Novels by Nicole Author

Bridgett«The girl or the legacy»The words on the phone screen burned into my retinas, brighter and more destructive than the sun streaming through the windows.I stared at the notification until the screen went black, my heart hammering a frantic, painful rhythm against my ribs.I dropped the phone on the bed as if it were a poisonous snake.It all made sense. The sudden coldness. The refusal to look me in the eye. The hasty retreat to the office.Jordan wasn't rejecting me because he regretted the night we spent together. He wasn't pulling away because I wasn't enough.He was pulling away because loving me was going to cost him everything."Oh, Jordan," I whispered, pressing my hands to my mouth to stifle a sob. "You idiot. You stubborn, noble idiot."I needed to see it. I needed to know the extent of the damage.I wiped my eyes, steeling myself. I walked out of the bedroom and down the hall toward his study.Paul was standing guard at the top of the stairs, distracted by his earpi

Bridgett The sun streamed through the heavy velvet curtains, painting lines of gold across the black silk sheets. I stretched, my body aching in the most delicious way possible. Every muscle felt loose, heavy, and satisfied. The lingering scent of sandalwood, rain, and raw masculinity clung to my skin, marking me more effectively than any tattoo. I reached out across the massive bed, seeking the heat source I had fallen asleep against. Cold silk. I opened my eyes. The space beside me was empty. Panic, irrational and sharp, spiked in my chest. «He left. It was a mistake. Post-clarity regret» "Relax, little wolf." The deep, rumbling voice came from the balcony door. I propped myself up on my elbows, pulling the sheet up to cover my nakedness. Jordan was standing there, leaning against the doorframe. He was wearing low-slung gray sweatpants and nothing else. His broad chest, marked with the faint scratches I had left there last night, rose and fell steadily. He held two mugs of

BrisgettThe limousine tore through the suburbs of Chicago like a missile.I sat in the back, shivering despite the heating being on full blast. The effects of the chloroform were fading, replaced by a sharp, crystal-clear rage.Jordan sat beside me, gripping my hand so tight I thought he might crack my bones. He hadn't spoken since we left the hotel. He was vibrating with a silent, terrifying energy. He wasn't just angry; he was an executioner on his way to the gallows."We’re here," he said, his voice flat.I looked out the window. The peeling beige siding of my childhood home looked ghostly under the streetlights. It looked small. Pathetic."Are you sure you want to do this?" Jordan asked, turning to me. "I can handle it. You don't have to see them.""I need to," I whispered. "I need them to know they can't hurt me anymore."Jordan nodded once. "Then let’s go."(***)My mother opened the door before we even knocked. She must have been waiting for Silas. She must have been waiting f

BridgettThe chemical stench of chloroform filled my nose, stinging my sinuses.I tried to hold my breath, to fight the black wave crashing over my mind, but the grip on my mouth was iron-tight. My heels dragged uselessly against the plush carpet as the man hauled me backward into the shadows."Almost there," the man grunted, his breath hot and sour against my neck. "Easy money."We were moving away from the screaming crowd, toward the faint red glow of an emergency exit sign. The heavy door was pushed open by a second figure, revealing the damp, cold alleyway behind the hotel.«No. If they get me into a car, I’m gone. I’ll never see my babies again»I clawed at the man’s arm, my nails digging into his jacket, but my limbs felt like they were made of lead. The drug was taking hold. My vision blurred. The world tilted.And then, the darkness behind us growled.It wasn't a human sound. It was a vibration that shook the floorboards, a primal resonance that made the hair on my arms stand

BridgettJordan released me.It felt like a physical amputation. The moment his warm, large hand left my waist, the cold air of the ballroom rushed in to fill the space.He took a step back, his eyes burning with a silent promise of violence directed squarely at the man standing in front of me."One dance," Jordan repeated, his voice low enough that only we could hear. "Don't make me regret my mercy."Elliot didn't flinch, though I saw his Adam’s apple bob nervously. He stepped into the space Jordan had vacated and took my hand.His palm was clammy. His grip was loose, unsure.It was nothing like Jordan’s.The music started—a slow, polite waltz that felt agonizingly long. Elliot guided me onto the floor. I moved mechanically, my eyes darting over his shoulder to find Jordan. He was standing on the edge of the crowd, a dark sentinel, his gaze locked on us. He hadn't blinked once."You're shaking," Elliot whispered, pulling me slightly closer."I'm fine, Elliot," I lied. "What are you d

Bridgett"A hunting ground."Evelyn’s words echoed in my mind for the rest of the week, a cold whisper that refused to fade.But I refused to let her see me bleed.The night of the Spring Gala arrived with a flurry of activity. The mansion was transformed into a fortress of flowers, silk, and nervous energy.I stood in front of the full-length mirror in the master bedroom, my breath catching in my throat.Jordan had chosen the dress. Of course he had.It wasn't white. It wasn't the demure pastel shade Evelyn had suggested in the files to "show submission."It was gold.Deep, shimmering, liquid gold that hugged every curve of my body like a second skin. It had a plunging neckline that walked the fine line between elegant and scandalous, and a slit that went all the way up my thigh.It was a statement. It was a roar."You look..." Mrs. Gable paused, her hands clasped over her chest. "Like a Queen, dear. Truly.""I feel terrified," I admitted, smoothing the fabric over my hips."Don't be