Hunt Legacy Duology Series by Jodi Ellen Malpas – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.books2020.com Sat, 14 Nov 2020 21:17:05 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=6.9.4 http://www.books2020.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/favicon.png Hunt Legacy Duology Series by Jodi Ellen Malpas – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.books2020.com 32 32 Wicked Truths (Hunt Legacy Duology #2) Read Online Jodi Ellen Malpas http://www.books2020.com/wicked-truths-hunt-legacy-duology-2-read-online-jodi-ellen-malpas Sat, 14 Nov 2020 21:11:47 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/wicked-truths-hunt-legacy-duology-2-read-online-jodi-ellen-malpas Categories Genre: Contemporary, Erotic, Romance, Suspense Tags Authors: Series: Hunt Legacy Duology Series by Jodi Ellen Malpas
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Total pages in book: 161
Estimated words: 151845 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 759(@200wpm)___ 607(@250wpm)___ 506(@300wpm)
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Read Online Books/Novels:

Wicked Truths (Hunt Legacy Duology #2)

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Jodi Ellen Malpas
Language:
English
ISBN/ ASIN:
1549187600 (ISBN13: 9781549187605)
Book Information:

The second book in the brand new duology by the Sunday Times and New York Times bestselling author of the This Man series
A desperate passion, a dangerous love story...
Eleanor Cole had no idea that when she met the charmingly irresistible Becker Hunt, she was putting her life on the line. So when she discovers his secrets, escape seems to be her only option - but Becker isn't ready to let Eleanor go.
She knows better than to fall into his corrupt world again, but how long can she resist when he's stolen her heart?
Eleanor must make a choice, to stay and follow Becker into the heart of the danger...or risk losing him forever!
Becker Hunt is back and this time he's not letting Eleanor walk away...
Books in Series:

Hunt Legacy Duology Series by Jodi Ellen Malpas
Books by Author:

Jodi Ellen Malpas


Chapter 1

Where do I go from here?

Amid the crazy that has tangled my mind and twisted my aching heart, it’s the loudest question of all. My forehead rests on the window of the train and my eyes watch blankly as the blackness races past and the consistent rocking sways me into a numb haze. Run home. It’s what my instinct is telling me to do. Because for the first time since I left my small village, centring my attention on a past that I’ve fought hard to leave behind seems so much easier than trying to make sense of what is happening now.

My eyes close and the darkness I find opens the floodgates, visions of Becker and memories I don’t want to have steaming forward. His face, so handsome yet angelic, his smile so wicked, his passion so addictive. And the feelings he unearthed in me, all unexpected but all thrilling. He found me. And then he lost me. He filled me with hope and drive, and then he cruelly ripped it away. He’s ruined me.

Because if I don’t win this battle, Eleanor, I’ll feel like I’ve thrown away the chance of something fucking incredible.

My eyes open. Something incredible. It was. We were incredible. And that makes me hate him all the more for stealing back the gift he gave me. The gift of life.

I took you to Countryscape because I wanted you to see what no one else sees.

My swallow is lumpy, my heart in agony. I saw him. I saw what he doesn’t want anyone else to see. He let me in. Becker didn’t only expose his desperation to find the lost sculpture, his sweet con-artist skills or his crooked business dealings, he exposed his weaknesses. His vulnerabilities. His secrets. His pain.

It was a potent mix that when all combined made me fall head over heels for him. And loving him made every wicked facet of him acceptable.

Trust me, Eleanor. Please, you need to trust me.

‘But you scared me,’ I say to myself, like he might be able to hear me from London. I thought I had figured out who Becker Hunt was. All of it shocking, but more so thrilling. And then . . .

My hand goes to my wrist and rubs, feeling his harsh hold pinning me to the floor. I close my eyes and see his balaclava-covered face. I hear myself begging for my life.

Please don’t hurt me.

He told me he would try not to break my heart. He didn’t say he would try not to break me. He never warned me that by being involved with him, I could be in danger.

I dived in feet first. I knew the risks. His reputation as a modern-day Casanova didn’t scare me away. His ruthless con-artist skills didn’t have me bolting like they should have. I felt too alive. Too drawn, too deep. I was blinded by his bold, fearless approach to life and business.

And now I’m more lost than the piece of treasure he so desperately needs to find. And just like the sculpture, I hope he never finds me. I reach up to my chest and try to massage the hurt away, knowing deep down that if Becker wants to find something, he’ll find it.

The brakes of the train kick in, screeching and jolting me from my whirling thoughts, and I glance up as the darkness ends and the grimy platform of a station appears. The thought of moving, of talking some life into my muscles, brings on another level of despondency. Because moving requires energy, and I feel drained dry.

On a sigh, I disembark with the rest of the passengers. I tell myself that daughters naturally run to their mum when they’re in a crisis, no matter what their age or what the crisis. I hate that I’m in a crisis, and I hate that it feels like such a mammoth one. It’s time to go home.

The taxi drops me off at the ATM, and I withdraw some cash to pay the driver, deciding to brave the short walk down the road to our house. I could do with the time to psych myself up, come to terms with the fact that I’m back here, and think about what I might say to my mother. How will I explain why I’ve abandoned my new, exhilarating, happy life in London?

It’s quiet, the streetlamps still glowing in the dark winter morning, as I stroll leisurely down the high street, mindlessly slowing to a stop when I reach my father’s shop. I look up at the sign that says ‘FOR SALE’, and my heart breaks that little bit more.

I let myself in and breathe in that old, damp smell. It’s comforting. Something familiar in a world I don’t recognise.

Nothing has changed. Every single piece of old furniture is exactly where it was the last time I was here. There’s hardly any floor space to move, and no trace of walls in between the masses of clocks and paintings hanging from the bare brick. I slowly turn until my eyes fall to the bench where Dad used to sit for hours working on his treasure. ‘What are we going to do with all this junk, Dad?’ I ask the silence, shuffling through the dusty furniture.


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Artful Lies Read online Jodi Ellen Malpas (Hunt Legacy Duology #1) http://www.books2020.com/artful-lies-1-read-online-jodi-ellen-malpas Sun, 25 Aug 2019 13:57:33 +0000 http://www.test123.demo2.xyz/artful-lies-1-read-online-jodi-ellen-malpas Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Billionaire, Contemporary, Erotic, Romance Tags Authors: Series: Hunt Legacy Duology Series by Jodi Ellen Malpas
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Total pages in book: 155
Estimated words: 145112 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
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Read Online Books/Novels:

Artful Lies (Hunt Legacy Duology #1)

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Jodi Ellen Malpas
Language:
English
ISBN/ ASIN:
B081DPQF9H
Book Information:

A brand new irresistible and passionate romance from the Sunday Times and New York Times bestselling author of the This Man series
An irresistible connection, a desire that won't let go...
When aspiring antiques dealer Eleanor Cole is handed the chance of a lifetime to work for the Hunt Corporation, the renowned antiques dealers, she doesn't think twice. Only to discover she'll be working up close and personal with the notorious and insanely irresistible Becker Hunt. He is a man famous for getting what he wants, and Becker wants Eleanor.
But as Becker pulls her deeper into his world, she discovers there's more to him than meets the eye. And falling for Becker goes from being foolish to dangerous...
Move over Jesse Ward and Christian Grey, it's time to fall in love with Becker: the ultimate alpha hero!
Books in Series:

Hunt Legacy Duology Series by Jodi Ellen Malpas
Books by Author:

Jodi Ellen Malpas


Chapter 1

I never imagined I’d really do this. I never dared to consider leaving my mum behind in our small village of Helston, but after years of battling guilt and grief, I’ve finally made it here, to London, where I’ve always wanted to be. Maybe a few years too late and definitely under shitty circumstances, but I’ve made it.

Mum will be fine. It’s what I’ve told myself repeatedly since I boarded the train. Her bright smile felt forced, her wave seemed hesitant, and her voice was shaking with emotion when she held me tightly and told me to show London what I’m made of. But I’m not sure what I’m made of. I’m yet to find out.

Mum will be fine. Mum will be fine. Mum will be fine.

I’d probably be more certain if Dad was there with her.

My father was a very traditional man. He owned a small antiques store, most of the stock worth peanuts. He used to say that the monetary value was of little importance – that more opulent art and antiques were more trouble than they were worth. I didn’t agree with him, though I learned over the years not to get into a debate over that. Many called my father eccentric. They were right. He was a character for sure, spent all his time lost in the mountains of junk he called his treasure, his spectacles resting on the end of his nose as he inspected, polished, or restored whatever piece he’d recently acquired. Mum used to call his shop Steptoe’s Yard. I used to call it the office.

I certainly inherited my father’s fascination of all things old, although I have always been drawn to the richer and more historical end of the art and antiquing spectrum. The more rarefied and desirable pieces. The real treasures of this world, not the dilapidated junk my father seemed to find. I’d aced my A levels, was sailing through a history degree at university, and was all set to chase my dream . . . and then Dad passed away. A brain tumour was diagnosed one week, the next he was gone. There was nothing to be done. There was also no time to come to terms with it before he was confined to his bed where he rapidly deteriorated to nothing. He was skin and bones. Half the man we knew. Mum was devastated. I was in shock. Dad was gone.

And so it was. My future was sealed. I sacrificed my dreams of venturing off into the big, wide world to keep Dad’s memory alive and his precious store open. The natural progression, I guess you could call it. It didn’t feel very natural to me. While Dad’s treasure held a certain fondness in my heart, it wasn’t the level of history I dreamed of exploring. But Mum needed me.

Now he’s been gone five years. I’ve spent the best part of my twenties immersed in dust and struggling to keep my father’s business afloat, dreaming of history beyond my family legacy. Like Sotheby’s and fine antiques. Like auction houses and historical masters of art. Like the tons of books on treasure I’ve immersed myself in. It was all suddenly out of reach. Guilt, grief, and a heavy sense of responsibility kept me in Helston. I felt suffocated. Unfulfilled. Dad’s business struggled more each day, and my sense of purpose was crumbling with it. And then there was a breaking point. The point when I realised I was worth more than I was settling for – both professionally and personally. It was the moment when I walked in on my boyfriend and my best friend tearing each other’s clothes off.

I didn’t scream. I didn’t collapse to my knees in despair. My heart simply didn’t have the energy to beat faster. I turned and walked away, my mind focused on my next move, as David chased after me and Amy sloped off quietly. My next move didn’t involve either of them. In that moment, I realised that I owed it to myself to chase my dreams, and with Mum’s blessing and encouragement, I was ready to do exactly that.

So here I am in London, the busiest and most grand city within my reach. I can’t afford to go back to university to finish my degree, but I’m prepared to start at the bottom and work my way up. I need to get some money behind me and pick up where I left off all those years ago.

I can do this. I’m where I am supposed to be.

I look at the photograph in my hand, the one I always carry on me. It’s of me and Dad. His arm is draped loosely around my shoulders, my long, red hair tangled in his fingers, and my face is screwed up on a laugh from his fierce grip. He never liked letting go of me. ‘I’m in big, scary London, Dad,’ I say to the picture. ‘Wish me luck.’ I tuck it away in my purse and take a deep breath.


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