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

Kristen Callihan – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.books2020.com Sun, 01 Feb 2026 09:23:13 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=6.9.4 http://www.books2020.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/favicon.png Kristen Callihan – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.books2020.com 32 32 Only on Gameday Read Online Kristen Callihan http://www.books2020.com/only-on-gameday-read-online-kristen-callihan Sun, 01 Feb 2026 09:23:13 +0000 https://www.books2020.com/only-on-gameday-read-online-kristen-callihan Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Sports Authors: Kristen Callihan Advertisement

Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 135539 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)

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An ALL-NEW sports romance from New York Times bestseller Kristen Callihan with high emotional stakes and a slow-burn, steamy heat level.

A “fake” fiancée is just the trick to help a bad-boy football player clean up his image. Trouble is, there’s nothing fake about the way August feels about his “pretend” fiancée.

August Luck is on the brink of greatness: top NFL draft pick, a great team, multiple corporate sponsorships, but he keeps messing it up with bonehead moves. After his latest shenanigan goes viral, everyone is telling him to get his act together.

Penelope Morrow grew up with August. Their mothers were best friends. Unfortunately, Pen always fled the room with a look of disapproval on her pretty face whenever August was around. But Pen has a problem too: she inherited her grandparent’s house and can’t pay the estate tax.

On a whim, August decides a temporary public engagement is the solution to both their problems—he’ll pay her taxes, and she’ll help his image. Win-win.

But, when it comes to Pen, nothing is certain or safe. Because Pen isn’t so reserved anymore. This time, she’s smiling back at him. And he likes it. A lot. Will they each survive the ruse unscathed?

Game on...

Perfect for readers who love:
• Shy girl/sunshine boy
• Hero in hot pursuit
• Unrequited love + epic yearning
• Fake dating (or is it?)
• Delicious slow-burn romance
• Childhood nemeses (all grown up)

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

Prologue

August

You see that guy? The one standing precariously on the four-top, wearing tuxedo pants, a—God, is that a purple faux fur coat—and nothing else? The one yelling, “Are you not entertained?” with arms spread wide as a crowd of drunken onlookers cheer.

No, fucko. No, I am not.

I am embarrassed as hell. Heat-flushing, “please make it stop,” “why won’t it stop” humiliation. The problem is?

That wannabe gladiator fucko is me. And I can’t seem to shut him up. I am outside myself, looking on in horror as I decide to gild the lily and dance . . . Oh, God, is that . . . No, no, no.

It’s the Funky Chicken.

I am dancing the funky chicken. At a black-tie fundraiser, crawling with media. There’s got to be a hundred phones lifted high and facing me. All those little palm-sized rectangles, like eyes of hell, recording every second.

It might not have been so bad if Coach hadn’t given me a “lock it up and concentrate on your game” speech a few short hours earlier. My agent had done the same the day before. They’re both here now, standing on opposite sides of the room, sporting surprisingly similar stances: arms crossed over chests, legs braced shoulder width apart. Angry sentinels itching to take me down.

My pulse kicks up. Horror courses through my veins. This is not the way to celebrate our second game win. I know I’m fucking up. Inside I’m shouting: Stop, this isn’t me. I’m never like this. I’m a rock, the cool head both on and off the field. Yet what do I do? I wink at Coach before gyrating my hips. I’m woefully out of sync with the music. I mean, if you’re going to go down in flames, it should at least be skillfully done, with a certain panache. But I’m a hot mess.

Before you ask, I’ll answer: No. There is absolutely no reason for me to be acting like a clown right now. I have the world at my feet—good looks, good health, went number one in the draft, an outrageous contract, multiple corporate sponsorships, starting quarterback for a team that has a ton of potential . . .

Everything I’ve ever wanted is mine for the taking.

Maybe that’s the problem. When you’ve reached the top the only place to go is down.

Isn’t that what they say?

I think I’m about to find out. I take a wrong step, the table wobbles, the room spins. My stomach roils. What was once up is now down. I go down, down, down.

My first thought is, Not the arm!

My second?

Well done, fucko. Are you not entertained?

One

Pen

“Are you not entertained?” I mutter, as I squint into the void that has become my view and try to pinpoint when it all went wrong. I’m not lost; I know exactly where I’m going. But that’s just geography. My life however, is another story.

I push back on the swell of worry that threatens, and concentrate on the music throbbing all around the cocoon of my little car.

If you grew up in my house, you would have heard my mom listening to Nirvana. She’d blast it on those rare occasions she cooked dinner, and our town house would pulse with frenetic guitar licks, Kurt Cobain’s biting sarcasm slicing air thick with the heat of the stove and redolent with soffritto and garlic. To this day, if I catch a whiff of ragù, I want to shout out, Entertain us.

Mom says that, despite her generation’s demand to be entertained, they never expected it from anyone and made their own fun. My generation, on the other hand, has entertainment at the ready, 24/7 at the tap of a screen.

Given the utter glut of sensory riches we have, you’d think we’d grow tired of it all. But no, we thirst for more. Always more. Maybe that’s why some people act out the way they do; a desperate need to provide us with more.

I think of this. Of my mother. Of inebriated chicken-dancing yahoos and . . . other things, as I wind my way down a road that is too narrow and too dark for comfort. It’s my fault for taking an alternate route out of Boston to beat the traffic that flows into the suburbs. I’ve never been this way before. Darkness and the heavy rain are disorienting me.

My stomach has a nice little clench-and-unclench rhythm going that’s picking up speed.

With a huff, I forward “Smells Like Teen Spirit” in search of something a little calmer. U2’s “Bad” fills the small space of the car for about twenty seconds before it’s interrupted by the shrill sound of my phone ringing.

Despite white knuckling it through the night, my lips quirk. I hit the answer button on my steering wheel. “Speak of the devil.”

“And she shall appear,” my mom finishes happily, her voice coming at me through the car’s speakers. “Were you thinking of me, Penny Lane?”

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Advertisement The Hot Shot – Game On Read Online Kristen Callihan http://www.books2020.com/the-hot-shot-game-on-read-online-kristen-callihan Sun, 07 Dec 2025 21:06:01 +0000 http://www.books2020.com/the-hot-shot-game-on-read-online-kristen-callihan Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, New Adult, Sports Authors: Kristen Callihan Advertisement

Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 119964 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 600(@200wpm)___ 480(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)

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First we were friends. Then we were roommates. Now I want more…

What can I say about Chess Copper? The woman is capable of bringing me to my knees. I know this about five minutes after getting naked for her.

No one is more surprised than me. The prickly photographer my team hired to shoot our annual charity calendar isn’t my usual type. She’s defense to my offense, a challenge at every turn. But when I’m with her, all the regrets and darkness goes away. She makes life fun.

I want to know Chess, be close to her. Which is a bad idea.

Chess is looking for a relationship. I’ve never given a woman more than one night. But when fate leaves Chess without a home, I step up and offer her mine. We’re roommates now. Friends without benefits. But it’s getting harder to keep our hands off each other. And the longer we live together the more I realize she’s becoming my everything.

Trick is… Now that I’ve made her believe I’m a bad bet, how do I convince her to give this player a true shot at forever?

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

One

Chess

When the promise of spending hours in the presence of hot, fit, and famous naked men fails to excite me, it’s time to concede that I’ve hit a new level of apathy.

Last year, I’d been in a similar situation—all the naked men, so much hotness to immortalize in pictures—and I practically jumped out of my skin with anticipation. Much like my friend James is right now.

“I think you’re going to have to give me a ‘bitch, be cool’ lecture,” James says as he slowly blows a tendril of smoke into the air.

Curled up on a rattan love seat on the opposite side of my balcony so I don’t get a face full of his cigarette smoke, I can’t help but laugh. “Why is that?”

James, resplendent in a lime-green suit, complete with acid yellow bow tie, rolls his eyes. “Don’t be coy, Chess. It isn’t a good look on you.”

I’m mildly interested in knowing what “coy” looks like on me, but I don’t bite; I know perfectly well why James is freaking out. It’s cute, though he’d hate it if I told him so.

Instead, I shrug and flick a dead fern leaf off the seat cushion. “You’re seriously this excited because we’re going to photograph a bunch of naked football players?” I shake my head, as if I’m completely clueless. “We work with some of the most beautiful people in the world. The body is nothing more than shapes and shadows to me at this point.”

Not that this will matter to James. The moment I’d told him we were doing a calendar shoot for New Orleans’s NFL team, that all the top players would be participating not only in a photoshoot but a nude one, James had gone into fanboy hissy-fit mode. For him, that usually means chain-smoking and talking nonstop.

At this point, James is so worked up, he doesn’t seem to notice that I’m leading him along. He snorts as he takes another drag, squinting at me through the smoke.

“Naked I can handle. Shit, I kept it together quite nicely when I had to stick rhinestones on Gianna’s breasts, with her nipples all but staring at me while I worked.”

“They were fantastic breasts,” I admit, remembering the stunning model and how James had turned beet red up to the roots of his auburn hair.

James is in charge of makeup and styling for our models. He’s a consummate professional, but he’s not immune. Some of the models, be they women or men, turn him on.

Unlike me; I’ve been so apathetic this past year, I’m fairly certain a guy could wave his dick in my face during a shoot and I wouldn’t respond. Professionalism aside, it’s not exactly a good thing. In truth, it’s a little worrisome.

Years of shitty dating experiences and not one glimmer of commitment have left me feeling defective and brittle. On the bright side, I have a job I love and a loft condo in New Orleans, my favorite city. My life is fulfilling and, frankly, just getting warmed up. Still, I can’t seem to escape these bouts of lethargy.

James, unaware of my inner turmoil, nods as if remembering Gianna, but then sighs. “Tits are nothing compared to this torment, Chess. We’re talking NFL players here. My home team.” He fans himself. “Jesus, I might actually blush, or fucking stammer, or something equally mortifying.”

“Ah, right.” As if I’d forgotten what an extreme football fan James is. During the season, he goes on about team records and playoff chances and who fucked up what play, or who is his complete hero because of one win, until I’m ready to tear my arm off just to hit him with it. “The struggle is real, eh?”

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Advertisement The Game Plan – Game On Read Online Kristen Callihan http://www.books2020.com/the-game-plan-game-on-read-online-kristen-callihan Sat, 16 Aug 2025 22:25:39 +0000 http://www.books2020.com/the-game-plan-game-on-read-online-kristen-callihan Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, New Adult, Sports, Virgin Authors: Kristen Callihan Advertisement

Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 102778 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 514(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)

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“The Game Plan has pulse pounding sex and stomach twisting emotion. I fell in love with the hero by chapter one, straight into all-out lust by chapter two.”
TESSA BAILEY, #1 New York Times bestselling author

A beard-related dare and one hot-as-hell kiss changes everything.

NFL center Ethan Dexter’s focus has always been on playing football and little else. Except when it comes to one particular woman. The lovely Fiona Mackenzie might not care about his fame, but she’s also never looked at him as anything more than one of her brother-in-law’s best friends. That ends now.

Fi doesn’t know what to make of Dex. The bearded, tattooed mountain of man-muscle looks more like a biker than a football player. Rumor has it he’s a virgin, but she finds that hard to believe. Because from the moment he decides to turn his quiet intensity on her, she’s left weak at the knees and aching to see his famous control fully unleashed.

Fi ought to guard her heart and walk away; they live vastly different lives in separate cities. And Dex is looking for a forever girl. But Dex has upped his game and is using all his considerable charm to convince Fi he’s her forever man

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

Prologue

Dex

Sweat trickles down my spine. My bones ache, and my legs are wobbly jelly as I slowly walk over the bright green turf, now marred by long gashes and deep divots.

Around me other guys amble, their uniforms streaked with sweat, blood and chalk.

Thousands of cheering spectators create a dull rumble that I feel in the pit of my belly.

Welcome to Monday Night Football. Prime-time sports at its finest. And my team has just won. I’ve done my job, and now that the adrenaline is wearing off, my high is crashing down. I want a shower, a hot meal, and then devote a few hours to painting in the small studio I’ve made in my town house. But I have a dinner date and houseguest to meet.

Teammates slap my pads, tell me “good game” as I make my way across the field. A few of the guys from the other team seek me out, shaking my hand. But I’m looking for one guy in particular.

I see him, his head above most others. He catches my eye and grins. But his face is wan, deep circles marring his eyes. I know it’s not because his team lost. We weave through the crowd to come together.

“Dex!” Gray Grayson, my former college teammate and one of my best friends on Earth, catches me up in a bear hug. It’s awkward with both of us in pads, helmets in hand. “Good game, man. But we’re totally gonna kick your ass next time.”

“Better tell your D to get their heads out of their asses, then,” I say, giving his head a light tap. “Good to see you, Gray-Gray.”

God, I miss playing with him. He’s the best tight end I’ve seen in years. And our college team had been a well-oiled machine.

The NFL isn’t the same as college. Ego, money, high stakes, all of it is just more.

It’s a job now. I love it, but the carefree joy is gone.

We walk toward the sideline together.

“How’s Ivy and the baby?” I ask. They had a baby about two months ago and named him Leo, after Leonhard Euler, one of Gray’s favorite mathematicians.

“Man,” Gray says with a slow shake of his head as he grins wide, “I must have done something really right in another life.”

“That good, huh?” I’m happy for him. Even if his exuberant happiness reminds me I have no one.

“Best family a man could ask for.” Gray runs a hand over the back of his neck and squeezes. Despite his declaration, he sounds worn-out.

“Not that I don’t believe you, Gray, but you kind of look like shit. What’s going on?”

His smile is tight. “Only you would notice that.”

We’re almost at the sideline, and he’ll be going to the guest locker rooms.

“Leo hasn’t learned to sleep through the night. Ivy and I are feeling it.” He grimaces. “Mostly Ivy, unfortunately, because I’m on the road a lot.”

If Gray is admitting he’s losing sleep, it must be bad.

I brace his shoulder with my hand. “You got a bye week after this, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Me too. Mind me coming over for a visit?”

Gray lives in San Francisco, and though I’ve been meaning to go out there, I haven’t yet done it. While I’m happy to visit Gray, I also know I can help him out. Not that I can tell him as much or he’d insist he has everything covered.

Gray’s smile is wide. “I’d love to have you. I know Ivy would too.”

“You sure about that? Ivy might not want visitors when she has a new baby.” It has to be said, because Gray also tends to react before he thinks.

“Naw, she’s been kind of lonely.” His brows gather. “Neither of us likes solitude very much.”

Tell me something I don’t know. I give his shoulder another squeeze. “Great. Let’s get something to eat.”

Gray gives a long groan. “Oh, man, I’ve been looking forward to this. We’re hitting up Cochon, right?” His eyes gleam at the prospect of eating at one of New Orleans’s best restaurants. And, frankly, my stomach growls too.

“Yep. I told them we’re coming, and they’re planning something good for us. I believe I heard mention of the whole hog.”

Gray groans again. “I might cry.”

He often gets weepy over food, so I don’t blink an eye. “Meet me outside the locker rooms in thirty?”

Gray is staying at my place tonight before he heads back home with his team.

He gives a nod and starts to trot off, but then turns back. “Oh, hey, Fi’s also gonna be staying the week with us. That cool with you?”

Everything inside me stops—my heart, my breath. Then it all kicks up again, hard and insistent.

Fiona Mackenzie. Ivy’s little sister. And I do mean little. Five foot three if she’s an inch, her frame is petite but curvy. She caught my attention and kept it from the first time I laid eyes on her two years ago.

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Advertisement Exposed (VIP #4) Read Online Kristen Callihan http://www.books2020.com/exposed-vip-4-read-online-kristen-callihan Sat, 17 Jul 2021 00:50:55 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/exposed-vip-4-read-online-kristen-callihan Genre: Contemporary, New Adult, Romance Authors: Kristen Callihan Series: VIP Series by Kristen Callihan
Advertisement

Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 123058 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 615(@200wpm)___ 492(@250wpm)___ 410(@300wpm)

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

Chapter One

Brenna

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

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

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

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

More to the point, I’m busy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jules raises an expectant brow. “And Rye?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Advertisement Make It Sweet Read Online Kristen Callihan http://www.books2020.com/make-it-sweet-read-online-kristen-callihan Sun, 28 Feb 2021 09:51:24 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/make-it-sweet-read-online-kristen-callihan Genre: Contemporary, Romance, Sports Authors: Kristen Callihan Advertisement

Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 117278 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 586(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)

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Read Online Books/Novels:	Make It Sweet
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Kristen Callihan
Language:	English
ISBN/ ASIN:	B08C7BMVPC
Book Information:
From New York Times bestselling author Kristen Callihan comes a charming, emotional romance about redefining dreams and discovering unlikely love along the way. Life for Emma isn’t good. The world knows her as Princess Anya on Dark Castle, but then her character gets the axe—literally. The cherry on top is finding her boyfriend in bed with another woman. She needs a break, and sanctuary comes in the form of Rosemont, a gorgeous estate in California promising rest and relaxation. Then she meets the owner’s equally gorgeous grandson, ex–hockey player and current recluse Lucian Osmond, and she sees her own pain and yearning reflected in his eyes. He’s charming when he wants to be but also secretive and gruff, with protective walls as thick as Emma’s own. Despite a growing attraction, they avoid each other. But then there’s an impromptu nighttime skinny-dip, and Lucian’s luscious homemade tarts and cream cakes start arriving at Emma’s door, tempting her to taste life again… In trying to stay apart, they only grow closer—and their broken pieces just might fit together and make them whole.
Books by Author:	Kristen Callihan

PROLOGUE

Lucian

I was five years old when I told my parents I wanted to fly. My parents, I’d come to learn, would do anything within reason to make me happy. They took my plea at face value and arranged for us to go on a small plane ride.

“Well,” my dad asked me as we sat in the back seat of that loud vibrating plane. “How does it feel to fly?”

It was nice and all, but I was just sitting there. The plane was flying, not me. Perplexed, they let the matter drop. But I didn’t. I yearned to fly. Deep within my bones, I needed it, though I couldn’t say exactly why. Problem was I didn’t know how to achieve that goal.

Two years later, my dad signed me up for hockey lessons on a whim. I laced on a pair of skates and learned. I got stronger, better, faster.

That was when I figured it out. It wasn’t in the air that I’d be able to fly. It was on the ice.

Ice.

I loved the ice. To me, the ice was a mistress: cruel, cold, beautiful, brutal, essential. I knew her intimately—her crisp scent, her relentless chill, the various sounds she made, the smooth support she provided as I twisted and glided over her body.

I loved her from the first skate. She set me free, gave me purpose.

When I was on the ice, I was flying. Not that floating, disconnected flying, but speed so slick and fast you were no longer flesh and bone but something else: a god.

I loved flying over ice so much I might have taken a different path, become a speed skater, maybe. And sometimes, on off days, I’d go out there and do just that—skate faster and faster around the ice.

But simply skating didn’t provide the challenge I needed. Hockey did that.

God, I loved hockey. Every damn thing about it. The clap of my stick against the ice, the resonance of connecting with the puck. The game spoke to me, whispering in my ear even when I was asleep—my body humming, as though I was still on the ice.

I saw the patterns, the plays. I made them happen, coaxed them out. If skating was flying, good hockey was a dance. I had five dance partners. When we all worked together? It was fucking poetry. A true thing of beauty.

There was nothing like taking the puck down the ice, working your way through traffic, and then, with a little flick, sending the biscuit sailing right into the basket. Instant hard-on. Every. Time.

Hockey defined me. Center. Captain. Two-time Stanley Cup winner—the first time as one of the youngest team captains to have his name engraved on that big beautiful monstrosity of a cup. Winner of the Calder, the Art Ross . . . I could go on.

The point being hockey was my life.

And life was damn good. My team was a well-oiled machine, not a chiseler or plug among us to drag everyone down. We were in the playoffs, making another run for the cup. It was ours to win.

The guys knew it. There was something in the air—a crackle of electricity that tickled the skin, got in the joints, and made them twitchy. We’d felt this way before. And we’d won.

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Advertisement Dear Enemy Read online Kristen Callihan http://www.books2020.com/dear-enemy-read-online-kristen-callihan Sun, 12 May 2019 13:57:33 +0000 http://www.test123.demo2.xyz/dear-enemy-read-online-kristen-callihan Genre: Contemporary, New Adult, Romance Authors: Kristen Callihan Advertisement

Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 125653 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 628(@200wpm)___ 503(@250wpm)___ 419(@300wpm)

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Read Online Books/Novels:	Dear Enemy
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Kristen Callihan
Language:	English
ISBN/ ASIN:	1542016770 (ISBN13: 9781542016773)
Book Information:
From New York Times bestselling author Kristen Callihan comes a smart, emotional contemporary romance about finding love with the most unlikely of people. As kids, they hated each other. Macon Saint was beautiful, but despite his name, Delilah knew he was the devil. That he dated her slightly evil sister, Samantha, was no picnic either. When they broke up, it was a dream come true: Delilah never had to see him again. Ten years later, her old enemy sends a text. Delilah’s sister has stolen a valuable heirloom from Macon, now a rising Hollywood star, and he intends to collect his due. One problem: Sam has skipped town. Sparks still sizzle between Macon and Delilah, only this heat feels alarmingly like unwanted attraction. But Delilah is desperate to keep her weak-hearted mother from learning of her sister’s theft. So she proposes a deal: she’ll pay off the debt by being Macon’s personal chef and assistant. It’s a recipe for disaster, but Macon can’t stop himself from accepting. Even though Delilah clearly hates him, there’s something about her that feels like home. Besides, they’re no longer kids, and what once was a bitter rivalry has the potential to be something sweeter. Something like forever.
Books by Author:	Kristen Callihan

I could easily forgive his pride, if he had not mortified mine.

―Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice

PROLOGUE

Ten Years Ago

Shermont High School, Shermont, North Carolina

Senior Class Yearbook Exit Interview

Question 1: If you had to do high school all over again, would you?

Macon Saint: You’re kidding me, right? No.

Delilah Baker: Is this a trick question? No.

Question 2: Who is most likely to succeed from our class?

Delilah Baker: Oh, come on. Everyone knows it will be Macon. Not that he’ll deserve it.

Macon Saint: Me. And Delilah Baker. She’s like a barnacle; she’ll cling until she gets where she wants to go.

Question 3: Who do you want with you if there’s a hostile alien invasion?

Macon Saint: Delilah Baker. She’d yap so much and so loudly the aliens would turn around and flee.

Delilah Baker: Macon Saint. I’d toss him in their path and gain valuable seconds running for my life.

Question 4: Most memorable moment in high school, and did you enjoy it?

Delilah Baker: Graduating. Yes.

Macon Saint: Prom. Not one f*cking bit.

Macon Saint was the devil. Anyone with a lick of sense knew it. Unfortunately, when it came to Macon, none of my fellow classmates at Shermont High School seemed to possess the sense that God gave them. No, they’d all fawn over him as though he were a god. I suspected that was the true mark of the devil: turning people into starry-eyed fools when they ought to know better.

Not that I could blame them. Beauty made fools of us all. Macon had the face of an angel—so beautiful you wondered if it truly had been sculpted by the hand of God, black hair so thick and glossy it might well have had a halo floating over it. Yes, he was that pretty. The only one who could rival him for sheer physical perfection was my sister, Samantha.

While the rest of us were entering adolescence with all the awkward grace of molting swans, struggling with our too-big puppy feet, crooked teeth, and certain features that grew faster than others, only Macon and Sam remained immune.

What a pair they were, pimple-free and perfectly proportioned. Luminous against the normal tarnish of puberty. It wasn’t any surprise that they became an on-again, off-again couple throughout middle school and high school. The beautiful ones.

The ones destined to make my life hell.

Cold and often silent, Macon would usually stare at me as if he couldn’t quite understand why we were sharing the same air. It was one thing we agreed on. Otherwise, we got along like snow and salt.

The first time I saw Macon, he was standing on the great expanse of lawn that stretched toward the manor house that had been in his mama’s family for generations. Clutching a baseball, he watched me as I rode my bike up and down the road. He was skinny as a rail and two inches shorter than me. I’d felt oddly protective of him, believing the look in his eyes was one of vulnerability. I found out quickly how wrong I was.

“Hey,” I said to him, after stopping in front of his house on my bike. “I moved into the house down the way. Maybe you’d like a friend?”

He turned his eyes on me then. Those dark, dark eyes, so brown they were almost black, surrounded by thick, long lashes. Eyes that girls would call pretty and sigh over throughout all our days of school. Cold and calculating eyes, if you asked me. Those eyes narrowed on my face. “You stupid or something?”

His words hit me like a slap. “What?”

He shrugged. “Guess so.”

I didn’t understand this boy. I’d been polite, just as my mother had taught me. “Why would you call me stupid?”

“I’ve lived here my whole life. You think I wouldn’t notice if someone new moved in on my street? You think I need more friends?”

“I was just being sociable. My mistake.”

“Sociable? You talk like an old lady.”

Politeness was clearly for chumps. “You’re a jerk.”

He lifted his chin then, revealing a bruising scratch along the edge of his jaw. “And you’re annoying.”

Whatever I might have said was lost to time, because Sam decided to show up then. Younger than me by a mere ten months, Sam and I were what people sometimes snidely referred to as Irish twins. That had a darker component when they were referring to us, since it was clear to anyone with eyes that I bore little resemblance to the rest of my family.

Blonde hair french braided and gleaming, she smiled. Her missing front teeth made her look like an impish pixie. “Don’t pay any mind to Delilah. Our grandma Belle calls her ornery.”

Which is why I liked Grandma Maeve better.

Sam’s cute nose wrinkled then. “I think that just means grumpy.”

The nasty boy looked at me from under the inky fringe of his bangs when he answered her. “It does.”

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Advertisement Idol Read online Kristen Callihan (VIP #1) http://www.books2020.com/idol-1-read-online-kristen-callihan Wed, 28 Nov 2018 01:57:33 +0000 http://www.test123.demo2.xyz/idol-1-read-online-kristen-callihan Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, New Adult, Romance Authors: Kristen Callihan Series: VIP Series by Kristen Callihan
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Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 103602 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >108

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

Prologue

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

—Killian James, lead singer and guitarist, Kill John

The Past—

Killian

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Killian. Killian.

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

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

Hot, blinding.

The Animal screams. For me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All it takes is one instant.

For it

to all…

End.

The Future—

Libby

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Advertisement Managed Read online Kristen Callihan (VIP #2) http://www.books2020.com/managed-2-read-online-kristen-callihan Tue, 27 Nov 2018 13:57:33 +0000 http://www.test123.demo2.xyz/managed-2-read-online-kristen-callihan Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Funny, New Adult, Romance Authors: Kristen Callihan Series: VIP Series by Kristen Callihan
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Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 109637 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >114

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

Chapter One

Sophie

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What is that woman doing in my seat?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This is unacceptable.”

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

She stops because the screen isn’t rising.

I burrow my nose in the menu.

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

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

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

Yes, please. Fob him off on someone else.

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

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

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Advertisement Fall Read Online Kristen Callihan (VIP #3) http://www.books2020.com/fall-3-read-online-kristen-callihan Wed, 23 Aug 2017 13:57:33 +0000 http://www.test123.demo2.xyz/fall-3-read-online-kristen-callihan Genre: New Adult, Romance Authors: Kristen Callihan Series: VIP Series by Kristen Callihan
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Total pages in book: 151
Estimated words: 144042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 720(@200wpm)___ 576(@250wpm)___ 480(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >151

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

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

—Kurt Cobain

Chapter One

Stella

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Exposed (VIP #4)

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Make It Sweet

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Dear Enemy

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1542016770 (ISBN13: 9781542016773)

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