction soon. Maybe community college, or I could start putting some of my tips in a jar to save for a vacation since I’d always wanted to travel.

I didn’t mind that my life was simple. Work, home, sleep. Repeat. There was something grounding about the rhythm my life had settled into. But I still found myself hoping for a little excitement from time to time.

The bell above the door chimed, pulling me out of my thoughts. I glanced up automatically, reaching for the menus as they stepped inside.

“Welcome to The Fuel & Flame Diner.”

The four men didn’t return my greeting, not even with the casual chin lift most guys managed. They just stepped inside and let the door swing shut behind them.

Nothing about them stood out. They wore clothes that didn’t draw the eye, paired with black boots.

I added, “Sit wherever you like.”

They finally nodded and started toward the booths along the windows, taking the one nearest the door, which was in my section.

A four-top was good for tips, so I headed straight over with the menus. Dropping them on the table, I smoothed my apron and smiled. “Hi, I’m Maren. I’ll be taking care of you tonight. Can I get you something to drink?”

The man closest to me looked up and muttered, “Just water.”

After getting three grunts in agreement, I murmured, “Will do,” and stepped away.

They weren’t the friendliest group of guys, but I’d had plenty of grumpy customers who appreciated my sunny nature by the time they finished their meal. So I put some extra pep in my step as I brought their waters back to the table.

“There you go.” I fixed my smile in place as I pulled the notebook and pen out of my apron. “What can I get y’all to eat?”

The same guy ordered for them all again. “Four double cheeseburgers. The works, with fries.”

“Great choice. Our burgers are the best thing on the menu.” I tucked away my order pad since that was easy to remember. “The only way to make it better is to add cheese sauce for the fries.”

“Sure, four of those too,” he agreed.

I amped up the wattage on my smile. “I’ll bring your order out as soon as it’s ready.”

Whirling around, I headed toward the pass-through window. “Four double cheeseburgers with the works, fries, and cheese sauce on the side, please.”

“Got it. I’ll get that right up for you.”

“Thanks, Mark.”

I dropped the check off at my only other table and swiped their card at the register after they handed it to me. By the time they left, Mark let me know the burgers were ready.

Balancing the plates, two in each hand, I headed toward the booth. I was careful as I set them down, sliding them in front of each of the men. “Here you go. Let me know if you need any condiments other than the ketchup, mustard, and hot sauce already on the table.”

“Mayonnaise,” one of the men requested.

“Be right back with that.”

I went back to the pass-through window. “Can I get a side of mayonnaise, please?”

“Sure thing.”

He scooped some into a ramekin and slid it across to me.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >45

Advertisement Onyx (Hounds of Hellfire MC #7) Read Online Fiona Davenport http://www.books2020.com/onyx-hounds-of-hellfire-mc-7-read-online-fiona-davenport Thu, 26 Feb 2026 08:20:26 +0000 http://www.books2020.com/onyx-hounds-of-hellfire-mc-7-read-online-fiona-davenport Genre: Alpha Male, Biker, Erotic, MC Authors: Fiona Davenport Series: Hounds of Hellfire MC Series by Fiona Davenport
Advertisement

Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 40057 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 200(@200wpm)___ 160(@250wpm)___ 134(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >42

Reeve “Onyx” Pierce spoke through ink, not words. As the quiet force behind Hellbound Studio, he’d built a reputation on blackwork that didn’t fade and loyalty that didn’t bend. He’d never wanted anything that wasn’t worth keeping forever.
Elena Dane was young, brilliant, and gifted in ways she didn’t yet understand, but she trusted the wrong man. Onyx saw the threat immediately, and once he decided Elena was his to protect, there was no undoing the claim

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

1

ELENA

Even from outside, I could hear the faint buzz of tattoo machines layered beneath low voices and music. I paused on the sidewalk longer than necessary, my sketch portfolio tucked against my chest.

Hellbound Studio wasn’t a walk-in shop. The Hounds of Hellfire MC owned it. Actually, they owned most of Riverstone, GA, where I currently lived.

They didn’t advertise for customers because they didn’t need to. The chairs were never empty. And open spots for artists were filled by word of mouth. I was beyond lucky to have met Ink and Annika DeLuca at a showing at Belladonna Gallery, the largest art gallery in Atlanta. The art hadn’t been a style I enjoyed much. Abstract expressionism that relied on chaos without order beneath it all had never been my thing. But striking up a conversation with Ink and his wife had made the time spent there more than worthwhile.

It had taken all of my courage to mention that I was interested in an apprenticeship at a tattoo parlor, much to my mentor’s chagrin. Jareth Marks was a huge deal in the Atlanta art scene, but while he was interested in tattoos, he had no experience with them himself. My only option for getting the kind of expert guidance I needed was to look elsewhere. And Hellbound Studio was the best place to learn. Plus, it didn’t hurt that my apartment was in Riverstone, where they were located.

“You can do this,” I mumbled, my stomach fluttering with nerves.

I’d wanted this for too long to let fear win now, so I pasted on a confident smile I wasn’t feeling as I pushed the door open. I stepped into a world that fascinated me and found Ink waiting at the reception area.

He looked up the moment I stepped inside and chuckled. “Do you carry that sketchbook with you everywhere?”

Heat crept up my neck. “I—yeah. Pretty much.”

I shifted my grip, suddenly hyperaware of how out of place it must have looked at the exhibition at Belladonna Gallery. My parents would’ve hated that I’d brought it there. They’d always believed in dressing appropriately for every occasion, and a worn sketchbook didn’t fit their idea of respectable. They’d actually been supportive of my passion for art in the beginning, until I took it in a direction they didn’t approve of. No matter how intricate and beautiful, a daughter who was a tattoo artist would never fit with their image. So their disappointment wasn’t exactly new.

My mentor, Jareth, at least, had understood why I liked having my sketchbook close. Inspiration didn’t wait for convenient moments. And even with a memory that never failed me, I still preferred to get ideas down while they were fresh.

“I guess it paid off, though.” My smile was self-conscious. “I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t had it with me that night.”

He snorted. “You’re here because your art is fucking unreal. That sketchbook just made it obvious.”

“Thanks.” My blush deepened. “That means a lot coming from you.”

“Not sure why you look so surprised. You already earned your spot in that program you’re in.” He gestured around the studio. “This is just the next step if you want to take your art to the next level.”

I wasn’t sure how to respond. Compliments still caught me off guard. Teachers had noticed my talent early, but no one ever quite knew what to do with it. Or how to explain it to my parents. They’d understood why I’d chosen a specialized art program over a traditional college, but transitioning to the human body as a canvas baffled them completely. It was putting a strain on our relationship that I wasn’t sure how to bridge.

“I definitely am.”

He stepped out from behind the counter, gesturing for me to follow. “Good. You wouldn’t last here long if you weren’t.”

As we walked, I took everything in. The steady buzz of machines blended into a rhythm that felt almost meditative. Sessions were done behind closed doors to maintain client privacy, but Ink opened a few so I could meet some of the artists.

The first guy barely glanced up from his station but offered a quick nod. The next grinned like he meant it. With Ink showing me around, no one questioned whether I belonged. The interactions were brief but easy. And somewhere along the way, the tightness in my shoulders eased.

We stopped near one of the open booths, and Ink turned back to me. “I want to evaluate your skill level on fake skin first. Get a sense of where you need improvement and techniques you haven’t learned. When I’m confident you can handle a giant, grumpy-ass biker, you’ll work on a client with supervision. Even after you're on your own, if you run into a stumbling block or they request something you don’t know how to do, no one will mind if you ask for help. We all want you to succeed.” He shot me a crooked smile. “We have a badass reputation to uphold.”

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >42

Advertisement Her Polar (Shifted Love #15) Read Online Fiona Davenport http://www.books2020.com/her-polar-shifted-love-15-read-online-fiona-davenport Sun, 01 Feb 2026 09:23:48 +0000 https://www.books2020.com/her-polar-shifted-love-15-read-online-fiona-davenport Genre: Alpha Male, Erotic, Fantasy/Sci-fi, Insta-Love, Paranormal Authors: Fiona Davenport Series: Shifted Love Series by Fiona Davenport
Advertisement

Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 22464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 112(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >24

Rowan Cooke only came to Timber Ridge to sell her late grandmother’s cottage. But Bexley North caught her scent and instantly knew she was his mate…except Rowan had no idea shifters existed.

Then a stormy night stranded them together with only one bed, and Rowan’s first real taste of desire hit like wildfire. By the time the roads cleared, she wasn’t sure she wanted to leave

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

PROLOGUE

ROWAN

Iwas doing my best to look busy as my manager wandered past my cubicle, delivering another reminder about the end-of-quarter productivity.

“On it, boss.”

My tone was a lot more confident than it should’ve been. Luckily, my phone rang before she could ask for more details. I didn’t recognize the number, but I still took the lifeline.

“Rowan Cooke, how may I help you?”

“Good afternoon, Ms. Cooke. My name is Gerald Huxley. I’m an attorney representing the estate of Eleanor Cooke.”

I straightened automatically, my rolling chair squeaking loudly enough that my nearby coworker glared at me. “I’m sorry, who?”

“Eleanor Cooke,” he repeated. “Your grandmother.”

I froze. “That can’t be right. Are you sure you have the correct Rowan Cooke?”

“It took my investigator longer than expected to track you down, but there’s no doubt that you’re who I’ve been looking for.” He rattled off my birthdate, where I was born, and my parents’ names before adding, “You’re specifically named in her will.”

My brows drew together. “That doesn’t make any sense. If she’s my grandmother on my dad’s side, he’s still alive. Shouldn’t you be calling him instead?”

“He was only left a nominal amount to prevent a challenge of the will, and he received his check several months ago,” he explained. “Your grandmother didn’t leave much to chance, though. She avoided probate for her bank account and property deed by setting them up for transfer to you upon her death.”

Even with the additional information, I was having a hard time wrapping my head around the idea of a relative I barely remembered meeting once when I was five or six, leaving me something so big. “I’m really inheriting a house?”

“A cottage, yes,” he confirmed. “I’ll email the details.”

“Okay, thank you,” I murmured.

“My condolences for your loss.”

I mumbled my thanks, his kindness making me feel like a fraud.

I set the phone back down, my mind whirling. My life was incredibly predictable. Nothing interesting ever happened. This was an unexpected curveball.

It was weird to think about having a grandmother I’d never really gotten to know. And now the chance was gone. She died, and I hadn’t even recognized her name.

I stared at the phone for a long moment after ending the call, the office noise fading into a low drone around me. I briefly thought about calling my dad to ask him about my grandmother, but he hadn’t even bothered to tell me she’d passed away when he found out. I’d prefer not to be the person to let him know he only got a fraction of her assets while I got the rest.

I wasn’t very close with my parents, and this kind of thing was bound to make things between us even more strained.

None of this felt real, but then a message from the lawyer popped up in my email. The practical part of my brain finally elbowed its way back to the front, and I opened it to read through all the details he provided. Apparently, my grandmother had been worried about my father meddling with the inheritance. She had taken precautions to limit the damage he could do, including warning the lawyer not to ask my parents for my contact information.

As far as I knew, my dad hadn’t talked to his mom in at least ten years, but she still apparently knew him well enough to be worried. He was going to be furious when he found out what I had inherited.

Pulling up my web browser, I did some research into the town where my grandmother’s house was located. From the photos I found, Timber Ridge was a small mountain town with a main street that looked like it’d come straight out of a movie set. And the real estate prices were surprisingly high. The cottage had to be worth a lot more than my savings account currently held.

And there was an account at a local bank with an unknown balance just waiting for me to sign the paperwork.

As sad as it was to lose the chance to get to know my grandmother, she had left me a financial lifeline. One that came with charming scenery, judging by the photos online. The perfect place for a long weekend to put her affairs in order, along with a reason for a last-minute request for time off that my boss couldn’t deny.

I took a steadying breath, tucked my cell into my pocket, and headed straight for my boss’s office before I could talk myself out of it. She was typing furiously, and I knocked lightly on the frame.

“Hey, Carol. I need to request Friday off.”

She didn’t look up. “Which Friday?”

I grimaced as I answered, “This one.”

That got her attention and earned me a glare. “For what?”

“A death in the family.” To my surprise, my throat tightened around the words.

Her irritation wilted under sympathy. “Oh, Rowan, I’m so sorry. Is the funeral this weekend?”

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >24

Advertisement Her Forever (Shifted Love #14) Read Online Fiona Davenport http://www.books2020.com/her-forever-shifted-love-14-read-online-fiona-davenport Sun, 01 Feb 2026 09:23:19 +0000 https://www.books2020.com/her-forever-shifted-love-14-read-online-fiona-davenport Genre: Alpha Male, Fantasy/Sci-fi, Insta-Love, Paranormal Authors: Fiona Davenport Series: Shifted Love Series by Fiona Davenport
Advertisement

Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 22412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 112(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >24

Booker Redmond knew the second he scented Alara Nightbriar that she was his fated mate. But claiming her wasn’t simple.

Alara was a rare lynx shifter raised inside a fiercely insular chain, and her alpha brother hesitated to bless the mating. She felt the bond just as intensely as her wolf shifter mate. But pack politics became the least of their problems when an exiled lynx resurfaced with a plan to overthrow her brother…and Alara became the key to his revenge

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

1

ALARA

Ibreathed in the morning air from my balcony, letting my fingers curl around the carved railing. Below me, our settlement clung to the mountain like it had grown there. As a child, I often wondered how my ancestors had built the stacked terraces, narrow walkways, and lookout posts into the cliff. It had just seemed impossible to me.

My home was undeniably beautiful, but every time I looked beyond the woods, something inside me tightened.

“Alara?” A guard stationed two balconies over shifted his weight, alert even in the early morning stillness. “Your brother wants you to have an escort if you plan to run today.”

Of course he did.

Caelan’s intentions were good, but being his little sister meant I was treated like the one breakable thing in a chain that prided itself on strength. Lynx shifters weren’t rare because we were weak. Our litters were just small and achingly far apart. Being so much older than me, my brother was wildly overprotective.

In all fairness, I understood to a certain extent why he insisted I never go off exploring on my own. Our parents had been on one of their annual adventures when they disappeared. Their deaths were still a mystery since their bodies were never recovered. We only knew they were gone because the alpha role passed to Caelan at the same moment I inherited my mother’s gift. There had been no logical explanation other than their demise.

But that didn’t mean I wanted to live my life without ever leaving the Nightbriar borders.

The moment the guard’s gaze wandered toward the far path, I slipped out of my room and down the back stairway. Unfortunately, my brother seemed to have a second sense when it came to me, and he rounded the corner just as I hit the bottom step.

“You’re up early.” His gaze swept over me, a concerned gleam in his eyes. “Did you sleep at all?”

“Well enough,” I lied.

He took in the faint shadows under my eyes, and a muscle in his jaw tightened. “I thought I heard movement during the night. You weren’t wandering the halls again, were you?”

“I stayed inside,” I hedged.

That wasn’t really an answer, and Caelan knew it.

His posture shifted—less brother, more alpha assessing territory. “You know I’m not trying to cage you.”

Except that was exactly what it felt like. My home was beautiful and comfortable, but I still felt cooped up.

He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “We’ve increased boundary patrols. Korrin spotted signs someone crossed near the northern ridge sometime this week.”

My heart gave a small jolt. Not from fear, though. It was just that strange internal shift that sometimes happened when something wasn’t being said aloud. My intuition stirred beneath my ribs.

“He’s your best tracker,” I reminded him. “If someone came this way, he’d know it.”

“Could’ve been an animal,” he conceded. “But until we know, no one should be out alone.”

No one sure as heck didn’t include him, our beta Riven, or any of the guards. But it definitely applied to me, as far as my brother was concerned. And as our alpha, his opinion was the one that should matter most.

“You’re asking the entire chain to stay inside because of tracks?” I kept my voice airy, but Caelan’s eyes narrowed the way they always did when I used humor to deflect.

“I’m asking you, just until we know what we’re dealing with. Losing our parents was enough risk for one lifetime.” His throat worked, like he had to force the next words out. “I can’t lose you, too.”

Guilt tugged at me, shoving my irritation back into its box. “I know you mean well.”

His smile was filled with relief, and it made my chest ache with equal parts affection and suffocation. “Good. Then you’ll stay within the settlement this morning. I can have Lira walk with you if you want fresh air.”

Fresh air with a chaperone. Again. Not quite the freedom I was hoping for.

“I’m fine.”

Caelan reached out and adjusted the collar of my sweater the way he used to when I was little, before I learned to do everything myself. “I just want you safe. The last thing we need is an outsider wandering too close while you’re out there.”

The comment landed strangely inside me, resonating in a way I didn’t understand. It was almost as though a plucked string vibrated faintly beneath the surface of my thoughts. A faint vibration fluttered under my ribs—my extra-sensitive intuition whispering again.

I forced a smile. “I’ll be careful.”

“I know you will.” He brushed a kiss to the top of my head as if I were still twelve and not a grown woman who could shift into a lynx and climb a cliff faster than he could blink. “I’ll check on you later.”

He headed down the hallway, and I stood there for a moment, breathing through the familiar mix of affection and restlessness that always followed our conversations. He tried so hard to protect what was left of our family that he didn’t see how small my world had become.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >24

Advertisement Her Cougar (Shifted Love #13) Read Online Fiona Davenport http://www.books2020.com/her-cougar-shifted-love-13-read-online-fiona-davenport Wed, 07 Jan 2026 10:41:01 +0000 http://www.books2020.com/her-cougar-shifted-love-13-read-online-fiona-davenport Genre: Alpha Male, Chick Lit, Dragons, Fantasy/Sci-fi, Magic, Paranormal, Virgin Authors: Fiona Davenport Series: Shifted Love Series by Fiona Davenport
Advertisement

Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 22227 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 111(@200wpm)___ 89(@250wpm)___ 74(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >24

After aging out of foster care, Elodie Chase survived a year on her own. When a storm forced her to park near a remote construction site, she expected nothing more than another night of keeping her head down. Instead, she found Garner Wilder—a man who made her feel safe before she understood why.

Garner knew Elodie was his mate the moment he scented her. The human woman with tired eyes called to his cougar like nothing ever had. And when sabotage threatened his project—and her safety—he refused to let her out of his sight.

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

PROLOGUE

ELODIE

Icouldn’t remember a single birthday that had felt special, but this was the worst of the bunch.

Everything I owned was stuffed into the backpack I’d used throughout high school, a cheap duffel, and a black garbage bag. At eighteen years old, I officially aged out of the foster system. Which meant no more payments from the state to my foster parent. And since I graduated a semester early, she didn’t see any reason to let me stay.

The screen door creaked behind me before closing with a soft click. Mrs. Jarvis hovered just inside the frame. “You’ve got all your stuff?”

I hefted the duffel over my shoulder. “Yeah.”

“Okay then.” She gave a stiff nod. “Good luck out there.”

I didn’t know why I expected more from her. I wasn’t even sure what exactly. Maybe reassurance of some kind that I’d be okay…or even a hug. Which was silly since she’d always been more about checking boxes to make sure she got paid than showing actual concern for my well-being. Now there was no more money to be had from housing me, so even that minimal level of worry was apparently a thing of the past.

I stepped off the porch without bothering to reply, my boots crunching against the gravel. There wasn’t a single person waiting for me. No safety net. Just me.

My throat tightened, but I squared my shoulders and reminded myself that I’d gotten this far without the kind of support most teenagers took for granted. I just had to keep going. There wasn’t really any other choice.

I’d just reached the mailbox when a familiar thump sounded behind me. Squeezing my eyes shut, I took a deep breath. I’d almost escaped without crying, but here came the one creature capable of breaking me.

Knowing exactly what I’d find, I turned around. Mr. Pickles waddled toward me, his round belly swaying side to side. The cantankerous tabby head-butted my shin and let out a gravelly yowl that I assumed was a complaint about me leaving without saying goodbye.

I set my bags on the ground and crouched to stroke his back. “Hey, buddy.”

He pushed his face into my palm, purring so loudly it rattled his ribs.

“I know,” I whispered, scratching under his chin the way he liked. “I don’t want to go either.”

He meowed, then pawed at my bag as if he wanted to come with me.

A laugh bubbled up, thick with emotion. “Pretty pathetic that the only one I’ll miss is a cat named Mr. Pickles.”

It made sense, though. He was the only one in that house who ever sought me out on purpose. The closest thing I’d ever had to family was a fat, grumpy cat. And I had to walk away from him because I had no idea how I was going to take care of myself, let alone a pet.

“Thanks for making this place bearable.” I gave him one last scratch before picking up my bags and straightening. “Give the next foster kid she takes in a chance. They’re going to need all the help they can get.”

I would too, but there was nothing Mr. Pickles could do about that. So I forced myself to turn around. Then I adjusted the straps of my backpack and started walking. The bus station was a mile away, and I’d already mapped out the route in my head. From there, I’d go wherever the cheapest fare would take me. Somewhere that wasn’t quite as hot, just in case I couldn’t find an inexpensive hostel. I needed my money to stretch as far as it could.

I had two hundred and forty-three dollars tucked into my wallet. A backpack with a couple of changes of clothes, toiletries, a few books, and a folder with my important documents—birth certificate, social security card, diploma, and immunization records. The trash bag and duffel held the rest of my meager belongings.

That was it.

As soon as I arrived wherever I ended up, I needed to get a job. Any job. I couldn’t afford to be picky.

Maybe even two jobs since I was willing to work long hours.

I’d save every extra dollar until I could afford a car. Something that meant I had a place to crash if I outstayed my welcome anywhere—with the added bonus of being transportation too.

Needing help wasn’t an option because there was no one left to ask.

The plan was simple enough to be comforting.

It was also terrifying with how easily it could fall apart.

But it was all I had for now.

1

ELODIE

Over the past year, I’d gotten farther from my hometown than I ever expected. I had stayed in a couple of big cities, where I enjoyed the anonymity, but it hadn’t taken long for me to realize they weren’t what I wanted long term. I felt less lonely surrounded by people who liked to get into each other’s business, so I stuck with smaller towns as I made my way west.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >24

Advertisement Full Contact (The New York Nighthawks #15) Read Online Fiona Davenport http://www.books2020.com/full-contact-the-new-york-nighthawks-15-read-online-fiona-davenport Thu, 25 Dec 2025 22:08:21 +0000 http://www.books2020.com/full-contact-the-new-york-nighthawks-15-read-online-fiona-davenport Genre: Alpha Male, Forbidden, Insta-Love, Novella, Sports, Virgin Authors: Fiona Davenport Series: The New York Nighthawks Series by Fiona Davenport
Advertisement

Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 43375 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 217(@200wpm)___ 174(@250wpm)___ 145(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >46

Micah Daughtry knew he was done for after one smile from the tired, stubborn waitress at The Tight Line. And the linebacker wasn’t subtle about what he wanted. He just started showing up for Rylin Curtis like she already belonged to him.

Except Rylin has strict dating no customers, no bosses…and definitely not a pro football player with a panty-melting smile.

She doesn’t have room for distractions while juggling double shifts, overdue bills, and a sister Rylin is desperate to protect. But Micah’s steady, quiet pursuit is impossible to ignore—and even harder to resist

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

1

MICAH

Idragged myself through the early August heat. Preseason or not, Coach had decided today’s practice should feel like fourth-quarter trench warfare—Oklahoma drills until somebody threw up, then red-zone install on dead legs. My body was built for collisions, but by the time we broke huddle and hit the showers, fatigue had snuck up behind my shoulder pads and started gnawing.

The ride from the practice facility out on Long Island blurred as I piloted the SUV on muscle memory more than anything else. By the time I reached Manhattan, I had one mission—food. Eating at The Tight Line would kill two birds since I liked to personally check in at least once a week at the delicatessen Raiden and I opened.

The moment I stepped through the glass doors, the fatigue eased, the way it always did when I walked into the place my best friend and I had built from scratch.

Stainless counters gleamed, fresh turf-green booth cushions waited beneath framed jerseys, and a huge chalkboard play diagram covered the back wall above the pass-through.

STACKED.

PRESSED.

ALWAYS IN FORMATION.

The scent of hot rye bread, roasted brisket, and a hint of garlic butter clung to the air. My stomach growled loud enough to punch through the rock music piping from the ceiling speakers. The perfect soundtrack for a linebacker who’d just spent three hours flattening rookies in the summer humidity.

The lunch rush had thinned, but plenty of tables remained filled. I meant to do the usual owner’s circuit—handshake the line cooks, eyeball ticket times, and sign whatever delivery slip got missed. My gaze made a lazy sweep, a habit from a lifetime of reading offenses, but everything in me braked hard when I spotted someone new.

She shot out of the kitchen doors, balancing three steaming plates on her forearm, a fourth in the other hand. Tall enough to catch my eye, maybe five-eight. Thin, but with subtle curves. She wore one of our cheap black aprons and a stubborn little smile. It was the kind that said the world might be heavy, but she could carry the weight.

When she turned my way to take another order, I noticed the fatigue that shadowed the skin under her hazel eyes. A sign of too many late nights and not enough sleep.

Strands of brown hair, kissed by the sun so they were the color of dark honey, had escaped a ponytail and kept sliding forward across her cheek. She blew at a wisp, laughed an apology to a customer when a french fry skidded, then tucked the strand behind her ear without breaking stride. Then she leaned to set a Reuben in front of a tourist dad who murmured something I couldn’t hear, making her laugh again. The sound floated over the room like a note from a song.

My first thought wasn’t poetic. It was primitive. Mine.

I was thirty years old, six-five, and two-sixty pounds of controlled violence. I was paid an obscene amount of money to diagnose plays in half a heartbeat, but one sunshine-sweet server almost dropped me to my knees. The reaction was so sudden, it hit like helmet-to-helmet contact, rattling my ribs and echoing between my ears. Immediate, visceral, and undeniable.

Whatever fired inside my chest while I watched her hustle across the floor didn’t feel temporary. It was a bone-deep certainty that this was the woman who would end the long stretch of nothing that had encompassed my love life. My heart didn’t race for just anybody. And every other part of my life—football, family, friendship, and business—was plenty full.

I wasn’t chasing random thrills. I wanted forever, same as my parents back in Alabama. Same as Raiden and Marissa, Prentice and Naomi. I wanted the Sunday-morning coffee, argue-over-paint-colors, hold-my-hand-when-we’re-ninety partner.

In the past few years, I’d figured maybe that wasn’t in the cards for me. Too picky, the guys said. I didn’t see it as picky. I was just refusing to settle.

They loved to bust my balls about it, calling the women I considered dating Mrs. Right Now, but I didn’t mind. Better than lying to a woman about interest I didn’t feel. It only took one conversation or the occasional dance at a club for me to bail because the spark just wasn’t there. No need for second chances when first impressions already answered the question.

I hadn’t even made it to a first date in years. Hell, I was starting to think my radar was busted. Then the new server rounded the corner with a tray balanced like a gymnast, and every circuit in my body lit up at once.

Yeah…my radar works just fine.

I took a slow breath, rolling sore shoulders and grounding myself in the floorboards so I didn’t move on instinct. Linebackers weren’t subtle, and we couldn’t exactly float across a room without notice, so a pair of tourists recognized me. A raised hand and a quick grin bought me privacy.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >46

Advertisement Tight End (The New York Nighthawks #14) Read Online Fiona Davenport http://www.books2020.com/tight-end-the-new-york-nighthawks-14-read-online-fiona-davenport Sun, 07 Dec 2025 21:07:09 +0000 http://www.books2020.com/tight-end-the-new-york-nighthawks-14-read-online-fiona-davenport Genre: Alpha Male, Insta-Love, Novella, Virgin Authors: Fiona Davenport Series: The New York Nighthawks Series by Fiona Davenport
Advertisement

Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 34702 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 174(@200wpm)___ 139(@250wpm)___ 116(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >37

Raiden Shaffer never cared about press conferences…until a gorgeous reporter caught his interest with a single question. One night with Marissa Crane wasn’t enough, but she slipped out before sunrise—leaving behind a note and an obsession he couldn’t shake.

Marissa wasn’t supposed to fall for the Nighthawks’ tight end before leaving the country for a month. Now she’s back in New York, exhausted and carrying a secret that could change everything. But Raiden isn’t the kind of man who lets go. He’s all in for her and the baby she never expected

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

1

RAIDEN

The lights in the damn media room were too bright. They glared off every surface, turning the whole place into a sweatbox of tension and flashbulbs, like we were under interrogation instead of celebrating a Super Bowl win. I sat off to the side of the elevated dais, legs spread, forearms braced on my thighs, watching the shit show unfold with my usual silence.

Reporters lined the rows like vultures, cameras flashing and voices overlapping, all of them salivating for a headline. I kept my face unreadable as Saxon took the heat up front. He didn’t need backup, but a few of us had shown up for him anyway.

Lennox leaned against the wall near the door. He was the owner of the New York Nighthawks, the football team I played tight end for.

Micah, my best friend and one of our linebackers, was farther back. Brady, Rhodes, and Nixon sat with me.

I kept my focus on Saxon, my jaw locked tight, already feeling the start of a headache crawl across the base of my skull. My muscles were coiled with restless energy that had everything to do with this circus.

I hated this shit—the lights, the fakeness, and the need to explain what shouldn’t need explaining.

But Saxon was holding the line like he always did—calm, stone-faced, his voice low and steady. PR had called this presser to kill the rumors about him and the new hire. She stood up front in a sleek dress, eight months pregnant and glowing, with a diamond ring the size of a marble on her finger.

That should’ve been enough to shut it all down. No fuel left for the fire. But the media couldn’t help themselves.

I was tuning it all out when the door opened again and something shifted in the room. A woman entered in a rush, breathless, juggling a laptop, recorder, and what looked like a press pass she was clipping on mid-run. She whispered something to a PR assistant, her blue eyes wide with apology, then made her way down the side aisle to an empty chair in the third row—one of the seats reserved for reporters from Empire Sports Network. Someone must have been sick or flaked because I’d never seen her before.

She kept her head down, slipping into the seat quietly, trying to disappear.

It didn’t work.

I saw her, and everything slowed down.

Blond hair tied back in a messy bun like she hadn’t had time to do it right. Soft tan skin, lean muscle under tight black jeans, and a black sweater that hugged her curves. Her movements were smooth, balanced, controlled, and athletic. Her posture gave her away. Shoulders back and head high, with the kind of confidence you couldn't fake. I was willing to bet my next paycheck that she was an athlete or used to be one.

Her eyes scanned the room, alert and focused, not flustered by the noise or the pressure. She wasn’t some rookie. Even late, she didn’t look thrown. She was there to do a job, and she meant business.

She crossed her legs, the shift of her hips making me notice the exact way her jeans fit. My gut tightened and my cock swelled at how damn perfect they looked.

My blood went hot the moment she walked in, and now I felt it settling low and coiling with the kind of heat I hadn’t felt in a long fucking time. I couldn't remember when a woman last sparked my interest, let alone made me feel this damn turned on. I was shocked to find myself as hard as a fucking rock just from looking at her.

I wondered who she was and why she was here when this wasn’t her regular beat. I knew all the reporters who covered the Nighthawks, especially in smaller pressers like this one.

But I didn’t give a fuck why she was here. There was just something about her that fascinated me. I had a very strong feeling that she wasn’t just attractive. She was interesting. Rare.

My gaze stayed locked on her. I didn’t even try to hide it because I was kind of curious to see what she’d do.

At first, she didn’t flinch or squirm, but she definitely felt me watching. Her chin tipped slightly, and she turned her head, not directly toward me, but enough that our eyes caught for the briefest second. The moment she caught me staring, her breath hitched. Just a tiny flicker. Her throat moved as she swallowed hard. She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, kept her eyes forward, and adjusted her recorder like she wasn’t melting under the weight of my attention.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >37