R.S. Grey – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read

R.S. Grey – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.books2020.com Wed, 13 May 2026 18:55:27 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=6.9.4 http://www.books2020.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/favicon.png R.S. Grey – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.books2020.com 32 32 Our Secret Summer Read Online R.S. Grey http://www.books2020.com/our-secret-summer-read-online-r-s-grey Wed, 13 May 2026 18:55:27 +0000 https://www.books2020.com/our-secret-summer-read-online-r-s-grey Genre: Alpha Male, Billionaire, Contemporary Authors: R.S. Grey Advertisement

Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 102355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >107

Escape to Ibiza in this sparkling summertime romance about a young woman determined to complete her late sister's bucket list, from USA Today bestselling author R. S. Grey, perfect for fans of Christina Lauren and Abby Jimenez.

At twenty-six, Isabel De Vere already has her whole life mapped out. With a degree from a good school and a closet full of blazers, she is climbing the corporate ladder in her family business, knowing everything will fall into place from there. But Isabel’s paint-by-numbers life falls apart when her vivacious and beloved sister dies, leaving behind an unfinished bucket list.

Isabel escapes to Ibiza for the summer where she becomes free spirited Elle, working at a club by night, checking off items on the bucket list by day. Surfing? Check. Dance till dawn? Check. Get a tattoo? Check. Fall in love? Working on it.

Enter millionaire club owner Cristiano Moreno Winthrop…Isabel's boss. Handsome face permanently marred by his scowl, she can't quite manage to stay away from him. And soon, between late night talks and afternoons on his yacht, Isabel discovers there's more under the surface than she expected…and she might have found the way to finish this bucket list after all.

Equal parts swoony destination romance and a celebration of life after loss, this sun-soaked story is a perfect summertime getaway

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

Chapter One

Isabel

Everyone in the crowded bar has a cold drink and a group of friends. I’m the only one sitting alone, though I might not be for long. A handsome stranger has been trying to catch my eye for the last few minutes. His gaze slips down my slinky black dress with unabashed interest, and I try not to get my hopes up. This is my third night out on the town since arriving on Ibiza, and so far I have nothing to show for it. No hookups, no oh-god-don’t-stops, not even a measly kiss. But something has to happen soon. I’m growing desperate; “wild sex” is on the bucket list, after all.

But tonight? Do I really have it in me?

I reach for my sangría as the stranger approaches, and I barely contain my wince when he launches into a string of Spanish. It’s unfortunate considering yo no hablo español.

Ibiza is a tiny island off the coast of Spain. Everyone here speaks Spanish and Catalan. The fact that I didn’t Duolingo my life away for the last few weeks before my arrival was a complete oversight on my part.

“¿Inglés?” I ask, offering up a tentative smile.

The guy shakes his head with a disappointed frown, but he doesn’t back away. He’s not going to let a little thing like a language barrier block his shot. “No.”

Okay. Time to metaphorically crack my knuckles and dig deep—all the way back to that half a year of Spanish I took in seventh grade.

“¿Cómo te llamas?” Thank you, Shakira, for incorporating conversational Spanish in your 2000s hits.

“Luis.”

He holds his hand out for me to take; it’s a little moist, but I can’t blame the guy. Ibiza is having an unusually warm start to summer. It’s half past ten, the sun set hours ago, and yet the bar is stifling. There’s no AC and the body heat alone is enough to make me want to pour an ice bucket over my head.

“I’m Isabel,” I tell him with an easygoing smile.

Luis withdraws his hand, we each take a swig of our cold drinks, and what follows is nothing short of the most hilarious form of flirting that’s ever existed. Over the span of ten minutes we gesticulate wildly with our hands while cobbling together a rudimentary conversation.

“Do you live here?” becomes “Doooo youuuu liiiivvve heeerrre?”

I’m not translating my English into Spanish so much as into whale-ish. Following up the question by pointing down to the ground proves fruitless.

Luis looks down, following my finger. Then he grimaces. “No… entiendo.”

It’s clear we’re not going to Rosetta Stone our way into romance here. If he were a little more tempting, I’d just cut to the chase and gesture between our lips, but alas, Luis doesn’t really do it for me. He’s cute, sure, but unfortunately there’s no spark.

It’s not long before Luis’s friends come over to collect him, no doubt sensing his failure from across the room. I assume they’re heading off to the next bar. There are many, many more along this strip of road, and countless more multilingual partners for him to pick from. Luis gives me an apologetic look before cutting his losses and making a break for it.

When he’s gone, I deflate and glance down at the antique ring on my right hand.

“Sorry, Winnie,” I whisper under my breath before downing the last of my sangría and slipping off the barstool.

Oh well. So night three in paradise didn’t go as planned. No problema.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >107

Advertisement Karma’s Kiss Read Online R.S. Grey http://www.books2020.com/karmas-kiss-read-online-r-s-grey Wed, 30 Oct 2024 13:05:16 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/karmas-kiss-read-online-r-s-grey Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary Authors: R.S. Grey Advertisement

Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >87

Every small-town girl has known a Sawyer Garnett. He’s the dimpled dreamboat we used to fantasize about in algebra class, the hometown heartbreaker with no shortage of outraged exes. But unlike most golden boys, this one didn’t peak in high school. Oh no no. Like the fine wine at the vineyard he’s the literal heir to, Sawyer’s only gotten better with age.

Nobody is more annoyed that karma has yet to find Sawyer than my best friend, his old flame. Just hearing his name makes her curse the day he was born. “That man deserves to learn a lesson” turns into a vengeance vow that puts me on a collision course with Sawyer himself.

Go out on a date with him? Easy-peasy. Flirt and play along? No sweat. Let him slip his hands beneath my sundress amidst the lush grapevines? Well…maybe a little bit of sweat.

It’s not long before our simple plan for payback turns into Texas-sized trouble. Under the spell of Sawyer’s piercing brown eyes, my pretend passion threatens to ignite the flimsy facade I’ve built up against him. I’ll just have to stay focused. If want justice for my friend and every other woman Sawyer has scorned, I have to keep reminding myself he’s run from karma’s kiss for far too long.

They say you reap what you sow…and Sawyer so deserves what is coming to him.

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

CHAPTER 1

I never thought rock bottom would feel so…hot.

I’m burning up.

This rental car is stifling. The air conditioning can barely keep up with the overwhelming heat trying to encroach from outside. That’s summer in Texas for you.

I drop my face lower, right in line with the air vent that’s working overtime, but it’s still not enough. I battle with the urge to peel out of this parking lot and drive anywhere. North, south, east, west—any place is better than here.

Here being home.

Oh god. I’m not sure I have the energy to go through with this, to walk into that bar and return to a life I left behind eight years ago.

The parking lot of John’s Ice House is packed to the gills. Every Tom, Dick, and Harry is inside drinking cheap beer, waiting for me to make my grand entrance. I know what they think about me. Well…at least what they thought about me last week. Madison McCall is really something special. She was the valedictorian of her graduating class at Oak Hill High before earning a full ride to Auburn, where she served as her sorority’s president while maintaining excellent grades. More importantly than all that, she managed to snag a proposal and a big fat diamond ring before those four precious years were up, and not from some Joe Blow, but from a real catch—a senator’s son.

That was last week though. Now, things are different. Now, I’ve been thrust off that high horse and they all know it. Some of them—all right, most of them—are probably really happy about it too. It’s not that I’m some horrible person, but everyone loves a dramatic fall from grace—it’s titillating! Watching other people fail epically refocuses the magnifying lens off their own troubles even if only for a little while.

The rental car groans with the struggle of keeping the A/C on full blast, and then a finger suddenly taps on my window. I lurch out of my seat, banging my head on the steering wheel.

“Jesus.”

I wince as I clutch my forehead and turn to see my old classmate, Pam O’Neal, standing just on the other side of my driver’s side door. She’s smiling wide and waving her hand, indicating she wants me to roll down my window. I don’t do it right away; I’m hoping she might get the hint and leave me alone, but instead, she crouches down and taps on the glass again, shouting through it.

“Hey, darlin’! You going in or are you havin’ a bit of me time? Don’t let me bother you if you are. I do that sort of thing ’bout once a week when Jimmy and the kids are annoying me. Sometimes, I like to park just down the street from our house and I turn on a juicy audiobook, you know one of those real steamy ones—”

Quickly, so as to not encourage any more details about her steamy personal time, I kill the engine, yank my purse off the passenger seat, and open my door.

Here goes nothing.

As I stand up and straighten my dress, Pam steps back and takes me in from head to toe before she delivers a low country whistle. “Well look at you. Gorgeous as ever. I bet you ate those men alive in Montgomery.”

I blanch, then blush—the color spreading even more once Pam meets my eyes and realizes she just put her foot in her mouth. She has the decency to look down and hide most of her pity. When she looks up again, she’s smiling brighter than ever.

“You know what? Who needs men? God, they’re a pain in the ass. How about we go inside and you let me buy you a beer?”

Before I can agree, she loops her arm through mine and starts tugging me across the dirt parking lot.

I always liked Pam. She and I never really hung out much in high school; there just wasn’t any opportunity. I was busy running track and heading up the debate team while Pam was bumming cigarettes and flirting with truancy officers.

“You been in town long?” she asks, eyeing my designer heels.

“Just arrived today, actually.”

Her heavily lined eyes widen in shock. “No. Really?” Then she lowers her voice, mumbling mostly to herself as she continues, “Nothin’ like ripping the Band-Aid off…”

She’s right about that.

This is not how I envisioned my first night back in Oak Hill, Texas. I was supposed to go straight from the airport to my mom’s house where I could lick my wounds in private. After a quiet dinner where she kept her probing questions to herself and I pretended everything was fine, I was going to steal an expensive bottle of wine from where she likes to hide them under the kitchen sink “for emergencies” and then I was going to wallow, sulk, and despair up in my childhood bedroom, alone and in that order. Instead, Queenie changed the plans on me when I called her outside arrivals.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >87

Advertisement Caribbean Crush Read Online R.S. Grey http://www.books2020.com/caribbean-crush-read-online-r-s-grey Mon, 23 Sep 2024 09:23:49 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/caribbean-crush-read-online-r-s-grey Genre: Alpha Male, Billionaire, Contemporary Authors: R.S. Grey Advertisement

Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98345 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >103

Set sail with USA Today bestselling author R.S. Grey in this sizzling romance between old rivals who reunite on a cruise ship, only to discover that they want much more than just another competition.

Casey Hughes is a struggling travel journalist desperate for a big break when she lands the assignment of a hop on board Aurelia for its maiden voyage through paradise. While she’ll bask in the luxury cruise ship’s fine dining and complimentary spa treatments, her real mission is to snag an exclusive interview with Phillip Woodmont.

Casey and the elusive shipping heir have history. Once, they were nothing short of brutal enemies. Though the former brace-faced teen is now a suited-up CEO with devastating good looks, he makes it clear to Casey that he has no interest in forgetting their past.

The volatile grudge between them is as explosive as ever. More than once Casey is tempted to toss Phillip overboard, but for her work, she’ll have to swallow her pride. If it’s an apology he’s after, she’ll serve it up on a silver platter. If he wants her to walk the plank, she’ll salute with an aye, aye, Captain.

Casey can’t let him provoke her. She needs this interview. So if Phillip wants to play dirty, Casey will just have to play dirtier.

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

Chapter One

CASEY

I squeeze my eyes shut as I white-knuckle the metal railing with both hands. Oh dear god. I’ve really done it now. I’ve flown too close to the sun. It serves me right for being such a liar, liar, pants on fire.

I feel a slight rocking underfoot that shouldn’t be there. It’s in direct contrast to everything I read online.

It’s just like being on land!

You won’t notice a thing!

These new ships are practically floating cities!

The sway is so gentle I could almost miss it, but not now, not with my eyes closed and my other senses dulled. It’s a perpetual reminder of where I’ve found myself: adrift.

My erratic heart is going crazy in my chest. My knees bend as I grip tighter to the rail.

I never thought I’d be standing on the balcony of a suite on board a luxury cruise liner about to set sail around the Caribbean.

I can’t force my eyes to peel open. The sun bears down on me, adding fire to the stifling moist heat. How do people live like this? Fort Lauderdale might as well be the devil’s butt crack for how sweltering it is down here. The seagulls caw overhead. The briny sea breeze whirls and lifts my hair so it dances around my shoulders. The boat’s horn rumbles a low, long blare—a triumphant send-off that has me nearly doubling over.

Is it too late to jump and swim ashore? Surely, I could make it. I’m not that far up.

I peek my eyes open to check, and the heady height almost makes me lose my breakfast. I am that far up.

It’s going to be okay. Don’t panic. Ignore the impending doom creeping in from all sides. The impostor syndrome chirping in the back of your mind isn’t real. You belong here!

And I do.

I do belong here. I’m an intrepid reporter. A legitimate journalist with a press badge and real credentials. I didn’t steal any of it! A sprightly blonde attendant willingly handed me a press packet when she showed me to my suite an hour ago. It had my name on it and everything. Printed in black and white.

I, Casey Hughes, have a job to do.

I work at Bon Voyage, a travel magazine that boasts more than five million readers and another few million online subscribers. I’ve worked there for six years, ever since I graduated from college with a degree in journalism. I have a very fancy, very chichi title. Here it is. Gird your loins. I’m a . . . drum roll . . . fact-checker. I know what you’re thinking—That can’t possibly be a real job. Well, it is. On my email signature, it reads, Casey Hughes, fact-checker.

But that’s not my end goal.

This isn’t the career I’ve always longed for. I didn’t stand up at my kindergarten graduation—after the boy who picked astronaut and the girl who couldn’t choose between veterinarian and Barbie—and tell the crowd that I longed to be a glorified grunt worker.

I’ve always wanted to work in travel journalism. My initial longing to see far-off places stems not from inspiring college lectures but from TV shows like The Price Is Right and Wheel of Fortune. In the afternoons, after school, my grandmother and I would sit on the couch together, watching Bob Barker and Pat Sajak woo contestants and audiences alike with the promise of luxurious vacation prizes. Jamaica, South Africa, England—it didn’t matter.

“Oh, Italy!” my grandmother would exclaim. “I’ve always wanted to go there!” Then she’d turn to me with an imploring look in her eyes. “Promise me, when you’re older, you’ll go off somewhere exotic and tell me all about it! I want to know everything.”

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >103

Advertisement Their Last Resort Read Online R.S. Grey http://www.books2020.com/their-last-resort-read-online-r-s-grey Sat, 13 Apr 2024 11:41:45 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/their-last-resort-read-online-r-s-grey Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary Authors: R.S. Grey Advertisement

Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80052 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >84

Biting banter is all they know. But messy feelings have a way of coming to the surface in this beachside romance.

Paige Young and Cole Clark are polar opposites. A world traveler since birth, Paige loves to lead activities for guests at a luxury island resort in Turks and Caicos. From bingo nights to cliffside hikes, Paige is up for anything. Cole, meanwhile, prefers his number-crunching desk job. He’s the assistant director at the resort—stiff and meticulous. He’s so by the book that he keeps the book. In his desk drawer.

They’re perfectly aligned in one way, though—their ability to drive each other crazy. Every day brings a fresh battle of wits. They’re rivals, archnemeses…and they’re definitely never going to talk about that one time they kissed. Ha ha. Nope!

But when Paige finds out that Cole has been ordered to fire her on the same day a hurricane threatens their little slice of paradise, it’s clear the game is over.

At odds, in peril, and forced to shelter in place together, these two enemies might finally have to confront their true feelings. (You know, the ones hidden under all those withering looks.)

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

Chapter One

PAIGE

I love my job. I love my job. I love my job.

I just have to keep repeating the mantra.

There is a lot to like about working at this resort. Siesta Playa is known for its crystal clear water, white-sand beaches, luxury accommodations, and . . . grotesquely spoiled tourists, who all ascribe to the belief that their year’s worth of credit card points entitles them to nothing short of royal treatment.

I’m staring at one now while she rambles on and on about how I’m ruining her vacation and, naturally by extension, her life. She’s standing on the other side of the short desk, spitting venom. Her fury is so fierce, the little veins in her forehead look like they might burst. Her mood is in stark contrast to her bright Hawaiian dress and kitschy conch earrings. The glasses she’s sporting on her head carry a little slogan, one glittery word positioned over each eye: ISLAND TIME!

Now I see why her husband is cowering behind her on wobbly knees, searching for a spine that she has long since quashed.

Sir, blink three times if you need help.

“Mrs. Daugherty, I’m so very sorry.”

For the record, this is my fourth apology, but it gets ignored like the first three.

“You’re sorry? What am I supposed to do with a sorry? I flew all the way here from Miami, y’know.”

That’s about a two-hour trip, runway to runway. With the way she emphasizes this point, you’d think she’d just backpacked here from a Tibetan mountaintop.

“We’re so glad you came all this way, and I understand why you’re upset.”

No, we’re not—no, I don’t.

“I apologize again, on behalf of the entire resort team.”

Actually, we all collectively want to banish you from the premises.

“And, of course, we’re happy to offer you and your husband excursion vouchers—or would you two enjoy a private beach dinner instead? Courtesy of the resort, of course.”

Giving in like this—rolling over and taking it—is resort policy. Just give the high-maintenance sociopaths what they want in order to defuse the situation before the other guests (the ones whose parents loved them) notice. I hate it.

In quick succession, she pounds her pointer finger down on the desk like it’s a woodpecker made out of Vienna sausages. “I can eat dinner on the beach anywhere. I want to see some damn whales! Like I was promised!”

One of the excursions offered here at Siesta Playa is a guided marine-life tour where guests have the opportunity to see dolphins, reef sharks, sea turtles, and potentially whales. During the high season, from January through early April, humpback whales swim through the Turks Island Passage and give birth at Salt Cay. But seeing as how it’s mid-August . . . the whales are otherwise occupied elsewhere, doing whale things. A fact made abundantly clear to any of our guests who might have their sights set on seeing a majestic humpback this time of year, including Mrs. Daugherty.

“I. Want. Whales,” she demands again, enunciating each word like a grown-up version of Veruca Salt.

Her husband, temporarily abandoning his attempt to shrink into oblivion, speaks up with a wobbly voice. “Beatrice, I think if maybe we just—”

She makes no move to address him. Her focus stays pinned solely on me. “No, Mark. Don’t. This is ridiculous! You know what?” Her fingers are aimed at me, mere inches from my face, wagging back and forth. “I want to speak to your manager. Now.”

I knew this request was coming. This righteous appeal to mythical authority is the last gasp of all frustrated complainers. I’d bet anything that on her deathbed she’ll cry out for Jesus—not for comfort or mercy but because she’d like to complain to his dad about the poor service she got on earth.

I’m forced to radio for someone, except the person that shows up is the absolute last someone I want to see right now.

There’s no need for me to turn around to confirm my suspicions when he walks up behind me. He might as well be accompanied by a theme song filled with deep, ominous organs. Dun dun dunnnn.

He’s a regular in Mordor.

The devil’s dinner guest.

Voldemort’s pen pal.

Cole Clark is neither my manager nor my friend; he’s a thorn in my side. His mere presence spikes my blood with adrenaline. My hands form tiny fists at my sides.

“Hello. How can I help you?” he asks over my shoulder.

I straighten up, trying to add inches to my height. I hate his stupid bones and the fact they allow him to tower over me.

“Who are you?” She’s already losing some of the condescension in her tone. Women tend to do that around Cole. Soften, swoon, go a little weak in the knees. I’ve never understood why.

“I’m Cole Clark, the assistant director of operations at Siesta Playa.”

“Yes, he’s just the assistant director,” I stress. “You’ll want to compla—I mean, speak with Todd Weaver. He’s the real head honcho around here.”

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >84

Advertisement Fighting Words Read Online R.S. Grey http://www.books2020.com/fighting-words-read-online-r-s-grey Sun, 03 Mar 2024 19:18:26 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/fighting-words-read-online-r-s-grey Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary Authors: R.S. Grey Advertisement

Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 97073 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >101

Hate turns to heat when a literary grump meets his deadline savior.

My assignment is simple: trek to a remote English cottage and convince Nathaniel Foster to let me work with him.

Too bad he’s a complete and utter jerk.

Who slams the door in a poor stranger’s face, leaving them shivering out in the snow?! So much for a warm welcome…

Nathaniel is God’s gift to readers everywhere. My publisher is desperate for his next book, which in turn makes me desperate to help him complete it. So what if he doesn’t want to play nice? I have no choice but to live and work with him in this snow-covered cottage, suffering under his piercing blue stare until it feels like I might combust.

Our heated exchanges by day give way to torturous tension at night. I can’t clock out from his all-consuming presence. I can’t escape my unwanted feelings. When one of our arguments nearly ends in an angry kiss, I worry the writing is on the wall.

But I can do this. I can clench my teeth, ball my fists, and focus on this damn book. If I can just keep the fiction and fantasy between the pages and not between the sheets, I’ll be the hero of the publishing world.

So pick up your pen, Nathaniel—and please, please, stop looking at me like that.

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

CHAPTER 1

SUMMER

“This is it,” the British cabbie declares. “We’re here.”

No. That can’t be right.

I lean closer to the window, anxious to get a better view of the dilapidated stone building to my right—home sweet home for the next week or two.

Truthfully, dilapidated is too nice of a word to describe the place. Monstrously hideous? Beyond salvation? Legitimately haunted? A window on the ground floor has two shattered panes as if someone has thrown a rock through them. A chunk of the stone wall on the right has completely crumbled. Also the front door is wide open, swinging ominously.

“Bloody hell. Looks to be abandoned.” The driver turns back to me. “You sure you have the right address?”

I look down at the itinerary I created for myself then back up at the building.

“Yes. This is it. Crown House, says it right there on that sign.” The one hanging sideways off a single hinge, the painted black letters mostly flaked off so that instead of Crown House, it reads Crow Ho s .

We agree I should scope it out first before I bother retrieving my luggage from the trunk. As I walk up the short path to the front door, my boots crunch atop freshly fallen snow.

The sun has nearly set and I’m losing daylight by the second, which is annoying considering my original travel plan would have had me here hours ago. My flight landed in Leeds this afternoon, but I was delayed by a small luggage fiasco. A woman took my suitcase from the carousel, and when I tried to convince her of her mistake, she shouted for airport security. There was no confusion on my end. I’ve had the suitcase for over a decade, and it’s on its last leg. The wheels only turn when they feel like it, and the handle is permanently jammed in place. Still, the woman clung to it like her life depended on it. I had three interviews with customs officials, one ID check, and a few passes through a metal detector before I got into a cab with my suitcase to make the journey north. Now, it’s a little past 6:00 p.m. and Crow Hos is dark inside.

I stop at the front door and poke my head inside. “Hello?”

My voice echoes faintly off the stone walls. The place is empty. There’s nothing inside except a few pieces of furniture cast off by a previous owner, maybe one who lived here in—and this is just a ballpark—the Paleolithic era.

Something suddenly moves to my right, and I jump a mile in the air before I realize it’s just some rustling leaves. I try to laugh off the scare, but I still book it back to the cab like there’s an angry ghost at my heels. I’m not someone to back down from a challenge, but there’s obviously been some mistake. When InkWell coordinated my travel, they must not have realized Crown House is no longer in operation. That’s fine. It’s not like I’m alone in a foreign country with nowhere to go and no one to call as the sun sets. That would be…bad.

I reclaim the back seat and shut my door. “I can’t stay here.”

“Where to then?” he asks with a new layer of impatience in his tone. I’m suddenly not worth the trouble of the flat-rate fare from the train station.

I look at my itinerary, my last saving grace. Beneath my flight times and the Crown House address, I wrote directions to get to Nathaniel Foster’s house from the train station. I was planning to visit him first thing in the morning, during work hours, but I don’t have a choice now.

My phone gets absolutely no service out here. Nathaniel will know what to do. He can suggest a place to stay or maybe even let me crash for a night and help me figure things out in the morning. Sure, there’s the slight chance he won’t be all that enthused when he sees me and realizes who I am…

The driver clears his throat, forcing my hand.

“Here,” I say, passing him the paper. “Could you take me to that address, please?”

After a barely stifled sigh, he pulls out onto the main road. He has no trouble navigating the English countryside in the dark. At least one of us has a sense of direction. I’m all turned around; we left any sign of civilization a long time ago. Now I think we’re in the Yorkshire Dales, a national park with thousands of square miles of moors, valleys, and hills…and as far as I can tell, absolutely zero Holiday Inns.

The snow is really coming down now. Even with the driver’s headlights illuminating the road and his windshield wipers whipping back and forth at full steam, it’s hard to tell when there’s an upcoming curve or bend. I’m getting slung back and forth in the back seat like a pinball, but I don’t complain because I’ve officially overstayed my welcome in this cab. The last thing I need him to do is kick me out prematurely. Fortunately, the turnoff for Nathaniel’s house is only about ten minutes away from Crown House. It makes sense that the publisher would have booked my lodgings near him. I’ll give them credit for that even if they dropped the ball on the place being habitable.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >101

Advertisement Mr. Big Shot Read Online R.S. Grey http://www.books2020.com/mr-big-shot-read-online-r-s-grey Mon, 02 Oct 2023 05:17:00 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/mr-big-shot-read-online-r-s-grey Genre: Alpha Male, Chick Lit, Contemporary, Funny Authors: R.S. Grey Advertisement

Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 91058 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >93

Biting banter, fake relationships, and illicit workplace rendezvous—anything goes in this romantic comedy from USA Today bestselling author R.S. Grey.

While most little girls grow up idolizing Ariel or Belle, I was banging a plastic gavel and pretending to be Judge Judy. I spent my summers divorcing Barbie and Ken and splitting their Dreamhouse assets. Now, my goal to become the very best acquisitions lawyer at the top firm in Chicago is within reach.

I’m one month into my big-girl job at Elwood Hoyt, venti Starbucks in hand, ready to take on the day. The sleek elevator doors are about to close…then he steps in after me. Hudson Rhodes—the one senior partner I was told to avoid at all costs—just so happens to be the heartless villain I’m assigned to work under.

Ever since he found out who I am— the Scarlett Elwood—we’ve been enemies, the sort who constantly bicker and bark, take jabs in the boardroom, and occasionally pop up shirtless in each other’s steamy dreams. Y’know, that kind . He has to know I could run to my dad at any time and demand his firing, but his confident smirk says he knows I’d never give him the satisfaction.

The elevator chimes as we reach our floor, and I feel his broad shoulders pull even with mine. Fury mixes with fear, hatred with lust. He turns to briefly hold my gaze before confidently stepping out in front. His message is

If I want to reach my goal, I’m going to have to go through him first.

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

Chapter One

Scarlett

Big law is a phrase used to describe the country’s largest and most prestigious law firms.

Here’s how to use it in a sentence:

All the top graduates from law school accept offers from big law.

Big law routinely dishes out the best salaries and bonuses across the industry.

Now, this is how you’ll use it when talking to your therapist:

I cried every day I worked in big law.

Big law ruined my life.

If not for big law, I’d be [married, happy, well-adjusted, sober].

And here’s how I’ll use it starting today:

Oh, my first year at big law? It was a total breeze.

I made big law my big bitch.

My alarm buzzes on my nightstand, blaring for the half-second it takes me to lean over and turn it off. The alarm wasn’t necessary. I’m already awake; I have been for two hours. I’m standing beside my bed in an outfit chosen with care and deliberation. The sales associate at Barneys was popping Advil for a tension headache and rethinking her career path by the time I made it to the register.

I’ve gone with cool ankle-length slim-fitting black trousers paired with a belted cream blouse and the ever-popular Aquazzura bow suede pumps, though I’ll stick with flats until I get to the office. For accessories, I have my hand-me-down Cartier watch; clean, manicured nails; and diamond studs in my ears—nothing else.

This must be what Batman felt like his first day on the job. I’ll bet he took the time to run his Batmobile through a Mr. Suds the day before to get the wheels squeaky clean. Tearing the tags off those brand-new combat boots and stretchy nylon pants before clicking all those safety gadgets and gizmos into place must have been quite the rush.

I feel the same flutter of butterflies as I gather my work bag, already packed with everything I need and more. I walk outside, ready and raring to tackle the day…just in time for a bird to poop on me.

I freeze and look down, suspended in shock. It takes me a moment to register the white sludge dripping down the front of my blouse, headed straight toward my trousers. Panic sets in with a great big belated rush. NO. I was stalling at my apartment on purpose so I wouldn’t feel silly about my extremely early arrival at the office, but now, NOW, I’m kicking myself for not camping out in front of Elwood Hoyt overnight. I should have slept under my desk. A little crick in my neck would have been nothing compared to this.

It’s fine, I tell myself, trying to regain control of my heart rate; it’s hovering somewhere near 190 bpm. I’ve careened right past cardiac arrest range and I’m creeping ever closer to spontaneous combustion. I walk-run my way back into the lobby of my apartment building and try not to cry as the elevator seems to have newly gone on strike.

Fortunately, I had my entire week’s worth of outfits already chosen. A quick change of my top to a black silk version and then I’m skipping down the stairs, leaving the elevator for all the people who aren’t about to start the first day of the rest of their lives.

This time when I exit my building, I have that bird locked in my line of sight. I swear it looks smug from its perch atop a spindly branch. No doubt it’s stretching and flexing its sphincter muscles on the off chance I creep too close again.

I flip it off (secretly), hiding my finger behind my other hand so I don’t look absolutely insane to everyone passing me by on the sidewalk. Then I turn in the direction I was originally headed and begin.

I’ve only lost ten minutes with my wardrobe change, but it feels like ten minutes too many. It’s the first week of October, and the everlasting heat of summer has finally gone. I’m grateful for the crisp autumn air as I race down the city blocks.

I’m in the heart of Chicago’s downtown, the River North district, surrounded by luxe shops, quaint eateries, and sprawling skyscrapers. There’s history on every corner, places I usually love strolling past at a leisurely pace rather than careening by at breakneck speeds. But alas, this morning, there’s no time for a latte at my favorite coffee shop or a bagel from that place on the corner.

Thank god my apartment is walking distance to Elwood Hoyt’s office. I make the quarter-mile trek in no time, only stopping once when a delivery truck nearly sideswipes me as I dart across the street. The metal bumper comes within an inch of my thigh as the gruff man behind the wheel shouts at me through the open window. “You got a death wish, lady?!”

No! The exact opposite—I have a dream!

I turn the final corner and see it.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >93

Advertisement Blushing in the Big Leagues Read Online R.S. Grey http://www.books2020.com/blushing-in-the-big-leagues-read-online-r-s-grey Thu, 01 Jun 2023 11:54:19 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/blushing-in-the-big-leagues-read-online-r-s-grey Genre: Contemporary, Funny, Sports Authors: R.S. Grey Advertisement

Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 91497 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >94

I have one simple rule: don’t date professional baseball players. There are no exceptions, no workarounds.

“What if—”
No.
“Could he—”
Nuh-uh.

With a brother in the league, I’ve seen the good, the bad, and the downright horrifying. Those guys might seem tantalizing when they’re in uniform down on the field, hitting grand slams in front of a crowd of adoring fans, but I know better. The huge egos? The insane travel schedules? The veritable buffet of female companions? No ma’am. Professional athletes are best handled at a distance, preferably far enough away that their chiseled jawlines blur into oblivion.

Enter Grant Navarro.

He’s the baseball player to end all baseball players. The one I should have marked with a big red X the first moment I laid eyes on him. Only the night we met (and kissed—oops), I didn’t know he was my brother’s newest teammate. Imagine my shock when I realized the sexiest man in Manhattan was officially off limits. Just my luck!

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

ONE

TATE

As ridiculous as it sounds, it all started with a silly dare.

I’m putting the finishing touches on my mascara when one of my roommates lays this gem on me: “We triple dog dare you to hook up with someone tonight.”

Wow. So original. If we were in eighth grade, the dare would be accompanied by tittering laughter, blushing cheeks, and a speed-dial call to some punk named Jason. But we’re not middle schoolers. We’re adults in our mid-twenties with careers and ever-intensifying skincare routines. I contribute to a 401k. I am not susceptible to ridiculous dares.

“Is that even a real thing?” I ask Daphne.

She’s the one who issued the dare. I thought she was otherwise occupied—she’s been lying on my bed in her underwear (no boundaries with this one) watching a makeup tutorial on YouTube and trying to convince herself that today, finally, she might master the art of winged eyeliner—but I was wrong. Apparently, she grew bored with the video and moved on to a more interesting topic, i.e. my love life.

She’s looking at me now like I’ve just asked her if cheese really belongs on pizza. “Yes, it’s a real thing! There are compounding levels of dare seriousness. A triple dog dare is an escalation of a double dog dare, obviously.”

“Obviously,” I retort.

My other roommate, Sophia, steps out of my closet. She was in there rifling through my clothes, trying to decide if she should swap her outfit and wear something different to the party we’re about to attend. She shouldn’t bother. She looks great in her white dress.

Her problem is she’s bored. She’s been ready to leave for half an hour. Always on time, she’s the mom of the apartment, which would make Daphne the petulant toddler, and me…somewhere in between. The spunky middle child? The type-A oldest daughter? Who knows. I’m a fiercely competitive, goal-oriented people pleaser. I am not whimsical like Daphne or as serious as Sophia. I do, however, enjoy a challenge, which is maybe why Daphne has dared me in the first place. She knows me too well.

I touch up my mascara one last time and then twist the cap closed. “So what happens if I complete the dare?”

I’m imagining a trophy with my name carefully engraved on it. A three-tier cake in my honor.

I catch their private glance in my mirror; their barely restrained smiles say it all. Sophia and Daphne are sisters. Occasionally, they share a secret language I’m not privy to.

“Uhhh…you get to enjoy a night of raucous lovemaking?” Sophia responds.

Daphne sits up and emphatically adds, “You get laid, Tate. Laid. You need it. Everyone agrees.”

“Who’s everyone?”

Sophia grunts. “You don’t believe us, do you?” She affects a serious tone as she continues, “All those in favor of Tate getting banged tonight say ‘aye.’”

Daphne and Sophia both raise their hands. “Aye.”

“Those opposed say ‘nay.’”

“Nay,” I respond drolly.

“The ayes have it, and the motion is carried.” She bangs her fist on my bed like a gavel.

“Hilarious. Both of you.”

I zip my makeup bag closed and step back to assess my look. I’ve poured myself into a black mini dress that I’ll pair with a vintage Knicks bomber jacket and black heeled ankle boots. I’ve let my chestnut brown hair do its thing. It’s long and prefers to be unkempt at all times. If I try to straighten it completely, it curls. If I curl it, it decides to go pin straight. People have told me it’s sexy, so I try to just roll with it these days.

My makeup, hair, and outfit actually all look good, which means in the next week I’ll have to pay for it somehow. That’s just the way it is; you can’t have it all. Tomorrow, watch, I’ll wake up with a pimple the size of Mount Vesuvius.

“Look at her, Soph: a bombshell. You make me so proud.” Daphne applauds from her perch on my bed.

I tap a pretend watch on my wrist. “You getting up anytime soon? We’re supposed to be there already.”

She groans and dramatically log-rolls off the bed. “Okay fine! Fine! I’m going. It should only take me like thirty minutes to figure out this winged eyeliner.”

“DAPHNE!” Sophia and I both chide in unison.

“I’m kidding! I’ll be ready in five. Go crack open a bottle of wine to take the edge off before we leave because that dare is happening, my friend. Mark my words. An hour from now, you’re going to be doing the splits on top of some Henry Cavill lookalike. I know it.”

It’s Tuesday night in New York City and we’re heading to a random apartment. In the normal world, people don’t party this hard on a Tuesday, but we aren’t in the normal world. We’re beholden to the whims of major league baseball and its somewhat erratic schedule. Spring training wrapped up yesterday down in Florida and the Pinstripes are back in New York after a long month away, which means, tonight, we celebrate.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >94

Advertisement Three Strikes and You’re Mine Read Online R.S. Grey http://www.books2020.com/three-strikes-and-youre-mine-read-online-r-s-grey Fri, 24 Mar 2023 15:26:29 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/three-strikes-and-youre-mine-read-online-r-s-grey Genre: Contemporary, Forbidden, Romance, Sports Authors: R.S. Grey Advertisement

Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >95

Dear Past Me,

Future You here, coming to offer a little advice: hang on for dear life. This summer is going to be a wild one. I know what you’re thinking: Life’s going so well! I don’t have a care in the world! Wrong. That culinary career you love so much? It’s about to go up in smoke, and your boyfriend? Yeah…he’s a goner too. If only love were as simple as, say, actually adding yourself to the lease agreement so you don’t suddenly find yourself loveless, jobless, and homeless!
Did your five-year plan include moving back in with your family and sharing a bed with your Nonna? No? Well, hate to break it to you…it’s exactly as traumatizing as it sounds.
Have you had enough? Too bad. Buckle up—it gets worse. Your new boss is a professional baseball player, and he’s hot, like really hot, but you’ll pretend not to notice because he’s a single dad and it feels wrong to ogle him in front of his innocent child. Unfortunately, he thinks you’re sexy as hell too. Unrequited love is one thing; mutual off-limits pining destined to explode in the worst of ways? What could go wrong…wrong…wrong… (That’s me fading out because you have to take it from here, kid. Good luck! Don’t screw this up for me.)

Sincerely,
Your future (wiser) self

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

ONE

CHLOE

I think I’m about to have to be a hero.

Let me set the scene for you: it’s late. The fancy restaurant where I work is dark and deserted. I shouldn’t even be here. I left thirty minutes ago, dead on my feet. My boyfriend stayed behind at his desk.

“Can’t you come home with me?” I pleaded.

He sounded annoyed when he replied, “I have some work to catch up on. Call an Uber if you’re worried about walking home alone.”

“It’s 1:00 AM, Miles. Can’t it wait until the morning?”

He leveled me with a pointed glare, so I got the hint and left. According to Miles, a head chef’s job is never done. A head chef is the captain of the ship. Without him, we’d all sink. Oh my god, how many times have I had to listen to that spiel?

I left without saying goodbye and was mere inches from my doorstep when I realized I’d forgotten my keys back at the restaurant. I clenched my teeth in suppressed annoyance. It wouldn’t have been a problem had Miles just come home with me. We could have just used his apartment key and picked mine up in the morning.

Instead, I begrudgingly turned around and trudged back through the desolate city streets, reflecting on my frustration as I went, just me and all the other weirdos out and about at this time of night.

Unfortunately, all wasn’t right when I arrived back at the restaurant. Immediately, I noticed the back door was slightly ajar, but there was no Miles inside. His desk chair was empty, doing an ominous slow spin. Papers were strewn about on his usually immaculate desk.

Now, from the kitchen, I hear guttural groans. Muffled crying. Flesh hitting flesh. Oh god, Miles has gotten himself into trouble.

I have to lean over and clutch my knees. I feel sick.

What has he done?

Who is it? Loan sharks, the mob, drug dealers? Miles doesn’t seem the type to mess with anyone, but you never know!

My mind starts racing, matching the terrible sounds to my imagination’s worst-case scenarios. The deadened thuds are loan sharks breaking his kneecaps with a baseball bat. The clanking on the metallic table must be from the shiny instruments the mobsters are using to pry off his fingernails. I pull out my phone, ready to dial 911 as I creep closer to the kitchen, but I realize I have no time to wait for backup when I hear the thud of the refrigerator door. Is he dead? Are they stuffing his body into the cooler?

I have to act if I want to save Miles.

A weapon—obviously, I need one, and the bigger the better. In the movies, there is always a perfectly blunt lamp to slam down on a henchman’s head; we’re fresh out of those. Instead, I find a reasonably durable umbrella by the back door, and to my been-at-work-for-twelve-hours brain, it seems ingenious. I’ll whip it open, blind the bad guys, and—voila!—save the day.

I inch closer to the swinging door that leads to the kitchen and wince when I hear another sharp cry of pain. For a split second, I think, You know what? Miles is scrappy. He can take care of himself. But no. I can do this. I can—

I push the door open and am about to slash and jab with the umbrella, but instead, I freeze in place.

There are no mobsters in this kitchen and there is no murder taking place. There are two lovers intertwined against the industrial-sized refrigerator. Butt cheeks press right up against the cool stainless steel. And through all the hazy confusion and panic, I still think, Gross, that’s really unsanitary. The city inspector would have a field day with that. Miles would flip. He’s a crazy person when it comes to maintaining the cleanliness of his kitchen.

Only I suppose he’s made an exception to that rule because he’s one of the two lovers. I see that now. It’s his dimpled butt I’m staring at. But who is he with? I squint to make out the other person in the shadows.

Oh, it’s Angie. That makes sense. Angie is my good friend here at the restaurant, the friend to whom I’ve been pouring my heart out the last few weeks about all my problems with Miles. Cool.

As seconds pass, I realize they didn’t hear me come in. They still don’t realize I’m here watching them. I’ve missed my big opportunity to announce myself, to make this a real soap opera production. Or have I? There’s a pan to my left I could chuck at them, but that’s Ernesto’s pan and I’d hate to put a dent in it. Also, I’m surprised to find I don’t have all that much fury in me. I guess working a 12-hour shift, walking a few miles, then psyching yourself up for a battle royale with a room full of mafiosos tends to diminish one’s ability to generate large feelings for anything.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >95

Advertisement Forbidden French Read Online R.S. Grey http://www.books2020.com/forbidden-french-read-online-r-s-grey Fri, 18 Nov 2022 16:24:27 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/forbidden-french-read-online-r-s-grey Genre: Contemporary, Romance Authors: R.S. Grey Advertisement

Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 99951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 333(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >104

Once upon a time, Emmett Mercier was the golden boy of St. John’s Boarding School. The crown prince of his father’s vast business empire, unapologetically attractive…oh, and fluent in French.

At school, I kept a picture of him hidden beneath my pillow, a tiny token of my adolescent infatuation, but I might as well have been worshiping a distant demigod. He was hardly aware of my existence. I was far too young, and he was far too consequential—until one day we found ourselves alone together in the dark library and struck up a friendship…of sorts.

But in the years since leaving St. John’s, I’ve no longer bothered yearning for Emmett. What a useless dream. I would have gone crazy trying to keep up with his jet-setting life. Which Parisian hotel is he calling home now? Is there some new lithe model draping herself across his lap today?

My negligence comes back to bite me. I’m ill-prepared the day he strides into my art gallery. There’s only a mere trace of the boy I once knew. Self-assured, handsome, intoxicating—Emmett is more man than I can handle.

There’s no room for him in my gilded cage. My life is planned to a T. From where I go to how I dress, it all depends on the calculated whims of my grandmother. Soon, I’ll even dutifully walk down the aisle toward a man of her choosing.

Emmett can’t stand my obedience. Now that we’ve rekindled our friendship, he’s intent on unearthing my heart’s true motives.

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

Chapter One

Lainey

I shouldn’t be here, deep in the woods that surround St. John’s Boarding School. This land is owned by the school, but only the southern half of it is open to the public. Students and locals can enjoy the neat walking trails and historical markers. Wooden benches and worn logs make for easy rest stops. The northern half of the forest is closed, though. It’s meant to be a sanctuary for birds and other wildlife. Left alone, nature reigns.

I passed a No Trespassing sign a mile back. Thickets and brambles and overgrown vines block my way as I try to find the path the others have taken. I’m not confident I’m going in the right direction. In fact, I’m more than a little worried I’m wandering aimlessly into the woods never to be seen or heard from again.

A thick spiderweb grabs ahold of me and a shiver of disgust rolls down my spine. I leap and flail my arms like a fool, glad no one can see me trying to fling off the sticky wisps. I heave a deep breath, trying to compose myself. I’m letting the woods get to me. The darkness is hard to get used to. I’m using my phone’s flashlight but have it pressed to my chest, trying to dampen the beam and stay in the shadows.

Another few steps and I see it now, the blades of grass and shrubs worn down from foot traffic over the years. Either the school’s administrators don’t care or they can do nothing to stop the select few St. John’s students who wander wherever they please.

Here, the woods are quiet, but not silent. Peals of laughter and conversation lure me deeper, past where my good sense tells me to stop and turn back.

I see their campfire before I hear it. The burning logs whistle and hiss, crackle and split, sending sparks up into the night. A dozen people sit in ceremony around the fire, some on chairs or fallen logs, a few splayed out on blankets on the ground.

I’m careful as I continue to approach them. I don’t have an exact goal. I think I just wanted to see it for myself: the infamous group in action. Why do they come out here? Why’s it worth the trouble?

I don’t want to be caught. It’s safer if I hover on the periphery, watch for a fleeting moment, and then dash back to the safety of the paved road that leads to the heart of campus.

I slow my pace, edge closer, half concealing myself behind a beech tree.

I’m shaking like a leaf. Worse than the idea of being caught as a loser, arriving at a party I’ve not been invited to, is the sensation of being a witness to a crime. They shouldn’t be here, and I’m privy to that now. What would they do if they caught me lurking like a voyeur?

My imagination is getting the better of me. All the stories I read are winding together in my head, mischievous pirates and spell-casting magicians. It’s like I really expect them to capture me, withdraw a sharp blade, and start performing some sort of blood ritual. Sacrifice the virgin. This group would love to conjure up the wicked—a role they know so well themselves.

My interest stems mainly from the secrecy. Like everything on this campus, any organization worth participating in is exclusive and elitist. Sure, there are the sanctioned school clubs and sports, but placement in this group is predestined.

The upperclassmen at St. John’s are something else entirely. A band of brothers—no, a band of bluebloods so tightknit they’d never break ranks.

I press my hands to the bark and lean against the tree, edging closer as I scan the scene. I only stop when I spot him. He’s across the circle from me, the furthest from where I stand. My stomach squeezes tight, and after a good long look, I continue taking attendance, convincing myself I’m here for everyone, not just him. But who am I kidding?

My fingernails dig into the bark as my gaze drifts back to him, prepared for one more self-indulgent glance.

Except when I look again, he’s spotted me.

Fight or flight.

Now.

Neither.

I’m completely frozen, pulse pounding in my neck, in my stomach, in my hands as they shake against the tree.

He’s the only one who’s seen me, and I wait for him to call attention to my presence, to inform the rest of the group that there’s an outsider among them.

My muscles tense as I hold still, barely breathing as he watches me lazily. A few more seconds pass, and I’m forced to breathe deeply, knowing it’ll have to sustain me if I should need to turn and run.

I’m braced for him to lean forward and wave his hand, halt the conversation, and end this little game we’re playing.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >104

Advertisement Scoring Wilder Read Online R.S. Grey http://www.books2020.com/scoring-wilder-read-online-r-s-grey Wed, 02 Nov 2022 21:50:17 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/scoring-wilder-read-online-r-s-grey Genre: Contemporary, Forbidden, Funny, New Adult, Romance, Sports, Young Adult Authors: R.S. Grey Advertisement

Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 116132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >127

What started out as a joke— seduce Coach Wilder—soon became a goal she had to score.

With Olympic tryouts on the horizon, the last thing nineteen-year-old Kinsley Bryant needs to add to her plate is Liam Wilder. He's a professional soccer player, America's favorite bad-boy, and has all the qualities of a skilled panty-dropper.

• A face that makes girls weep – check.
• Abs that can shred Parmesan cheese (the expensive kind) – check.
• Enough confidence to shift the earth’s gravitational pull – double check.

Not to mention Liam is strictly off limits . Forbidden. Her coaches have made that perfectly clear. (i.e. “Score with Coach Wilder anywhere other than the field and you’ll be cut from the team faster than you can count his tattoos.”) But that just makes him all the more enticing…Besides, Kinsley's already counted the visible ones, and she is not one to leave a project unfinished.

Kinsley tries to play the game her way as they navigate through forbidden territory, but Liam is determined to teach her a whole new definition for the term “team bonding.”

A fun & sexy New Adult Romance (age 17+)

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

Chapter One

Cheat on me once, shame on him. Cheat on me twice... what the actual fuck is going on? How in the world have I managed to find my last two boyfriends cheating on me? No, not together. Although, that would have been much more poetic, and at least they could have included me or something.

The reality was much worse.

"Wow. What a treat to walk in on," I noted harshly as I stood in the doorway of Josh's bedroom. Josh and the nameless bimbo screamed and jumped apart on his bed, causing his navy sheets to tumble to the ground. His brown eyes found mine, and for one brief second, I mourned the loss of his warm gaze, but then my field of vision widened and I was slapped with the sad scene before me.

My boyfriend of four months was cheating on me. No, scratch that. My friend of four years, turned boyfriend of four months, was cheating on me.

"Oh, no. Please, don't stop on my account. I'm only his girlfriend," I hissed at the bimbo, trying to calm my temper. I was known to be feisty on a good day, so that was hardly brushing the surface for me.

Josh's dark brown hair was ruffled from the bimbo's hands. His sharp features were pitiful, but still handsome. I barely glanced in the girl's direction. Platinum blonde hair was the only feature I noticed. Probably because it was bright enough to burn through my corneas. First, she steals my boyfriend, and then she renders me visionless. Just great.

Is my judgment of character so misaligned that I can't spot the good guys from the bad? No. It's just the fact that I happen to go for guys that can't keep tramps out of their pants. You know the type: young and insanely good-looking.

"Kinsley! It's not—"

"… What it looks like,” I finished for him. “Wow, Josh. You know Trey said the same thing, but he didn't have that look of anguish you've got going on right now. Seriously, good work." I applauded him with a hard stare. My claps rang out around the room, and I realized then that it was time for me to leave.

It was a different guy, a different girl, but there was that same twisting sensation in my gut like I was about to keel over on the spot. I spun around and flipped them both the bird before heading back toward the living room to grab my purse.

I heard shuffling and awkward grunts behind me, but I didn't turn around.

"Josh, where are you going? Let her go, we aren't done!" Oh good, she hadn't had her orgasm yet. Maybe my timing wasn't all that bad.

"Kinsley! Wait!" Josh yelled behind me. Did he think we were in the middle of a telenovela?

"Josh, it's over. Don't bother," I said as I threw my purse over my shoulder.

His hand reached out to clasp mine, and I had to actively fight the urge to punch his dick off. Seriously, is it that hard to stay faithful? Are men physically incapable?

"Kinsley! I love you. I love you!" He spun me around, holding the bed sheet up with his right hand and clasping my arm with the other. His eyes were wild, and for a brief moment, I believed him.

Oh god. He did it. He went there. And you know what the sad thing is? I don't even think he was giving me a line. I think the poor schmuck actually thought that he loved me.

"Well, if that's how you show your love I can't imagine the elaborate things you do for your parents."

"Please— hear me out. This meant nothing."

I wasn't listening. I was already building a wall between us. "Thank you, Josh. Thank you for ruining my capacity to trust so that any guy that comes after you will automatically have the cards stacked against him."

Josh had stolen another chunk of my heart, my naiveté, my innocence, and smashed it under his perfectly toned body. When I met him I was on my way to feeling jaded to the whole dating process. I'd already been cheated on once by my boyfriend of six months, Trey, who also happened to be the guy that had taken my virginity. (I know, I know. They should make a hallmark card for that experience since it’s so cliché: “Whoops, sorry your high school boyfriend can’t keep it in his pants… here’s a cute puppy wearing a bowtie.”)

But now? Now I was about ten miles past jaded. It was time to trade in my designer dresses for patterned muumuus and house slippers. Maybe I could join a support group for divorcées over fifty. You know, those women that decide they don't need men to be happy. They'll just knit, take group trips to the Caribbean, and say things like "I always wanted to go out to eat, but Jeff insisted I cook for him. I'm going out to eat every night now, damnit!"

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >127