Billionaire's Seduction: BILLIONAIRE ROMANCE (Alpha Billionaire Romance Collection) (BBW Pregnancy Marriage of Convenience) Read Online Free Page A
lovers like you won’t. I love you and I am here to stay.”
He kissed the shit out of her and took her on a galloping ride.
The paradise was on earth for him.
THE END
Collection Book 2: Saving Ila (Billionaire Romance)
My name is Larry McGee, and what I want you to know is I'm not a killer.
I know that sounds kind of funny considering that I'm tucked into a pile of scrub brush under the blazing Arizona sun staring down the sight of a A24 sniper rifle aiming at a man who may be the savior of the world.
But I need you to believe me, I'm not a killer, I'm a private investigator, and me, the gun, the assignation, hell, me being out in Arizona, none of this was my idea. All I am is a finger puppet, a crude little toy with a finger jammed up his ass and being made to dance.
All I am is the knuckles at the end of a fist.
But I’m no killer.
Part I:
I've never gotten used to saying it:
I'm Larry McGee, and I'm a private investigator.
It just sounds so damn cheesy, especially since I fit the cliche dead to rights. I'm tall, dark, handsome, and carry around a slight hint of scumbag entitlement that you normally associate with cops. I'm a booze and coozehound and I think pretty damn highly of myself. Trust me, it's hard not, too.
Go ahead and hate me, I deserve it.
But chances are you wouldn’t hate me. Chances are if you met me at the bar, you’d love me. You’d buy me drinks and talk me up for hours. You just wouldn’t want to take me home to meet the wife. Because guess what? The wife would like me even more than you do. She’d like me so much that she’d probably end up divorcing you and go all stalker on me, and I don’t want nothing to do with some obsessed broad breaking into my place at three in the morning wearing nothing but six inch heels and fishnets. It sounds sexy, but it’s kind of scary, especially if you have another woman staying the night with you, and then it gets weird and violent.
I became a PI because I really wanted to be a cop. I come from three generations of them, so I have nothing but law enforcement in my blood. But because of certain “habits” I enjoy and just my overall lifestyle, I knew I'd end up in prison for being on the take, or on the hook, or using the evidence room as my own personal Wal*Mart. There’s lots and lots of temptation when it comes to being police. My old man knew it, and he held out for thirty years being a good, solid cop. But in one moment of weakness, he flushed his entire career down the toilet and is spending his golden years in Joliet doing nothing but looking over his shoulder.
The other reason I went the private route is I work when I want to work, and I don’t have to put up with none of that six am roll call bullshit.
The downside of my profession is I tend to get mixed up with the wrong crowd once in awhile. Okay that really has nothing to do with being a PI. Honestly, most of the people who come to me are just your run of the mill folks. They’re wives who are worried that their husbands are having an affair; they’re parents looking for their lost children; they’re companies looking to have background checks done on future employees(That’s my bread and butter, and they’re also who I juice the most for extra billable hours). It’s my habits that get me mixed up with the seedier set.
Along with loving booze and women, I also have a bit of a gambling problem. I wouldn’t say I’m a gambling fiend, just like I wouldn’t say I’m an alcoholic or a sex addict. People who say they’re addicted to different behaviors or habits are just folks who’ve finally become ashamed of their drinking, or gambling, or whatever. Me, I have zero shame when it comes to liking what I like, and I just happen to really like winning and I really like money. But like most gamblers, I know you can’t win all the time, as a matter of fact, you don’t win most of the time. The rare rush is what you live for, but the dull ache of loss is
He kissed the shit out of her and took her on a galloping ride.
The paradise was on earth for him.
THE END
Collection Book 2: Saving Ila (Billionaire Romance)
My name is Larry McGee, and what I want you to know is I'm not a killer.
I know that sounds kind of funny considering that I'm tucked into a pile of scrub brush under the blazing Arizona sun staring down the sight of a A24 sniper rifle aiming at a man who may be the savior of the world.
But I need you to believe me, I'm not a killer, I'm a private investigator, and me, the gun, the assignation, hell, me being out in Arizona, none of this was my idea. All I am is a finger puppet, a crude little toy with a finger jammed up his ass and being made to dance.
All I am is the knuckles at the end of a fist.
But I’m no killer.
Part I:
I've never gotten used to saying it:
I'm Larry McGee, and I'm a private investigator.
It just sounds so damn cheesy, especially since I fit the cliche dead to rights. I'm tall, dark, handsome, and carry around a slight hint of scumbag entitlement that you normally associate with cops. I'm a booze and coozehound and I think pretty damn highly of myself. Trust me, it's hard not, too.
Go ahead and hate me, I deserve it.
But chances are you wouldn’t hate me. Chances are if you met me at the bar, you’d love me. You’d buy me drinks and talk me up for hours. You just wouldn’t want to take me home to meet the wife. Because guess what? The wife would like me even more than you do. She’d like me so much that she’d probably end up divorcing you and go all stalker on me, and I don’t want nothing to do with some obsessed broad breaking into my place at three in the morning wearing nothing but six inch heels and fishnets. It sounds sexy, but it’s kind of scary, especially if you have another woman staying the night with you, and then it gets weird and violent.
I became a PI because I really wanted to be a cop. I come from three generations of them, so I have nothing but law enforcement in my blood. But because of certain “habits” I enjoy and just my overall lifestyle, I knew I'd end up in prison for being on the take, or on the hook, or using the evidence room as my own personal Wal*Mart. There’s lots and lots of temptation when it comes to being police. My old man knew it, and he held out for thirty years being a good, solid cop. But in one moment of weakness, he flushed his entire career down the toilet and is spending his golden years in Joliet doing nothing but looking over his shoulder.
The other reason I went the private route is I work when I want to work, and I don’t have to put up with none of that six am roll call bullshit.
The downside of my profession is I tend to get mixed up with the wrong crowd once in awhile. Okay that really has nothing to do with being a PI. Honestly, most of the people who come to me are just your run of the mill folks. They’re wives who are worried that their husbands are having an affair; they’re parents looking for their lost children; they’re companies looking to have background checks done on future employees(That’s my bread and butter, and they’re also who I juice the most for extra billable hours). It’s my habits that get me mixed up with the seedier set.
Along with loving booze and women, I also have a bit of a gambling problem. I wouldn’t say I’m a gambling fiend, just like I wouldn’t say I’m an alcoholic or a sex addict. People who say they’re addicted to different behaviors or habits are just folks who’ve finally become ashamed of their drinking, or gambling, or whatever. Me, I have zero shame when it comes to liking what I like, and I just happen to really like winning and I really like money. But like most gamblers, I know you can’t win all the time, as a matter of fact, you don’t win most of the time. The rare rush is what you live for, but the dull ache of loss is
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