Nicole Snow – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read

Nicole Snow – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.books2020.com Sun, 12 Jul 2026 16:10:09 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=7.0.2 http://www.books2020.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/favicon.png Nicole Snow – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.books2020.com 32 32 The Bitter Sweet Temptation – The Blackthorn Inheritance Read Online Nicole Snow http://www.books2020.com/the-bitter-sweet-temptation-the-blackthorn-inheritance-read-online-nicole-snow Sun, 12 Jul 2026 16:10:09 +0000 http://www.books2020.com/the-bitter-sweet-temptation-the-blackthorn-inheritance-read-online-nicole-snow Genre: Alpha Male, Billionaire, Drama Authors: Nicole Snow Advertisement

Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 131651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 658(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)

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A stubborn spitfire inherits a single dad protector from hell in this scorching and intoxicating age gap romance by Wall Street Journal bestselling author Nicole Snow.

Absolute insanity.
That was my history with Holden Verity from the day my grandfather made him my second shadow.
Unwanted bodyguard. Strict warden. The older, stone-faced giant who yanked me out of trouble before I could enjoy it.

Now, I’m all grown up. Older and wiser (supposedly). Definitely in trouble again.
Gramps left me a priceless treasure—the kind people kill for—and guess who else I inherited?

A familiar white knight with a black heart.
I still hate him every time he growls in my face.
I hate him a little less once I find out he’s raising the sweetest little girl.
I hate him in ways I never knew I could when we’re stuck in one bed.

And after the walls close in, after I’m under his roof, after his kisses shred my last thread of sanity, that hate is all I have to cling to.
Because the second I let go, this bittersweet temptation will swallow me whole.
And falling for Holden Verity is a long, heart-wrecking way down

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

1

HIDDEN TREASURE (CLEO)

As my car skids to a stop at the end of the long, winding driveway, that hole in my chest deepens.

Above me, PopPop’s vacant mansion stares down, the windows blank and empty as an unmarked grave.

Only, I know there’s someone up there today, waiting for me.

The lawyer.

Little comfort. My brain spins through a slideshow of black windows and death and ghosts whispering through legal documents.

Dread and anxiety in full control. But what else is new?

If I had a therapist, I’d fire her.

I sigh until my chest rattles.

It’s been a while since I was here.

A few years, actually.

PopPop died over a year ago, but old summers are fresh in my mind. It seems like just yesterday we were walking the rocky shores or laughing in the kitchen. Then I went off to college, time condensed, and I lost the plot.

Life rolled on without happy sunwashed days and smiles.

Life continued without the man who was so much more than a grandfather.

I fucking hate that he died alone.

Stubborn and brave to the bitter end, he hid his sickness from the whole family. He wanted to go out on his terms, surrounded by no one but dutiful nurses.

Dad says that’s what he got for being such a ‘miserly old bastard.’

Actually, it’s Dad’s fault that I’m the one showing up here today instead of him, collecting an inheritance I barely care about. It’s been delayed for over a year.

Everyone’s been so tight-lipped about it since the old man died, so I can’t imagine it’ll amount to much. A small piece of Gramps’ fortune he was wise enough not to leave to my father, maybe.

I should be so lucky if it’s that bland.

Nothing like the freaking arranged marriage fiasco or the lake house drama my cousins inherited.

I’m not bitter.

Unlike Dad, who hates the fact that he wasn’t given a few more parting freebies.

Gordon Blackthorn wore the black sheep badge proudly.

Bad with money, bad with relationships, meh at raising me, and awful at having his shit together.

Unfortunately, reputations rub off like lint. Too many people think the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, especially after Dad left his nasty mark in the art world.

His sins cover me like a second shadow.

A chill wind sweeps in, too cold for April in Maine. It’s like we’ve skipped back to February, when the air tries to strip your bones clean.

I open the car door and step out gently.

The house glares down like an angry statue.

Honestly, PopPop was smart not to leave Dad a trust or anything. He already gave him enough. He tried.

If that makes me the disloyal daughter, oh well. But Leonidas Blackthorn knew where to invest his money. That’s why he got stinking rich and built a real estate empire up and down the Atlantic coast.

Dad wasn’t a good investment—just an emotional one. I wonder what that makes me.

Why am I here, really?

Why did it take so long?

I can’t believe it’s been years since we last sat across from each other by a roaring fire, always some oversized book clutched in his bony hands. I was only twenty, smack in the middle of my art program.

The same warm house.

The same stories that transcended truth and fiction from his travels.

Same jokes. Same gentle encouragement and grand lessons about life.

Same Gramps, but now he’s gone forever.

My stomach twists.

Grief is weird like that, the way it comes in waves.

One minute, you’re fine and a little misty-eyed about the past. The next, the bear trap slams shut on your heart and you’re doubled over with pain, the depressing finality.

I’m almost glad there wasn’t a funeral.

PopPop didn’t allow it. He knew all of us being there mourning would hurt too much.

But the pain burns my lungs, so acute I have to breathe through clenched teeth.

Ice-cold air runs through me like loss reaching its grubby fingers down my throat, stealing a piece of me.

You have to get used to it, though.

You have to press on with the vicious cycle called life.

My feet feel numb on the pavement. Even the sky scowls down, grey and indifferent.

I pull out my phone and snap a picture.

No matter how crappy I feel right now, maybe later I’ll put this on canvas to decompress. Oils, maybe.

Something messy, tactile, moody.

I’ll call it Gone. Or something more pretentious like Drifting Clouds just to keep people guessing.

Ahead, the house looms closer with every step, a sleeping giant just waiting to swallow me.

PopPop never did like modern. It’s a hulking colonial-style house with a veranda that wraps around the side and its extensive gardens, just dripping New England old money. By the looks of the green stems pushing through the dirt behind the skeletal brush, someone kept up the landscaping after his death.

I used to play hide and seek out here. There were wind chimes hanging over the porch, and some days I’d hunker down and hide, just listening to their clanging secrets.

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Advertisement Almost Real – Almost Ever After Read Online Nicole Snow http://www.books2020.com/almost-real-almost-ever-after-read-online-nicole-snow Fri, 03 Apr 2026 23:14:44 +0000 http://www.books2020.com/almost-real-almost-ever-after-read-online-nicole-snow Genre: Alpha Male, Billionaire, Contemporary Authors: Nicole Snow Advertisement

Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 119184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 596(@200wpm)___ 477(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)

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A love for paws and claws unites a fiery vet tech and a bad boy billionaire in this intense and steamy fake engagement fiasco by Wall Street Journal bestselling author Nicole Snow.

Lena Joly has a fierce soul for healing every pet who limps into her struggling clinic. Taming human jerkwads is nothing new—until the day Brady Pruitt storms in with an adorable lost puppy.

There’s nothing cute about him. His wicked reputation overshadows devastating good looks and a jaw-dropping fortune. She’s relieved to send Seattle’s infamous bad boy billionaire packing and get back to fighting for her clinic. But Brady already decided the spitfire who ranks him lower than a banana peel can convince his family he’s finally respectable.

Lena could scream. A temporary “engagement” to fool his optics-obsessed parents? An obscene payday to keep tails wagging forever? And practice kissing?

Holy hell. The girl with barbed wire guarding her scarred love life can’t hide when the butterflies hit. And after their love for animals sweeps them away, after pillow talk becomes bad habit, after it feels too real, two stone hearts will be glorious confetti…

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

I

Dog Days

(Lena)

This job is bittersweet.

You don’t sign up for this business unless you live, sleep, and eat challenges.

Because no girl in her right mind dreams of spending her Friday evening cleaning up puddles of puppy pee.

I mean, it’s not that I mind. The puppies are adorable, bouncy little balls of golden floof, still finding their paws when they’re not mouthing everything in sight. Who am I to judge them for not knowing how to hold their bladders yet?

At their age, I probably couldn’t either.

But I love my job, urine and all.

Maybe I’d skip janitor duty if I could. But you don’t get the sparkle in life without taking out the trash.

So, here I am, mopping and disinfecting until my arms hurt. It’s just before closing, and I’m doing my very best not to eavesdrop on Dr. Ezzie’s conversation like the shameless rat I am.

Easier said than done when her office door is cracked open.

And I was born curious. Came out of the hospital wanting to know everything about everyone, so yes, my ears perk up at the concern in my boss’s voice.

Not good.

I can’t quite make out the words, but I don’t need to when her tone gives away so much. That sad, clipped edge in her voice says the news she’s getting isn’t sunshine and rainbows.

I finish cleaning and flush the dirty water from the bucket down the sink in the back room. Even from here, I can hear the way Dr. Ezzie’s tone rises and falls in the background, this nervous rhythm with a slight hush that hints she’s trying so hard not to overreact.

My heart hurts.

It has to be about her folks again.

Last week, her elderly father had a nasty fall and broke his hip.

That’s what happens when people get old—just like animals—but it doesn’t make it suck any less. Dr. Ezzie came in frazzled this morning, straight from the hospital, trading one bone-white center for sick creatures for another.

Straight from looking out for her dad to looking out for us.

As for her mom . . . well, I guess the jury’s out on whether she’s still all there. The last time she visited, her mother didn’t recognize her.

The thought hits me with anxiety.

It makes me worry for my own mom one day, and mourn the way I’ll never get a chance to face love and frailty with my dad because he’s already gone. But that’s not the only reason I’m worried today.

Why does this feel like a bad omen for Pawsome Hearts?

We’re a small clinic. One of those scrappy family-run businesses that put the well-being of our furry, feathered, scaly patients above all else. Dr. Ezzie drives the whole operation.

She’s the entire reason I applied for a position here, and I’ve loved it ever since.

But if she has to quit to play full-time caregiver or just because the job becomes too much when she’s got so much on her plate—

I don’t know.

I don’t have a clue what that means for the clinic without its owner.

And honestly, that scares me.

There’s no one standing by to swoop in and fill her shoes, to give us a fighting chance in a crowded Seattle market.

Without Dr. Ezzie, Pawsome Hearts won’t exist.

Not without a buyout from one of those big corporate places where they count dollar signs more than healthy animals. I can only pray that doesn’t happen.

Having our supplies and every hour I work micromanaged to “streamline” efficiency is not what I signed up for.

I glance at my smartwatch. It’s eight o’clock now—closing time.

Finally.

I head to the door to flip the sign and make sure it’s locked, pausing at the window to glance over the property.

Across the courtyard, on the edge of the parking lot, there’s the building for the kennels that backs up to the park, where dogs are bedding down for the evening. Keith, our lone night shift boarding guy, gives me a friendly wave as he circles back inside to check on them.

For Seattle, Pawsome Hearts is a unicorn. One of those rare overgrown green spaces bursting with small-town vibes in the big city, where people still know each other’s names and greet you with a smile.

No, I wouldn’t dare change a thing, even if our daily operations demand it.

When I first hired on, we had more kennel workers for boarding. We had larger kennels too.

It’s been a tough year. Even without Dr. Ezzie leaking deets about her finances, I know that.

It’s pretty impossible to miss when we’ve had to make cuts left, right, and center.

I suppose I should be happy, though.

I still get to work here.

I still get to help awesome pets and mend their owners’ worried hearts. All in a day’s work for a tireless vet tech who runs on iced lattes and ginseng tea.

Hopefully that won’t change.

I’m still mulling that over when I see people approaching the door. Just before I can reach them to say we’re closed, the bell jingles.

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Advertisement The Right Wrong Promise – The Blackthorn Inheritance Read Online Nicole Snow http://www.books2020.com/the-right-wrong-promise-the-blackthorn-inheritance-read-online-nicole-snow Thu, 25 Dec 2025 22:08:21 +0000 http://www.books2020.com/the-right-wrong-promise-the-blackthorn-inheritance-read-online-nicole-snow Genre: Alpha Male, Billionaire, Contemporary Authors: Nicole Snow Advertisement

Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 135300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)

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The gruffest broken single dad finds home with a spitfire heiress in this stormy and spicy romance by Wall Street Journal bestselling author Nicole Snow.

I inherited a freaking family.
Thanks, Gramps. I expected the lake house, the repairs, and the weird little secrets you left behind.
But sharing this place with Kane Saint and his kids?
Holy potato.

Don't laugh at his name.
There's nothing holy about a man this guarded and growly and scary fine.
He's at war with everything except his adorable munchkins.
It's a classic standoff the instant I let him stay after an awkward mix-up.

I go to work looking for my grandfather's final cryptic gift.
Saint Dadzilla goes to work on me.
A helping hand I never asked for.
The warmest laughs over breakfast feasts.
And when one stolen kiss claims my soul, I forget this is clinically insane.

I'm in shambles.
Every flaming night whispers promises we can't keep—especially when Gramps' legacy has teeth.
What happens if playing house with the wrong man feels like coming home?

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

1

MAKE YOURSELF AT HOME (MARGOT)

It’s a long drive up to the lake house from Portland.

Over three hours on the road where city comforts bow to marching mountains and tall forests as thick as my memories.

I make the entire trip with the windows down, though.

It’s fall, and the wind streaming through my hair gives me a sense of freedom I’ve been missing forever.

Why does this feel like a new beginning when it’s really just a working trip to assess the mess I’ve been handed?

Thanks, PopPop. You always did love to send me on scavenger hunts.

By the time I pull up the gravel driveway outside my grandfather’s secluded lake house, I think I’m ready.

I tell myself I’ve braced for the emotional sucker punch.

I’m sure I’m old enough to handle this like a grown-up and not a hurt little girl who still desperately misses the old man who held her entire universe together.

Ha, no.

This is the first time I’ve seen the place since Gramps died. Honestly, since my first year of college.

Half a lifetime ago, we’d head up here every summer as kids for deliciously lazy weeks lost among the country greenery and an infinite canopy of stars.

It’s been a hot minute since I’ve made the trek up the long, dark, winding path through the tall pines and vibrant maples.

The old house’s exterior certainly doesn’t match the memory in my head.

“Ouch,” I mutter, wincing at the worn blue paint.

The short steps leading up to the porch are a little overgrown along the sides. We’re talking weeds poking through the slats like they’re scheming to trip you.

The handrail looks like it’s a heartbeat away from falling over the second you grab it.

With a heavy sigh, I linger in the car, just taking it in for a second.

Dead, black windows stare back at me. The nostalgia trapped inside this place suddenly feels gloomy.

The old blue house has certainly seen better days.

So have I.

But at least it’s a warm, sunny day for September.

One of those breezy autumn kisses that likes to pretend it’s still summer. Cloudless blue sky, rolling breeze, gold splashed everywhere.

It makes this house feel picture-perfect even if it’s looking more rustic ruin on the outside.

Makes coming here feel a little less morbid, I guess.

In the will, PopPop left me the lake house and vast land around it. The only real estate with my name on it.

The rest of his sprawling empire went to my brother, Ethan, and that’s fine.

There’s still some big secret waiting in the wings for my little cousin, Cleo, too.

For me, it was a generous addition to my trust fund I didn’t really need, plus this property.

But now that I’m here, I’m more confused than ever.

Why did he leave me a place that probably needs a hundred fixes to shine again?

My hands grip the steering wheel, turning my knuckles bone-white. I release them, blowing out a long, slow breath.

Then I put on my game face and climb out of the car.

My arrival disturbs a few big crows on the porch. They erupt from their roost cackling, and a couple of them nearly take my head off in their rush to leave.

“Jeez!”

I almost drop my sunglasses as I throw up my hands. Before I can curse them, they’re gone, spiraling into the sky like a plume of black smoke.

Great. At least I’m alone if this place has gone to the birds.

I snort, shaking my head.

If Ethan saw me freaking out over a few bouncy crows, he’d never let me live it down.

Whatever. It’s expected.

Jitters.

That’s part of the journey when you come back to a childhood stomping ground that’s basically haunted. Memories can be just as scary as ghosts.

For all I know, a few real ghosts moved in while it’s been abandoned, barely checked by locals and Gramps’ old bodyguard, Holden.

With my luck, I’ll need to look for psychics along with contractors to make this place decent again.

I snatch the unopened letter off the passenger seat and pat the back pocket of my jeans to make sure I’ve got the keys before stepping through the tall weeds crowding the old stone walkway to the back of the house.

The rickety stairs are sturdier than they look. They only creak a little as I climb them.

It’s weird doing this alone without my dumb brother charging ahead of me, or my bestie, Hattie, by my side.

When we’d come here as kids, we’d always run in through the back.

“Front’s for guests. The back, that’s for family,” PopPop would always tell me with a wink.

Old habits die hard.

Same with people, and God, I miss him.

It’s been almost a year since he left this world, but every time I think about it, my heart aches bitterly.

My grandfather was more like a third parent to Ethan and me.

So much crap has come out about his life and his complicated relationship with my mom that I don’t even know how I should feel about coming here.

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Advertisement Vows We Never Made Read Online Nicole Snow http://www.books2020.com/vows-we-never-made-read-online-nicole-snow Sat, 16 Aug 2025 22:26:37 +0000 http://www.books2020.com/vows-we-never-made-read-online-nicole-snow Genre: Alpha Male, Billionaire, Contemporary Authors: Nicole Snow Advertisement

Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 132097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 660(@200wpm)___ 528(@250wpm)___ 440(@300wpm)

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A sunshiney bookworm's life explodes when her best friend's atrocious brother proposes in this steamy and electrifying romance by Wall Street Journal Nicole Snow.

Big dreams come with bigger catches.
Mine came wrapped in a merciless suit—Ethan Blackthorn.
Billionaire tyrant. My bestie's older brother. Bane of my childhood and jackwagon of the century.

Now he's my flipping fiancé. All thanks to a brutal six-month marriage clause in his grandfather's will.

He promised me everything to play along.
An eye-popping payout.
The bookstore of my dreams.
Plus, a nice glittery Cinderella break from reality.
But that's not what steals my breath away.

He's taking this too seriously.
He's kissing me like it means something.
He's ready to declare war when other men dare look at me.

I don't understand. The conceited, incurable monster who used to make me cry now lives for my smiles and he's making this so hard.

Between his secrets and obsession, do I even stand a chance?
How do I forget the vows we never made if they start feeling sacred?

A deliciously sweet and stormy standalone romance with a heart-pounding fight to ever after. Irresistible tropes grumpy x sunshine, best friend's brother, marriage of convenience

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

1

ALL OR NOTHING (HATTIE)

If this was another day, it would be perfect weather for lunch.

On any other day, I’d eat up the clear blue sky, the hint of summer-fresh breeze, the chance to wear shorts and a tank top for the first time all year. I even shaved my legs for the occasion and picked out my cutest white shorts.

But today is so not the time to kick back and enjoy the good things in life.

I step out of the Uber and stretch my legs, rolling my shoulders as the sun streams down the cobblestone sidewalk.

Girls bounce by in airy sundresses and there’s a pop-up churro stand on the corner. The place must be killing it because who doesn’t love a churro on a sunny day in Portland?

My stomach growls.

I’m about to have my usual iced caramel macchiato and I don’t need the extra calorie bomb.

Still, on a day like this, where it’s so scenic the universe demands I enjoy something…

I cave and get a small pair of lovely chocolate-filled churros, gobbling one down before tucking the paper bag in my purse.

I’ll save the other for my bestie. Margot has a sweet tooth, and moral support is the reason I’m here.

Our usual meeting place is one of my favorites, an adorable café-bookstore called Book Club. Its old brick storefront with the forest-green paint and the smell of potent coffee and pages instantly makes me smile.

Like I said, any other time, this would be wonderful.

But on this day, I’m taking a deep breath and steeling my nerves as I step inside the cool building, pushing my sunglasses up over my eyes.

While I patiently wait for my order, I pull out my phone again, unable to stay away from the local news.

Leonidas Blackthorn’s death is everywhere.

I think half of Maine is in shock, like people forgot that one of our most wealthy and powerful men was actually mortal. He’s been a local fixture for decades, only second to the historic Head Light itself.

The old lighthouse will live on, of course, but I’m not sure how we’ll manage without the money he poured into the art scene here. That’s what has everybody freaking out the most in local groups.

Nobody loved Maine’s culture and natural beauty like he did, and everybody loved his generosity back.

Me, though?

The gaping hole in the art world isn’t why there’s a lump in my throat. I’m going to miss that man because I knew him.

Our families have been unlikely friends forever, since the day I was paired up with Margot at summer camp.

And while the online chatter writes him off as a charitable old grouch who kept to himself in his older years, I know better.

Old Leo could be hilarious.

His dad jokes were the worst, and he could clear the room with one well-placed grandpa pun.

More than anything, he was kind.

Sure, he was rich, but he never let his colossal fortune go to his head. Plus, he was always nice to everyone around me—whenever our families met up for Christmas or New Year’s, he was the life of the party.

When I’d hang out with Margot, I was family. He’d take whole days away from his business empire to spend time with us.

Big dinners on the beach with seafood alfredo and lobster bakes he’d whip up with his own hands and a little help from his crew of kids. I still don’t understand how his heavenly blueberry cheesecakes were real.

The memories are a gut punch but not unwelcome.

Sailing out on his gorgeous yacht to spot whales in the summer.

Story time in front of his huge roaring fireplace in a library too beautiful for life—he kept us spellbound, reading Greek mythology or sometimes just Tolkien or Narnia.

He made my crush on old books an obsession.

He’d feed me, tease me, and make me feel like I belonged.

He wasn’t perfect—who is?—but that man could make people laugh or break down in tears.

I can’t believe he’s gone.

Despite the pristine summer day, the world feels colder.

Every news article screams it, too, taking my disbelief and shoving it down my throat.

Real Estate Titan Leonidas Blackthorn Dead at 85 From Cancer.

Blackthorn Family Reeling over Sudden Loss of Patriarch Leonidas Blackthorn.

Seeing it written out makes me regret the churro, but I force myself to read until my eyes sting and my belly hurts.

I can’t go to pieces like the emotional little kitten I normally am.

When Margot gets here, I need to be strong.

I also need to be up to date on the news. I can work on coming to terms with it later.

Leonidas Blackthorn is dead!

But Margot has it rougher than I do, even if it’s been a few days. The family waited to make it public, but it still came without warning.

I mean, yes, we all knew he was old and he’d gotten kind of reclusive the last few years. But I had no clue he was sick—and I don’t think Margot did, either.

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Advertisement Three Reckless Words – The Rory Brothers Read Online Nicole Snow http://www.books2020.com/three-reckless-words-the-rory-brothers-read-online-nicole-snow Mon, 10 Mar 2025 19:23:48 +0000 http://www.books2020.com/three-reckless-words-the-rory-brothers-read-online-nicole-snow Genre: Alpha Male, Billionaire Authors: Nicole Snow Advertisement

Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 137131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >136

A runaway bride brings trouble and temptation to a stone-hearted single dad in this emotional and scorching hot romance by Wall Street Journal bestselling author Nicole Snow.

Is there any coming back after you blow your own wedding to pieces?
I braced for the fallout when I left my emotionally unavailable groom.
I expected the tears, the family wrath, the drama galore.
I found the perfect little cabin to hideout and heal.
But I never planned for him.

Archer Rory makes my bridal breakdown look tame.
A gruff single dad with a genius son.
A billionaire control freak who only speaks common sense.
Also, the man who's now my landlord, my boss, and my protector.
Whew.

I think we were doomed the instant I agreed to help him with some very special bees.
Maybe it's the big daddy vibes he breathes or the way Mr. Heartless secretly cares.
I'm sure the hottest minute of my life when his lips stormed mine has nothing to do with it.
Oh, but every day we're drifting closer to those three reckless words.
And once they're out, will it be heaven or heartbreak?

A standalone grumpy x sunshine romance with high heat, heart, and so many laugh out loud moments. Come see the snarliest billionaire who swore off love try to resist his unexpected damsel in distress and try not to cheer.

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

1

OUCH! THAT STINGS (WINNIE)

When I was little, I was always told my wedding would be the best day of my life.

In my humble opinion, that’s a lot of hype for one day where everything must go right, and any error could spell disaster.

What if the groom gets hammered the night before in one last blowout of bachelor glory and can’t stand up the next day?

What if a bridesmaid twists her ankle?

God, what if there’s rain?

Or, what if the blushing bride hits her breaking point, gets cold feet, and goes flying from the venue like a fox on the run?

Yeah. That last catastrophe speaks to me.

That’s why I’m ripping down the highway in a car with streamers cascading from the back and JUST MARRIED soaped on the windows in white letters so thick I can barely see out the back windshield.

That’s why I’m trapped in shoes that pinch my feet and a corset that crushes my ribs.

That’s why I’m still wearing this prison dress.

Welcome to my life.

It sucks.

My hands hurt from clenching the steering wheel for dear life, and the A/C fights a losing battle against the sweat dripping down my face in the July heat. If I’m not careful, I’ll blow the thing out on its max setting if I don’t die from heat exhaustion first.

At this point, the only thing I’m craving is freedom from this godforsaken dress.

I would sell my soul to get out of this thing.

It’s tight, it’s uncomfortable, and it’s a savage reminder of the life I’ve just blown to pieces.

Also, the man I abandoned, basically at the altar.

Basically.

Oh, God.

I mean, it wasn’t technically at the altar in front of a big crowd with their mouths hanging open. I’m not that borked in the head.

I never made it down the aisle. I didn’t stop and stare at my fiancé like a deer trapped in the headlights. No one was knocked down in my great escape.

Small blessings.

Still, too bad I made it to the part where I was zipped up in this hell-dress and there was no chance of persuading anyone to take it off again before I scrammed.

Especially when every passing face I saw before I ditched was twisted in a What the hell do you think you’re doing, little missy? kind of way.

I wonder what Holden would—

Nope. Don’t think about him.

He’s probably livid. I just humiliated him in front of his entire social circle, but I doubt he’s wounded.

My fiancé—ex-fiancé?—cares just as much about me as I care about him.

You do the math.

It’s not a big number, barely in the low double digits on a scale of meh to soulmates.

I turn off the highway, taking a little road skirting a forest. Then I’m forced to slow down for a series of bends that make me glad this Chevy has decent suspension.

Otherwise, I’d probably be careening over the hill to my fiery doom, making this even more of a bloody red-letter day.

I don’t even get a chance to appreciate what being a race car driver feels like. This dress squeezes me with the force of every turn until I’m sure I’m about to crack a rib.

Then I see it.

The sign for the cabin, black with silver letters that spell out Solitude.

“Thank God,” I mutter.

The wood front with soaring windows looks new and shiny and modern, just like the pictures on their website. When I turn, the ample glass reflects my headlights back at me.

That’s glamping for you, I guess. All the bells and whistles of a pretty modern home with just enough trees around to let rich people think they’re communing with nature or whatever.

Right now, I don’t give a crap, just as long as the place has a cozy bed and a shower.

Oh, and scissors. I’ll use the jaws of life to pry this dress off if I have to.

I might also hunt down whoever decided to make wedding dresses a team effort.

They’re the only kind of dress you wear that’s not self-sufficient. They’re not supposed to be.

They invite icky crowds to help you put them on, and then they expect your long-suffering husband to fiddle with buttons or awkward zips or laces to eventually peel the sweaty, smelly thing off.

It's so not hot. Not sexy.

And it’s inconvenient as hell when you’re alone.

The tires crunch as I pull up outside the cabin and switch off the engine.

Blissful silence falls over everything.

It’s been a long-ass drive from Springfield, but I’m here.

Finally.

Just half an hour or so outside Kansas City. Saved by the first place I found beyond the city limits that had a vacancy on short notice.

My snort sounds slightly snotty as I struggle out of the car, my phone in one hand and my enormous getaway bag that was resting on the passenger seat in the other. I swiped the cutting cake too and threw it in the back.

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Advertisement One Big Little Secret – The Rory Brothers Read Online Nicole Snow http://www.books2020.com/one-big-little-secret-the-rory-brothers-read-online-nicole-snow Thu, 21 Nov 2024 13:35:53 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/one-big-little-secret-the-rory-brothers-read-online-nicole-snow Genre: Alpha Male, Billionaire, Erotic Authors: Nicole Snow Advertisement

Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 145231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 581(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >145

One wild night and a surprise reunion sends a moody billionaire spinning into fatherhood in this heartwarming and steamy romance by Wall Street Journal bestselling author Nicole Snow.

I guessed wrong.
A little reckless fun with a stranger never hurts.
A drunken one-night stand doesn't leave you pregnant.
A savage twist of fate won't make your baby daddy your new boss.
Bad luck can't last forever—unless you're me.

Should we count the ways I'm cooked with Patton Rory?
He rocks the grumpy gene, dialed up to eleven.
He's so handsome the mirror winks back and his bank account has its own zip code.
He's also totally oblivious—thank God.
I'm not sure what he'll be if he figures out the little boy who trashed his fancy building and ruined his favorite tie is his son.

Maybe I'm becoming a human knot, but I won't make the same mistake twice.
If he starts acting human and making my munchkin laugh, I'm not swooning.
If his forbidden kiss tastes like pure temptation, I'll eat mud.
If he makes my heart sing, I'm still clinging to my big little secret.
Even if it's growing so massive I can't separate love from the lie.

This standalone romance read serves up a sweet and spicy secret baby entanglement with heart-rippy feels. Witness the last man who ever thought he'd be a father wake up and go all-in for the wife and son he needs more than his next breath.

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

1

TAKING A GAMBLE (SALEM)

Six Years Ago

The water glimmers from the riverboat’s lights, spinning reflections into streaks of gold.

It’s pretty in a distant way, but with how I’m hanging over the side, I’m feeling lucky I haven’t fallen in.

The worn wooden railing feels warm under my arms on this balmy night and the water looks delightfully cool.

Oh, I’m tempted.

But a night of pure torture will make you consider the craziest ways to escape.

Of course, splunking down in the Missouri River would ruin my makeup and my best dress. Not good when Kayla Persephone, my so-called friend whose father rented the boat, spent at least twenty minutes bringing me oh-so-close to matching her rich-girl friends, so I’d feel a little bad.

I just wish I knew why she bothered inviting me.

I twist around, leaving the water to its shimmering silence, and face the rest of the riverboat scene.

The sunset stains the sky blood orange.

The music pounds away in the main cabin, so loud I’m pretty sure I’ll have Adele’s voice burned into my brain for life.

Kayla’s giddy little hamster friends talk and gamble. I see them through the windows, exploring the many rooms of this boat, throwing away play money I can’t even dream of.

To distract myself from the fact that I’m the only one here who isn’t a high-class daddy’s girl, I swipe a glass from a nearby waiter and turn back to the water. Against the backdrop of big money, the river looks more inviting by the second.

God, why are we still friends?

Sure, so back in ninth grade I shared my umbrella with Kayla once, saving her perfect makeup and designer outfit, but we’re adults now.

We’re total opposites socially and—well, every other way.

She left high school and went to Old Mizzou, partying it up like everyone else here. She had the time of her life husband hunting between chasing a degree in whatever her heart desired.

She’s glamorous and successful and beautiful.

And I’m—I’m me.

The girl who turned down debt and her parents’ pleas to go to a real university.

The clown who ditched the conventional college-first advice to work on my business plans back in Kansas City.

I take a long sip of my mimosa and try to savor it, but it just tastes like privilege.

I’ve had loads of businesses by now. Gobs of big ideas.

They’ve just never quite worked out.

The vending machines selling mints seemed like a winner, but I didn’t have the charm to win any amazing locations and the turnover sucked. Apparently, Kansas City isn’t too worried about bad breath.

My eco-friendly cleaning business would’ve been lucrative enough if the market wasn’t jam-packed. It’s amazing how many folks are willing to clean toilets for a living and brandish their green chemical-free credentials, even here in flyover country.

And in this town, good luck charging premium prices for dog walking when there are ten new doggy start-ups every month.

But it’s fine.

I’m fine.

My next big idea is out there, I just know it.

And maybe I’ll even have a chance at finding it if I can get off this casino riverboat with Kayla and her rich friends.

“Salem!” Kayla’s scream splits the air. Everyone turns to stare as she throws herself at me like an overdone kitten, her white-blonde hair curling around her ears. She’s gone for a Marilyn Monroe look tonight and I kinda hate that she’s nailed it.

Beside her, I look like I just clocked off a long night shift at the loser factory.

“Hey, Kay.” I summon a smile from the tips of my toes. “Having a good time? Are you winning anything in there?”

“Lady, we’re just getting started! But why aren’t you playing with us? And why aren’t you drunk yet?” She scoffs at my half glass of mimosa, jerking my arm until I follow her inside to the velvet interior and the longest bar ever.

A cute bartender glances at me for a second. He has a piercing in one ear and a dark tattoo curling up his forearm.

“Lemmy, loosen up! You could be having fun for once,” Kayla croons in my ear.

I try not to shudder.

“I didn’t want to go too crazy tonight. Long week ahead, y’know,” I start, but she’s already leaning over the bar, pushing her ample cleavage half out of her dress.

The cute bartender coughs and spills a big scoop of ice all over the floor, trying not to stare.

Presto boobo, I’m forgotten.

“Shots!” Kayla demands, banging her fists on the counter.

“Huh?” I look at her.

“Tequila. You’re slamming it with me. Right the fuck now.”

Wow. So this evening can get worse.

“…I dunno. I really do have an early morning and—”

“No, Lemmy. No. We have a double date with a top-shelf hottie made of glass and a lime and we’re not standing him up.” She leans back and laughs at her own joke. “You’re gonna have fun here, babe. I promise.”

Inside isn’t much better than outside.

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Advertisement The Darkest Chase Read Online Nicole Snow http://www.books2020.com/the-darkest-chase-read-online-nicole-snow Thu, 22 Aug 2024 20:05:32 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/the-darkest-chase-read-online-nicole-snow Genre: Alpha Male, Suspense Authors: Nicole Snow Advertisement

Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 138169 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >137

Two complete opposites fall into a heart-ripping fairy tale in this scorching hot small-town grumpy sunshine romance by Wall Street Journal bestselling author Nicole Snow.

Life is just full of crazy surprises with teeth.
One day you’re the forever single wallflower keeping up the boring family furniture shop.
The next, you’re getting mouth-to-mouth from a scary hot stranger who wants to make your life a thriller novel.
Yes, my disaster has a name.

Micah Ainsley.
Everything I’m not. Nothing remotely good for me.
He’s all wolf—moody, savage, and ferociously protective.
I’m a human puppy.
He thrives on secrets.
Everybody knows what I had for breakfast.
He’s experienced. So experienced.
I’ve never even been kissed.
But when he needs my help to take down a rich creep who just happens to be my new client, I’m game.
I’m ready to live a little.
I’m eager to prove I’m more than a hot mess with a cross-eyed crush on a coldhearted man who’s too old for me.

Then another surprise bites me in the face.
The night Micah claims me.
The moment our wrong becomes reality and there’s no going back.
The darkest chase is on and it only ends one way—sweet dreams or total devastation.

All the small-town sugar, spice, and angsty goodness in one epic slow-burn romance. Remember to breathe as you watch Redhaven’s coldest man thaw for the little spark he’ll fight like mad to keep.

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

1

IN THE DARK (TALIA)

Ithink I’ve been shut up in the workshop without ventilation for too long.

Varnish. Fumes. Lack of oxygen.

That sort of thing.

That’s the only reason why I could possibly be standing here in the open doorway of Grandpa’s shop, blinking at the bright sunlight filtering in, drenched in the smell of spring wildflowers and the warm scent of rising bread from the bakery two doors down.

All while a clean-cut, dark-haired man in a full three-piece uniform with a tailcoat and white kid gloves bows.

There’s a heavy vellum envelope in his hand with A Touch of Grey written across it, closed with a wax seal.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, staring at the envelope with our shop’s name on it. “You must have the wrong place.”

“No mistake, Miss Grey. I’ve been asked to request your grandfather’s company,” the man says. I guess he’s a butler or a valet or something. The way he talks is so formal, polite but stilted and intimidating. He straightens, still holding the envelope, waiting for me to take it. “This invitation provides the time and date.”

“But why?” I blurt out.

The man only looks at me mildly, waiting for me to take the envelope.

Yeah, I’m not getting any answers here.

This is just too weird.

And I have a funny feeling I know who’s behind this, considering the uniform and the fact that there’s only one family here in Redhaven who’d do something this dramatic. Any other rich client would send us an email or call.

But the Arrendells just have to make a big production out of everything.

Breathlessly, I take the envelope gently like it’ll grow teeth and bite me.

By now, I’m used to the Arrendells being the kind of weird only filthy rich people can be. They’ve been the backdrop of my town for my entire life and they’ve always given me the creeps.

Honestly, I’m not sure if I want anything to do with them.

It's not me they want, though.

He asked for my grandfather.

I turn that over as I break the seal. The smooth red wax crumbles against my fingertips, and there’s a hand-calligraphed invitation card addressed to Grandpa.

We formally and humbly request Mr. Gerald Grey for a consultation on a custom commission project. Please arrive at the manor tomorrow at precisely 8:00 a.m.

-L, M, and X Arrendell

L and M—Lucia and Montero Arrendell—the Lord and Lady of the house and also the town’s First and Second selectmen.

X… that must be Xavier.

The only son left in town after the ugly scandals that left two of his brothers dead recently. I’d say I can’t begin to imagine how it feels to lose family that way, but unfortunately, I can.

I glance over my shoulder, through the open door to the workshop. I can just hear the rhythmic sounds of Grandpa working the lathe.

I offer the valet a thin smile.

“Um, this seems less like an invitation and more like a demand.”

His lips twitch faintly. A hint of weariness, maybe?

“Please forgive the tone. The young master is rather accustomed to getting his way, yes. May I tell him he can expect Mr. Grey in the morning?”

“Well… let me talk to him first.” I flash my politest smile, though I feel like I’m putting on a mask. Especially when this guy keeps standing here like he’s waiting for me to go talk to Grandpa now and come back with an immediate answer. I take a step back, one hand on the shop door, my smile frozen in place. “We’ll be in touch. No need to wait around, dude.”

The valet looks like he might protest.

I almost feel bad for him.

Too bad.

If Xavier Arrendell is anything like the rest of his kin—and from the rumors, he’s the most short-tempered of them all—then he won’t like this minion coming home without an answer.

“Sorry to be so short. It’s just a busy day for us,” I say, hastily closing the door in his face before I bustle back into the rear of the shop.

God, I need a minute.

I’m not good with people or unexpected surprises.

And I really do need to talk to Grandpa before we can even think about accepting this invite to hell.

When I step into the workshop, my grandfather stops the lathe. He still uses the old manual kind with a foot pedal, and its whirring grinds to a halt, along with the bassinet leg he’s been shaping.

“Serena?” he asks. “Is that you? Would you mind bringing me a glass of water, please? All this sawdust is choking me somethin’ fierce.”

My heart sinks when he calls me that name.

So it’s a bad day.

He thinks I’m my mother again. He’s forgotten my parents have been gone for over twenty years, killed in a car wreck caused by a drunk when I was just a toddler.

At twenty-seven, I guess I do look a lot like my mother did when she died, though. Now I know I made the right choice, not letting the Arrendell valet see him.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >137

Advertisement Almost Pretend Read Online Nicole Snow http://www.books2020.com/almost-pretend-read-online-nicole-snow Mon, 20 May 2024 22:09:47 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/almost-pretend-read-online-nicole-snow Genre: Alpha Male, Billionaire, Contemporary Authors: Nicole Snow Advertisement

Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 134746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >134

Opposites attract in this sizzling, feel-good, grumpy sunshine romance about a lively illustrator and the brooding billionaire she literally falls for. Eleanor Lark is an upbeat illustrator plagued by headaches and unruly strawberry-blond hair. After a grueling cross-country flight, she blacks out cold. The brooding stranger who sat next to her grumping his way through the flight catches Elle as she falls. Neither expects the sweet chaos that happens next. August Marshall is stonehearted, insanely rich, and a master of corporate cleanups with major baggage of his own. The last man alive who needs a media frenzy after his airport heroics steal headlines. But August has a plan—ask Elle to marry him so their trouble disappears. Elle almost faints again. They just met! But it’s hard to say no when August tells her she might be the key to saving a children’s book series she adores. And it’s even harder to remember it’s only pretend as sparks fly, hearts fall, and two perfect strangers try to remember life before make-believe…

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

I

HELLO, MR. BRIGHT SIDE

(ELLE)

I’m going to be brutally honest.

I have a track record of making bad decisions.

Usually, I don’t mind it. There’s always something right side up in upside down.

One door opens, another closes.

You know how it goes.

Like when I was five, and I decided to make a net trap out of sticks, yarn, and cheese to catch the raccoon in our yard. Sure, I wound up with two spitting-mad raccoons, my mother shrieking, and my dad lecturing me for an hour about rabies while he freed the little beasts from a safe distance with a rake.

But I learned that I loved being a little spontaneous—pretty important for a lifelong love affair with the arts.

Or maybe when I was twelve and I asked a classmate, Kenny Purdue, to the Sadie Hawkins dance. He laughed, called me a zombie vampire bitch, and threw mud on my dress.

He also taught me how to tell which boys suck real fast.

Plus, the fact that splattered earth tones look pretty cool on fabric.

Oh, and my gothy phase in high school?

I’m a master at pairing contrasts. I had to do something with the anemia and pale skin. Fashion forward, always.

I think I’m still looking for the bright side in the fact that I chose to go to art school and graduated just in time to be replaced by an AI algorithm that can whip up a masterpiece in a fraction of the time it would take any human. Luckily, it hasn’t totally stopped me from finding freelance work as a children’s illustrator with my uniquely human imperfections—so it can’t be all bad, right?

Right?

Like I said, I can find the good in any situation.

Even the tattooed stoner rock star wannabe I dated in college because I forgot how to tell which boys suck, a guy who cheated on me with two of my friends, taught me a valuable lesson. I don’t need a boyfriend, or friends with grabby hands.

That was also the first time I tried painting angry.

It landed me an exhibit in a New York art gallery. The perfect dot on my résumé to keep the freelance work rolling in for the last few years.

So, sure.

I’ve made gallons of lemonade out of my weight in lemons.

Right now, though, I’m having a hard time finding the good in a cross-country flight when we’re not even done boarding and my eyes are aching with the spangly white flashers again.

That’s what I call them before the headache from hell hits.

This time, it started in the terminal at JFK before my red-eye flight.

So much noise and motion, all of it bouncing off high ceilings. Just a dull throbbing behind my eyes, but it’s the only warning I get that I need to hydrate and lie down in a cool, dark place to head things off before the pain turns volcanic.

But I didn’t have that option today.

Not when I had to slog through security, check in, and run to my gate just in time for the boarding call. By the time I got on the plane, my head was spinning.

Now, as I wedge through the aisle and try not to gag, and the sounds of someone’s upset, teething baby pierce my skull like an ice pick, I wonder why I didn’t just book a train.

A nice, leisurely Amtrak ride from NYC to Seattle. It would take almost a week. No sudden takeoff, no noisy crowds, no screaming anything.

But noooo. I had to be Efficiency Girl and book a flight, forgetting that in her off time the fantabulous Efficiency Girl moonlights as Mistress Migraine.

So I grit my teeth, squint, and force my eyes to focus so I can count down the steps to my seat without vomiting.

At least I booked a window seat.

Sometimes watching the clouds helps ease the earthquake in my head, and if that doesn’t work, I’ll still have a nice corner to hide in.

When I get to my row, though, the aisle seat is already occupied by my seatmate.

It takes me a second to process the big, stiff man perched in the seat when there are sparks popping across my vision like the Fourth of July.

But when I finally see him—

Holy hell.

Did I say there was no bright side to this flight?

I was very, very wrong.

For a split second, I forget I’m battling the mother of all migraines.

My seatmate looks to be around his late thirties.

He’s tall. So tall that his knees press against the back of the seat in front of him, even with the extra legroom in business class.

He’s got a face cut from granite, stern and so handsome and intimidating he could be peeled right off the pages of a fashion magazine—especially with his perfectly tailored clothing.

A dark three-piece suit with a gorgeous dark-blue silk tie brings out the cutting, icy tints of blue in eyes brighter than the summer ocean. The suit is all angles, but it fits him in a way that says he’s nothing but solid muscle underneath.

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Advertisement Two Truths and a Marriage Read Online Nicole Snow http://www.books2020.com/two-truths-and-a-marriage-read-online-nicole-snow Sat, 30 Mar 2024 18:34:07 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/two-truths-and-a-marriage-read-online-nicole-snow Genre: Alpha Male, Billionaire Authors: Nicole Snow Advertisement

Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 141676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 567(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >141

The grumpiest billionaire accidentally scores a sunshiny fake fiancee and pure chaos in this hilarious, sweet, and deliriously steamy romance by Wall Street Journal bestselling author Nicole Snow.

I can still pinpoint the exact second when my life became two truths and a lie.
You don't forget delivering a mountain of fresh-baked sweets to a man like Dexter Rory.
I never wanted to see his scowling, bossy, brutally godlike face again, no matter how well he tipped.
If you told me I'd wind up wearing his ring, I would've died laughing.

But here I am, trying to cling to my sanity while I confront the undeniable.
Truth #1: I'm spiritually allergic to this man.
He's as grumpy as a storm, twice as unpredictable, and he thinks my life's work is the devil.
Truth #2: I need his money—it's the only Hail Mary I have to keep my family bakery alive.

That's why we're living a ginormous lie that can't last.
I mean, who would believe we're engaged when we can barely share the same oxygen?
But Dexter can be wickedly convincing when he needs a win.
And the way he kisses me dizzy right in front of my adoring grandmother...
Hello, butterflies.

What happens when the truth matters less by the day?
What happens when you start falling in love with a lie?

This standalone read brings heat, heart, and mammoth feels all the way to the happily ever after. Witness two opposites attract, collide, and go down fighting the beautiful truth called love.

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

1

SWEET RELIEF (JUNIPER)

There are days when I wish I was a college girl.

Not often, mind you. And not because I love the thought of having a gazillion dollars in debt on my shoulders, either. Because with the Sugar Bowl creaking along on its last legs, the very last thing we need is more debt.

But a few more math classes would sure as hell help my brain hurt less with these numbers.

“That can’t be right,” I spit.

I rub my eyes, squinting at the spreadsheet for the fifth time.

Nobody warned me that inheriting a business means spending more time hunched in front of a computer screen than actually working. My already pale skin practically glows white. I’m ninety percent sure the blue light from the screen is making my hair frizz.

Numbers.

Ugly money numbers.

Numbers with sharp teeth and a ferocious appetite for chewing up my dreams.

Yeah, things aren’t looking good.

I take a break from the nightmare on the screen and glance around. The back office looks about like it did in Nana’s time.

Same old tall metal filing cabinets propped up against the dusty wallpaper—probably less dusty when Nana ran the shop with an iron fist, of course—and the old faded photos hanging everywhere.

Same awards plastered to the wall. Newspapers and cards and bronze plaques proclaiming some version of best in Kansas City! for more years than I can count.

As I always do when I need a moment to get my wits, I stand up, push my chair back—ignoring that one squeaky wheel that cuts my ears—and pace the room, slowly taking in the wall of photos.

There’s Nana, young and bright, standing by the shop with her parents on its opening day in June, 1955. The date is recorded at the bottom of the photo, taken at a time when the world would shine in black and white with a certain charm no Instagram filter will ever match.

My gaze flicks to photos of the interior renovation in the late fifties. And again right around 1970. Before 2000, the Sugar Bowl had a stunning redesign every decade or two, and each one generated a flurry of news and happy, hungry customers pouring in for the grand reopening.

Unimaginable now.

I’m surrounded by an entire gallery of reasons to succeed, to keep going, to remember this bakery’s greatness. But I’m also buried in the fact that those fond memories and fabulous accolades come to a screeching halt in 2021—the year Nana stepped down.

Glaring evidence of my failure to take flight.

This is my family’s legacy, all wrapped up in a store that used to soar.

With me at the helm, it’s struggling to even crawl.

It’s enough to make my throat close up.

If I was the woe-is-me type, I’d have thrown in the towel a year ago. Instead, I put my hands on my hips and look around. My eyes stop on another photo, Nana and my mother when she was a little girl.

“You better not be watching, Mom,” I warn. “This isn’t my finest hour. I mean… neither was last year or the year before that. Come back in a few. The store will be hopping again or the sign will be swinging in the wind.”

I wince at another possibility—we’ll keep stumbling along, just like we have been since I took over the place, twenty-two and fresh-faced. Back when I still had a boyfriend and sky-high hopes for the future.

Better times.

Easier times.

I take one last melancholy look around at every sharp reminder of why I need to step it up—and why I suck—before turning back to my computer.

“Hunk of crap,” I whisper. The ancient thing was probably on the Titanic with its boxy monitor that’s big enough to fit Nana’s flower garden inside.

One day, it’ll give up the ghost, just like everything else here, but I don’t dare replace it.

Not when revenue looks so thin I’ll be lucky to buy an ink cartridge for the printer next quarter.

My chest swells as I sigh and melt into my chair.

The spring menu’s pushing new coffees and light pastries, but they’re lower ticket items for a fast-casual customer base.

Two weeks ago, the ovens randomly stopped firing and our accountant retired, meaning we had to shell out big bucks for a new guy with triple the fees.

Not to mention the payroll needed to run this place, cutting deeper and deeper into my skeletal profits.

My projected turnover, if these damn numbers are to be trusted, looks like—

Well, let’s just say it’s litterbox territory.

Instead of pressing my face into my hands and screaming until my throat rips—totally reasonable under the circumstances—I lean forward until my forehead thunks against the screen.

The very hot screen.

Which almost certainly shouldn’t be hot enough to slow cook an egg.

“Oh, no. Oh, shit,” I hiss, shoving back and almost knocking the giant machine off the creaking desk.

That’s when Emmy pokes her head in. Perfect timing. “Hey, Junie!” she says, tucking her static curls back with one hand. “There’s a guy waiting at the register.”

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Advertisement The Sweetest Obsession – Dark Hearts of Redhaven Read Online Nicole Snow http://www.books2020.com/the-sweetest-obsession-dark-hearts-of-redhaven-read-online-nicole-snow Mon, 01 Jan 2024 09:40:39 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/the-sweetest-obsession-dark-hearts-of-redhaven-read-online-nicole-snow Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Erotic Authors: Nicole Snow Advertisement

Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 138642 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 555(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)

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Falling for the best thing that never happened brings sweet mayhem in this steamy, gripping, and heartfelt small-town grumpy-sunshine standalone romance by Wall Street Journal bestseller Nicole Snow.My brother's best friend owned my heart until the day he drenched it in kerosene and burned it down.Grant flipping Faircross is so not the reason I'm coming home.I don't care if he's gotten bigger, meaner, and grumpy enough to flash freeze the sun.So what if he's up in my business the second I arrive?I'm smarter now.I'm only back in Redhaven for my sick mother and to talk some sense into my sister before she marries a toad.Grant ran me off once and I'm not running back.I can handle the drama, the messy secrets, and an unexpected stalker just fine....or maybe not so fine.When Prince Anti-Charming charges in to protect me, it's kinda hard to say no.When I find out he's a single dad with a heart bigger than a prune, it gets harder.And when his lips storm mine with a growl that says “stay,” oh God.Are we really doing this again?Especially when an old tragedy resurfaces with hard truths, stinging tears, and one brutal question.Will our sweetest obsession finally deliver us or destroy us forever?The perfect blend of small-town romance, furious spice, and jaw-dropping thrills that will keep you guessing. Batten down your heart as a stone-hearted giant wakes up and fights to keep the girl who got away—if she'll ever admit she wants to be chased.

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

1

ONE LIFE (GRANT)

Well, damn.

That’s definitely a dead body.

I tilt my head back, looking up at the pair of heeled loafers twisting slowly over the grand ballroom of the Arrendell mansion.

We’re standing on the upper walkway looking down over the massive checkered floor. I’m so far away that the dead woman still looks tiny, dangling from the central chandelier.

Her own weight makes the whole thing sway gently with a morbid chiming of glimmering ornaments.

I cock my head to the left and right, frowning up at the body.

Next to me, Junior Sergeant Micah Ainsley huffs, cocking his head to the right, his pale-blue eyes pensive.

“Don’t know how else to call it, Captain Faircross,” he says. “It’s a textbook suicide. Pretty clear-cut.”

I grunt in numb agreement.

Not much way it can be anything else, of course, but I can’t help scrutinizing the scene anyway, considering where we are.

Call it a cop’s overdeveloped instincts for detail, but I need to be sure, dammit.

Because right now, looking at this woman dangling some fifty feet off the ground, hanging there by a trailing velvet red curtain drawn into a noose, I’m not fucking feeling it.

Oh, I am feeling lots of other things.

I don’t know.

Maybe it’s because it happened in this house, but even if it hadn’t, I’d still get a damned funny feeling about this whole mess.

The woman looks like she was in her late forties or early fifties, her dark-brown hair just starting to grey. She’s short, a little thick. Her body hangs slack inside the severe plain blue-and-white pinstriped uniform dress that’s typical for the mansion staff.

The women gathered below, nearly breaking their necks as they stare up at the scene, are wearing the same thing.

Same apron. Same thick beige stockings. Same low-heeled leather loafers.

Even the same hairstyle with their hair pulled back into tight, no-nonsense buns.

The deceased has a round, square-set face with deep laugh lines despite the puffiness already starting to set in.

There’s a terrible purple bruise around her neck, just visible past the twist of garishly red velvet.

Despite the plainness of her outfit, her nails are painted a vivid scarlet.

I scan the room again.

The walls all around the grand ballroom are draped with floor-to-ceiling velvet tapestry that sheet past the walkway where I’m standing, evenly spaced at broad intervals. They pour down like runners of blood to the ballroom floor below.

There’s one conspicuously absent on a diagonal from where Micah and I stand, just around the corner of the square walkway.

It’s easy to see what happened.

She stood at the railing of the walkway and pulled the drape loose from its overhead fixtures, then dragged the full length of it up. Must’ve done it in the dead of night—considering it’s about six in the morning right now, and her appearance tells me she’s been dead for three to five hours.

She could’ve tied one end of the drape around the upper walkway railing, then knotted the other end to weight it.

I don’t want to think how many tries it took her to toss the end until it caught just right on the chandelier and let the rest swing back to her.

From that point on, it would’ve been easy.

Undo the knot.

Tie the end into a noose.

Jump.

Leaving her life behind with a damning question.

Why?

According to the Lord and Lady of the house, one of the younger girls on the live-in housekeeping staff woke up early to get started on her chores. She came into the ballroom, saw the woman hanging, and screamed—sending the entire house scrambling to call into town.

To the Redhaven PD, namely.

To me.

“Oh, my, this is dreadful,” Lucia Arrendell hisses at my other side, wringing her thin hands.

Her aristocratic face twists, a caricature of dramatic distress. Even this early in the morning, she’s in a deep wine silk robe with perfect makeup, her white-streaked icy-blonde bob so stiff it barely moves with all her fluttering.

I just stare at her as she sniffs loudly.

“To think, the poor dear was so unhappy that she’d turn to this. God. But we always include mental health coverage as part of our employee insurance policy. I don’t understand, I just wish—”

“Quiet,” I mutter. “I’m trying to think.”

The air goes cold.

Well, colder.

I wouldn’t be surprised if Lucia Arrendell never heard those words in her pampered life. Definitely not from the offended gasp she gives back, but before she can do more than open her red-painted mouth, her husband—standing at her back in a burgundy velvet smoking jacket and black silk pajama pants—silences her with a hand against the small of her back.

“Now, now, dear,” Montero Arrendell drawls in his exaggerated Clark Gable accent. “I know you’re distressed, but do let the detectives focus on their work, yes?”

He meets my eyes over the top of his wife’s head like he’s doing me a big fucking favor.

No matter how conciliatory and smooth he sounds, I see what’s behind those impenetrable green eyes.

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