Harper Sloan Books Novels & Stories

As soon as the car stopped, they all stepped out, filing into the coffee bookstore. “I can't believe you brought us to a book store, Harps.” Joyce chuckled as they walked into the small yet large space. “Really? What's the next thing we will be getting?” She grumbled. “You just wait and see,” Harper winked. She ignored her friends death stare as she walked away to the area she wanted. She wanted to read every book she can find to prepare her to be a mother. That was whare the idea had came from when she saw the bookstore. But reading could be boring especially if it is done alone. She didn't want to put herself on the spot and so she pulled her friends with her knowing that they would do not

Sloan practically purred his name knowing it irritated him even more, while he gathers the documents that his boss needs to sign, "I'm your PA, it's my job to set those alarms. So I take it things goes well with Ms. Mae Harper?" "Yeah, she was perfect. Too perfect, she made me wish that I get another chance with her this morning. But then I didn't, because of your alarms." He scowled and Sloan chuckled before he got up from his desk and opened his boss's office door. The sexy man followed behind his assistant and couldn't help himself to not enjoy the view.

"I don't care about some petty thief! I want to know where Inspector Sloane is, right now!" Sharpe flinched at the volume of it, but he squared his shoulders and kept insisting. "Sir, you can rest completely easy! Someone from the corporate office tipped me off privately yesterday—I paid good money to find out. Inspector Sloane is a retired military man in his forties. He's five-foot-eleven."

“Your actions caused a ripple effect of devastation—one I wish I could erase. You ruined our perfect life with your hatred, and for what? Because you despise the man who brought peace to this world? The man who stopped our parents from their greedy conquests, who ensured that people could live without fear of being overtaken?” Clay’s voice joined mine, filled with an intensity that matched my own. “Have you even seen what’s happening now, Tasha? Go to the West. Look at the chaos. Look at the packs that are falling apart now that Nikolay is gone. The man you hate so much—the reason you hate Scarlett—was the one who brought stability to our world. And you destroyed all of it.”

The Jefferson College library was Harper’s sanctuary—quiet, organized, and strictly rule-bound. Rows of bookshelves stretched endlessly, punctuated by small study tables, and the faint smell of old paper and coffee lingered in the air. Harper loved it. It was peaceful. It was ordered. It was hers. And then Emery Collins entered.

Harper I feel heavy. Like I have been hit by a bus. It has to be close to what it feels like being hit by a bus going thirty in a fifteen zone. My bones ache—my fingers and toes tingle. My eyeballs are sore. I haven’t even opened my eyes yet, and I already do not want to start the day or the evening. I have no clue of the time. I must have partied too hard last night and was slipped something in my drink. I don’t remember anything. A.N.Y.T.H.I.NG, except how to spell adequately, and that’s something. What is that horrendous smell? Is it me? Harper breathes in the air. Taking it in the room and the strongest aroma is her. The smell is mostly urine. This girl has peed her herself. The second s

"Try not to hit a squirrel, Romeo." "I’ll try not to miss." They slipped out into the cold, cheeks pink against the November air. Their first stop was the downtown bookstore. Harper wandered the aisles, fingers grazing book spines like they were old friends. Jaxon stuck close, occasionally reading a random sentence aloud from whatever book he’d picked up. "This one says ‘nothing tastes as good as skinny feels.’ I feel personally attacked."Harper laughed. "Put the diet book down and find me poetry." They bought two used paperbacks and left with fingers still laced together.

"My name is Sloane. I represent the 'Clean Slate Initiative.' We believe the Great Audit was a mistake a chaotic disruption of the global order." ​"The 'Order' was a lie built on stolen identities," I said, stepping out from behind the press. "The Audit gave people back their lives." ​"The Audit gave them a burden they aren't prepared for," Sloane replied, stepping closer. "Responsibility is a heavy weight, Aara. We’re here to lighten it. Give us the childhood journals. Give us the formula for the solvent, and you and Mr. Thorne can stay in your little stone cage forever."

I’m working her relentlessly, and I can feel her fighting it, fighting the pleasure, fighting the loss of control. Harper’s recovered enough to help. She moves behind Sloane, hands sliding up to cup her breasts. “Let go,” Harper whispers in her ear. “Stop fighting it.” “I’m not—” “You are. I can feel it.” Harper’s thumbs brush over Sloane’s nipples and she arches. “Just let him make you feel good.” I change the angle, add more pressure, and Sloane makes this desperate sound. “There it is,” I say. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

Maybe a little fear was exactly what this smug establishment required. I went to Sloan's study a haven of old books and dubious choices. I didn't waste my time knocking politely. Being polite was a luxury I couldn't afford when the Orders very foundations were on the line. Pushing the heavy oak door inward I felt a wave of righteous indignation. With a loud thump it opened and Sloan was there as expected standing next to a tall bookcase with a big leather-bound book in his hands. He glanced up a glimmer of irritation in his eyes and a furrowed brow.