Read Online Books/Novels:
Be Mine A Valentine’s Collection of Sexy Short Stories
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:
A Rock Chick Valentine by Kristen Ashley
Indy Savage fell in love with Lee Nightingale at the age of five. Lee claimed Indy a lot later. Now they’re married, with children, have not yet been out on a date…and it’s Valentine’s Day. Lee’s so busy being a badass, he’s forgotten. So what’s a Rock Chick to do? Take matters in her own hands. Not to mention, hold a grudge, but still plan a sex-a-thon. Revisit the couple that started the Rock Chick series with A Rock Chick Valentine!
Once Upon A Red-Hot Kiss by Lauren Blakely
Everyone knows friends are off-limits in the sack. A man needs to stay far away from falling into bed with his best friend. Even if she’s sexy as sin, sweet as candy, and damn near irresistible every single day. But not only are Macy and I best friends, we’re also complete opposites. She’s perky, upbeat, outgoing and I’m . . . how shall we say . . . a little bit broody. Then Valentine’s Day comes around, that dreaded holiday that I hate and she loves, and it seems Macy is determined to make me change my mind. Determined as in she’s decked out in red, lacy lingerie, a naughty grin, and a head full of dirty ideas. I just might need to revise all my rules on friends in bed.
Seaside Serenade by Melissa Foster
They say opposites attract, but for former boxing champ and gym owner Brock Garner, having the beautiful dark-haired, tattooed, combat-boot wearing pixie Cree Redmond flitting around his club has nearly driven him mad. Brock has wanted her since the first time he saw her, and when he learns she has the singing voice of an angel, it speaks to another part of his heart and he’s unwilling to hold back any longer. But Cree’s dating a burly biker and is firmly off-limits. Or so he thinks…
Shadows of You by J. Kenner
For two long years, Stark Security agent Denise Marshall has been alone, mourning her missing husband. But everything changes on Valentine’s Day when she encounters a mysterious man who seems to understand her deepest desires.
Dirty Sweet Valentine by Laurelin Paige
Amy’s not much for holidays invented to celebrate an emotion she hasn’t felt for years. Not since Harrison Steele left. But on February 14th, he’s back. And it seems that Cupid’s arrow is still lodged firmly in her heart.
The Bedroom Experiment by Kendall Ryan
When your stepbrother is a hot hockey stud with more notches in his bedpost than, well anyone, he’s the perfect candidate to help you gain a little bedroom experience. At least that’s my plan this V-day.
|Books by Author:|
A Rock Chick Valentine
By Kristen Ashley
* * *
“Indy, your phone is ringing!” Jet called from the book counter at my store, Fortnum’s Used Books (and Coffee Emporium).
Yes, I’d added the “(and Coffee Emporium)” (with parenthesis) because Tex had threatened to go on strike if I didn’t.
And if he went on strike, I’d sell way less coffee and therefore might have to curtail indulging in my cowboy-boot, lip-gloss and sexy-underwear habits.
So I’d change the name.
I headed that way and saw Jet staring at my phone like it was a snake about to strike, and I knew who was calling.
Duke was behind the counter with her, and he was looking like he was about to impart sage wisdom, as was his way.
But I was in no mood.
When I got close, Jet swiped up my phone and held it out to me, arm long and straight, like she was offering me a stinky diaper… and yeah.
I knew who it was.
I checked the display anyway and saw I was right.
Because it said, ICE Lee Nightingale.
This was one of the five thousand, two hundred and fifty-three numbers my husband had personally programmed into my phone.
It said “ICE” because it was the number to call in case of emergency, but it actually wasn’t his number.
It was Shirleen’s desk phone at his office, Shirleen being my friend, and his office manager.
And it was this because, even if Shirleen wasn’t there twenty-four seven, someone picked up when that number was dialed, and it would be someone trained to take care of an emergency, no matter what that emergency was, make no mistake.
And that someone would be able to find Lee, and fast, make no mistake about that either.
I hit the screen to take the call.
“Yo,” I answered.
“Girl, you know I wanna be making this call like I wanna be in the Nightingale Torture Room having my nails torn out by the roots,” Shirleen said as greeting.
My husband did not have a torture room at his private investigation offices.
Okay, maybe he did, kinda.
But he, or his men, didn’t pull people’s nails out by their roots in there (I didn’t think).
“What?” I asked.
“Lee told me to tell you he’s gonna be done doin’ what he’s doin’ earlier than he thought and wanted me to let you know he’s pickin’ up the kids so you don’t have to.”
She paused, I waited, hope springing eternal because I was an idiot, then she finished, sounding like she was, at that very moment, having her nails torn out by the roots.
“And he says he’ll take ’em home and order pizza. You guys are havin’ a family movie night.”
And hopes were not only dashed but shot in the head and kicked in the teeth.
Then spit on.
It was Valentine’s Day.
I didn’t want to have a family movie night on Valentine’s Day.
I wanted to have a great meal followed by a sex-a-thon with my husband on Valentine’s Day.
Don’t get me wrong, I loved my kids, even though Suki (our daughter, whose name was actually Alison—she was named after Lee’s little sister and my best friend because we loved Ally, but also because we were forced to do this after threat that she’d never speak to us again if we didn’t) was showing alarming tendencies of being one serious Rock Chick.
I should not be alarmed by this.
I was a Rock Chick through and through.
But Suki had more of those plastic high heels and tubes of little-girl lip gloss than me and my friend Tod, who was the premier drag queen of Denver, put together (though ours were not the plastic or little-girl variety).
And she was not in double digits yet and she’d already gone through a Stevie Nicks phase (demanding I buy her a webbed shawl made of gold yarn which she wore while twirling around in our living room and singing “Gold Dust Woman”), a Joan Jett phase (a four-year-old with heavy black eyeliner and torn jeans was a little scary, but Lee and I had rolled with it) and a Pat Benatar phase (I had to admit, it was cute, a little girl singing “We Belong”).
Not to mention, Callum, our boy, was born a badass, like his dad.
I mean, his first word was “tactical,” and I’m not even kidding about that shit.
And don’t get me wrong, I loved my husband.
First, he was hot. Second, he was insanely good in bed. Third, he was a great father. And last, I’d been in love with him since I was five years old and he held my hand at my mother’s funeral.
Sure, the road between then and now had been rocky, seeing as I made no bones about being in love with him and began a crusade at five to make him my boyfriend.
Then, when I was older, connive to kiss him “with tongues.”
And then, when I was even older, jump his bones.