All rights reserved. The right of Colleen Hoover to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
He presses the up button on the elevator and faces me. He smiles and points to my neck. My hand instinctively goes up to my neck, and I touch the dime-sized mark just below my ear. I guess you got stabbed in the neck. Bet it was a quick death, though. He takes a few slow steps toward one of two velvet red chairs that are positioned against the wall next to the elevator. He grunts as he sinks into the chair and then looks up at me again. Eleven floors to go before it arrives. I pray it gets here quickly.
Worked here thirty-two years before I became captain. Been sending people on flights now for more than fifteen years, I think. Owner gave me a pity job to keep me busy till I died. I reach down to grab the handle of my suitcase and turn to him one more time before I step inside.
Seems in my past life, I was shot right in the ass. Must have bled out. I step into the elevator and turn around to face the open doors, admiring the extravagance of the lobby. This place seems more like a historic hotel than an apartment complex, with its expansive columns and marble floors. When Corbin said I could stay with him until I found a job, I had no idea he lived like an actual adult.
That was four years and a two-story sketchy complex ago. I find the panel and press the button for the eighteenth floor, then look up at the mirrored wall of the elevator. I spent all day yesterday and most of this morning packing up everything I own from my apartment back in San Diego. But after making the solo five-hundred-mile drive today, my exhaustion is pretty evident in my reflection. My eyes are usually as brown as my hazelnut hair, but right now, they look ten shades darker, thanks to the bags under them.
I reach into my purse to find a tube of ChapStick, hoping to salvage my lips before they end up as weary- looking as the rest of me. As soon as the elevator doors begin to close, they open again. A guy is rushing toward the elevators, preparing to walk on as he acknowledges the old man. This man looks to be in his late twenties at most. Find books to read. December 17, Book ID of the guest list 39 s Books is , Book which was written by lucy foley which was published by n a.
Probably not the smartest order to do things From New York Times bestselling authors Vi Keeland and Penelope Ward comes an unexpected love story of secondhand hearts and second chances…It all started with a mysterious blue note sewn into a wedding dress.
With millions of books sold, her titles have appeared on more than one hundred bestseller lists and are currently translated into twenty-six languages. Foi a minha primeira entrevista como jornalista esportiva profissional. Vi Keeland, Penelope Ward. Vi Keeland. See more of Author Vi Keeland on Facebook. He quickly restrained me, then chuckled, finding my attempted assault amusing. It was my first interview as a professional sportscaster. He noticed me looking his way and mistakenly read my scowling as checking him out.
Only neither of us attended the wedding, and the nuptials happened decades before either of us was born. She loves B Horror, rock n roll music, and love stories. Copyrights by their respective owners and their use is allowed under the fair use clause of the Copyright Law. The Deal. I couldn't believe the letter in my hands. More novels online: romance novels, fantasy novels Get your novel featured. Uploaded on by tariqkhan Blyssful Lies - Read more. Hope you like her books too.
Contact Us - [email protected][email protected] We are always looking for an opportunity to connect new payment methods for our users from different parts of the world. Credence by Penelope Douglas [ePub] Romance. Where To Download The Marriage Trap Vk sharpness of this the marriage trap vk can be taken as with ease as picked to act. The famed quarterback decided to bare all. Belong to You by Vi Keeland. I drop my arms in defeat. My mother walks over to a nearby table and pulls out one of the chairs, taking a seat.
But if it fails and you lose your entire inheritance. You majored in business, you know that. I can accept that.
I think she feels even lonelier now that I need her less and less. She got a job at one of the elementary schools, so she did end up moving here. She chose a small suburb on the outskirts of Boston.
She bought a cute two-bedroom house on a cul-de-sac, with a huge backyard. I dream of planting a garden there, but that would require daily care. My limit is once-a-week visits. Sometimes twice. I certainly hope this works out in your favor. There are shelves in the way of the door, so I careen my head around them and see a woman walk in. Her eyes briefly scan the room until she sees me. A disaster waiting to happen in this dust bowl. I shake her hand. She nods, and then shrugs.
I was just out for a walk and saw the sign. Was curious, is all. Her voice is pleasant and her smile seems genuine. I wave my hand around the room. Her purse probably cost more than this building. Her eyes light up. I love flowers! What color are you painting it? Cleaning, decorating, picking out paint colors. All this stuff, really.
And she really is a Pinterest whore. The rest she says her husband can throw out when he has free time. But you do need a vision. I want to take risks. She shrugs. And maybe the color pink. And spring. Instead of pink accents, we use darker colors, like a deep purple or even black.
And instead of just spring and life, we also celebrate winter and death. I take a seat at the table again and try to get her on board. I want to make that our theme. Instead of painting the walls a putrid sweet color, we paint them dark purple with black accents.
And instead of only putting out the usual pastel displays of flowers in boring crystal vases that make people think of life, we go edgy.
Brave and bold. We put out displays of darker flowers wrapped in things like leather or silver chains. The ideas are endless. But what floral shop caters to all the people who hate flowers? None of them. Allysa starts laughing, too, and she jumps up and hugs me. But my future office is full of old vegetable crates! I try to find something to grab hold of for balance, but the crates knock me off the chair. When I land on the floor, I can feel my foot bend in the wrong direction.
Allysa comes rushing back into the room and has to move two of the crates from on top of me. I shake my head. She begins dialing a number and then looks up at me. She puts the phone on speaker and sets it on the floor as she begins to roll up my pant leg. I wince, but not so much from the pain. Listen, I need. I think my boss broke her ankle. I need you to bring some ice to. Allysa rolls her eyes.
Free beer until. And bring a bag of ice. The brother sounds like he may be a little drunk, too. Allysa puts her phone back in her pocket.
Will you be okay here? Wait until they get here, okay? I wait in the back for about ten minutes when I finally hear the front door to the building open.
Did I mention he was wearing a onesie? He steps around Marshall and the first thing I notice are his arms. Holy shit. I know those arms. Those are the arms of a neurosurgeon. Allysa is his sister?
The sister that owns the entire top floor, with the husband who works in pajamas and brings in seven figures a year? Ryle touches my ankle and inspects it.
I suck in air through my teeth and shake my head. It hurts. I tilt my head. Or five. He hands it to Ryle, who presses it against my ankle. Ryle presses his palm against the bottom of my foot. I push down with my ankle. He sits cross-legged and pulls my foot onto his lap. He looks around the room and then directs his attention back at me.
But his hand on my foot is way more noticeable than the pain in my ankle. I shrug. It gives it a bit more maturity than the SpongeBob option. He stares at me appreciatively. You make me kind of nervous.
His eyes narrow as his hand moves to the underneath of my foot. He slowly traces his fingers from the tops of my toes, down to my heel. Ryle and I both look at the doorway and Allysa is standing there, wide-eyed. Her mouth is open as she points down at Ryle. Ryle pulls his bottom lip in and chews on it for a second. Ryle shrugs. Lots of people want to fuck me. He and Marshall help me to my feet. Marshall is more or less just standing next to me for support. Maybe even a week or more, depending on how it heals.
He carefully begins to wrap my ankle. Allysa is standing behind him, watching him wrap it. Marshall grabs her hand. Hired her a couple of hours ago.
Then it hits me that he might think I hired her as a way to get closer to him. I swear. We want two different things from life, remember? A languid smile stretches across his mouth. He has to stop saying things like that. I press my palms into the table and pull my leg down. His proximity makes it hard to pay attention to words that come out of his mouth. By the time Allysa and Marshall make it to us, Ryle is busy restacking all the crates that fell.
Allysa looks down at my ankle. I push my bottom lip out. I can work and do what I can to clean up while you rest. Not the same. I hop down and test my foot. He seems almost scared to touch me now for some reason.
She takes my phone out and begins programming her number into it. Ryle leans into the window. Baths help, too. Maybe you should drive her home and take a cab back to the apartment, just to be safe. Ryle shakes his head and then pats the roof of the car as he turns and walks away. And call me if you need anything. They begin walking down the street and I watch them in my rearview mirror.
As they turn the corner, I see Ryle glance over his shoulder and look back in my direction. I close my eyes and exhale. But somehow, him being present made them feel like less of the disasters they were. Chapter Four It takes me half an hour to make it from my car to my apartment. I slam our front door behind me and she glances up.
I use the wall for support as I hop toward the hallway. I was gonna call you back! I go to the bathroom and find some old pain pills I had stuffed into a cabinet. I swallow two of them and then fall onto my bed and stare up at the ceiling. I grab my phone and text my mother. Sprained my ankle. I think I like her more now that my father has passed away.
Even though a lot of that resentment has faded when it comes to my mother, I still have the same feelings when I think of my father. But dammit, he was awful. To my mother, to me, to Atlas. I hop pathetically to my closet, only tripping once. Luckily, I catch myself on my dresser. Once I have the journal in hand, I hop back to the bed and get comfortable. The vacuuming skit made me piss my pants. Oh, and I recruited a new Ellen follower today in Atlas. Before you start judging me for allowing him inside my house again, let me explain how that came about.
But this morning, he sat by me on the bus again. He seemed a little happier than the day before, because he slid into the seat and actually smiled at me. But the pants fit him a lot better than I thought they were going to. He leaned forward and unzipped his backpack. I finally looked down at the bag and opened it.
It looked like a bunch of old gardening tools. I was kind of in shock. I used to have a trowel, but the plastic broke off the handle and it started giving me blisters. I wanted to give you something. You know. He wrapped his arms around his backpack. Especially seniors. Being as though I have no electricity. We spent the rest of the bus ride talking about you, Ellen. When he made that comment about being bored, I asked him if he ever watched your show.
I told him he could watch your show with me after school. I always record it on the DVR and watch it while I do my chores. Katie would have a field day with that one, so I just let her stay in my seat. Atlas was at the front of the bus, so he got off before I did. He just kind of awkwardly stood there at the bus stop and waited for me to get off.
When I did, he opened his backpack and handed me the bag of tools. He followed me inside and I locked the dead bolt. I asked him if he wanted anything to drink and he said sure. I made us a snack and brought our drinks to the living room. But I did notice he laughed at all the right times. Every time he laughed at your jokes, it made me feel better about sneaking him into my house. He left right after your show was over. I wanted to ask him if he needed to use our shower again, but that would have cut it real close to time for my parents getting home.
The last thing I wanted was for him to have to run out of the shower and across my backyard naked. A full week of reruns?
I get that you need time off, but let me make a suggestion. Instead of recording one show a day, you should record two. That might seem a little too fan-girl. But honestly, I love it. He keeps my mind off things and I actually look forward to spending time with him after school every day. Dad got home late tonight, which means he went to the bar after work.
I swear, sometimes I get so mad at her for staying with him. That would be better than this. I can hear him yelling at her right now. Maybe I should go try that. As soon as I walked into the living room, I saw him push her down. He muttered something under his breath to her and then walked to their bedroom and slammed the door. I rushed to the kitchen and tried to help her, but she never wants me to see her like this.
When I walked closer to her, wanting to make sure she was okay, she turned her back to me and gripped the counter. Go back to your room. I ran straight out the back door and across the backyard. I was so mad at her for being short with me. I could hear him moving inside, like he accidentally knocked something over. A few seconds later the back door opened and he looked behind me, then to the left and right of me. I used my shirt to wipe away my tears, and noticed he came outside instead of inviting me in.
I sat down on the porch step and he sat down next to me. Sometimes I cry when I get mad. Then he put his arm around me and pulled me to him so that my head was resting on his shoulder. Completely opposite of my father. We sat like that for a while, until I saw my bedroom light turn on.
We could both see my mom standing in my bedroom looking for me. As I walked back home, I tried to think about the entire time Atlas has been in that house. Reading about the things my dad used to do to my mom kind of puts me in a bad mood.
Reading about Atlas kind of puts me in a sad mood. I try to fall asleep and think about Ryle, but the whole situation with him kind of makes me mad and sad. I could use a friend —not to mention help—during these next few months. Chapter Five Ryle was correct. It only took a few days for my ankle to feel good enough that I could walk on it again.
I waited a full week before attempting to leave my apartment, though. The last thing I need is to reinjure it. Of course the first place I went was to my floral shop. Allysa was there when I arrived today, and to say I was shocked when I walked through the front doors is an understatement.
It looked like a totally different building than the one I bought. Everything else had been organized into piles. The windows had been washed, the floors had been mopped.
She even had the area where I plan to put an office cleaned out. It felt good to be back. I walk to the door and check the peephole before opening it.
What is he doing here? I open the door and his immediate reaction confuses me. But now that he mentions it—how in the hell does he know where I live? Holy hell. So much better than the onesie and way better than the Burberry. And for the record, I almost started with the third floor. I would have been here an hour ago if I went with my gut instinct. If you tell me what you want. He glances around, wearing his stupid hot scrubs, and puts his hands on his hips as he faces me.
I have to be focused. At work, at home. I inhale a calming breath. Are you kidding me right now? I open the door and motion for him to walk out. His eyes fall to my foot. I was able to help Allysa at the store for the first time today.
But as soon as he reaches me, he spins toward me and slaps his palms against the door on either side of my head. I gasp at both his proximity and his persistence. I shake my head, even though my body is starting to trade sides and beg my mind to cave to him. He pushes off the door and stands up straight. He half-turns, heading for the hallway, but then suddenly drops to his knees in front of me.
He wraps his arms around my waist. I promise. I should be turned off by it, but I can hardly breathe when I look at him. Especially when he has this suggestive smile on his face. If you give me a little while to shower first, I might feel sexy enough to have sex with you.
Take all the time you need. He follows me to the bedroom and I tell him to wait on the bed for me. Luckily, I cleaned my bedroom last night. My bed is even made up, complete with the ugly, quilted throw pillows my grandmother passed down to every person in our family. I make a quick glance around the room, just to make sure nothing embarrassing will catch his eye. He takes a seat on my bed and I watch as he scans the room.
I stand in the doorway to my bathroom and try to give him one last out. Nine damn years I'd worked my butt off for one of the largest companies in America, and I was fired with a form letter when I returned home from a week in Aruba.
The first edition of the novel was published in March 29th , and was written by Vi Keeland. Downloaded 60 times. I couldn't believe the letter in my hands. Probably not the smartest order to do things Playboy Pilot by Vi Keeland.
How to kick off a great summer in the Hamptons: Snag a gorgeous rental on the beach. The world's largest digital library. Editorial Reviews. Stealing glances at each other throughout the night, there was no denying an intense, mutual attraction. The first time I met Hudson Rothschild was at a wedding. She really is a great author.
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Maybe a bodyguard is a good idea after allEnter Robert Dietz, a burnt-out detective, "late forties, five ten, maybe , [who arrives in] jeans, cowboy boots, a tweed sport coat with a blue toothbrush protruding from the breast pocket like a ballpoint pen. Hamel 29 C. Diposting oleh books di He noticed me looking his way and mistakenly read my scowling as checking him out. With millions of books sold, her titles have appeared in over one hundred Bestseller lists and are currently.
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