Do Hickeys Hurt

Book #4 Wright-Petrov Series At the age of twenty-two, Skye Monticello lives her life in reckless exploration, even at the cost of her innocence during a one-night stand. However, upon discovering the identity of her mysterious fling and refusing to relinquish her freedom, she decides to flee and make a fresh start. Fate, however, has other plans, as she finds herself pregnant. Despite her predicament, she courageously chooses to raise her child alone and has been successful, almost. After years in hiding, she comes face to face with the man who fathered her child and claimed her first. As she navigates this challenging encounter and grapples with the uncanny resemblance her child bears to his father, she stubbornly struggles to evade the man who seems to be an indomitable presence in her life. Moreover, with him being the most influential man in the country, escape seems even more implausible. Xander Voulker Wright, the third heir of the Wright and Petrov family, adds another layer of complexity to Skye's peace of mind.

Divorced and finally freed from all strings that were attached to her ex-husband, Robyn takes on the adventure of moving on from her past and learning to love all over again just to be brought right back into the dark space she's been trying to avoid.

His love is needy and possessive but yet, waits patiently for her broken heart to mend. Her innocent heart is forcefully shattered from deception, lies, toxicity and manipulation leading to a failed relationship and another. A third one becomes a taboo. Every man had something that would leave her regretting and in pains when secrets began to unfold. She develops fear to love and be loved by the right man. It becomes more difficult for her heart to open up when those hideous forgotten relationships hunts her back to her bittersweet past. Her hate becomes more intense. Her coldness mixed with beauty, confidence, smartness and determination makes her more alluring and wanted but how can he gain entry to a violently shut heart and how long can he wait for a flicker of hope? In this love hate entanglement, the outcome is uncertain. While one waits endlessly for a romance that would transcend work relationship the other hopes to forever shut down the desperate yearning to feel genuinely loved.

"You are no wife to me, do you get it?" He said, stepping forward crushing my already thinned personal bubble. "I am marrying you because of circumstances. The sooner you feed that to your peanut size brain, the better it will be for you and me. Do you understand?". Pushing me back against the wall with so much force it made me grunt at impact. Intense pain shot through my body when he pressed himself on me. It was like he was trying to ram me into the wall or something! - idiot- Big fat S-O-B. All these curses were going through my mind. All I want to do now is scratch his arrogant face and give him a feel of his own medicine. However, in this compromising position, I am right now! I can hardly move. So, all I did was look straight into his eyes and glared back with the same intensity. I try to break free by pushing and squirming. Alex had me in a grip so tight it felt like a hulk holding me down, so hard that it was painful. I tried to look away, but his voice made me freeze. "Answer me. Do not look away when I am talking to you bit*h!”. “Do-You-Get-What-I-Just Said? Or do I need to make myself a little clearer? hmm?" "Yes, I get it. I'm-Not-Your-Wife." "Believe it or not, I have no interest in being your wife," I said, more like spat it out, it was like poison coming out of my mouth. "Why are you smirking at me ?" he asked. Completely oblivious to what is about to come. I composed my happiness concealing it with my ‘I’m am innocent, like a kitty look’. "Oh, you're about to find out," I said.

They Met They Loved Now they hate "Happy Birthday", the card read. Lylah's dark eyebrows rose, who would cross over cities with her just to give her a birthday card? Couldn't be her best friend, or? "No", she yelled. It couldn't be He wouldn't dare

When I opened my eyes again, I was pinned against the floor-to-ceiling window of the skyscraper by my stepbrother, Rocco. The man I had been infatuated with for a decade. He panted, his hot lips and tongue trailing along my collarbone as he murmured, "Don't go." In my past life, on the night I received my acceptance letter from London Business School, Rocco got blind drunk. Late that night, I gave in to his pleas for me to stay. I willingly gave myself to him. After a debauched night, his cherished fiancée, Clara, caught me walking out of his room the next morning, my clothes in disarray. She ran out in tears, her parting words ringing in the air, "I'll let you have each other." A month after she disappeared, the family search party found her engagement ring at the edge of a cliff. At the bottom of the cliff lay mangled remains, battered by the waves until they were unrecognizable. Rocco clutched that ring and didn't sleep all night. On the surface, he acted as if nothing had happened, even arranging a trip for me to Sicily, telling me to go and relax. The night I landed, I was kidnapped by assassins from a rival family. I screamed for him to pay the ransom, only to hear him give the order himself over the phone: "Don't make her death a quick one. The Costello princess? She's nothing but a damn liability. Torture her. Break every bone in her body. " "This is what she owes Clara." You like playing games, Rocco. But in this life, I refuse to play along.