Hot Cold Man Novels & Stories

added Amy. On a good day, this was enough to get Father Gregory off the conversation but for reason yet unknown to his human mind, he stayed back. He looked through the books at his reach, studied their synopsis in quick glances. Amy on the other hand did well avoiding their bodies from touching. Not even her bag touched his body. “You know if someone sees you avoiding me this way, they will think I am a leper but that’s ok.” Looking at both books in his hands, he offered the one on his left. “ Try this. You will love it”.

Arthi said making him smile more. “So Aman! Going to U.S but didn’t told anyone of us?” I playfully asked him. “Yeah! I don’t want to totally but it is good for my career. And also the things will fall into right places if I go there.” He said looking at me. “Sorry? Didn’t get you?” I asked him frowning. “Nothing! So tell me any quote on Moon.” He said changing the topic. “Ok this is said by some ‘Vera Nazarian’. Which I read somewhere so don’t ask me where.” I said laughing.

He listened without speaking, then said quietly, “Send it to me.” He turned the laptop toward her. A photo filled the screen. Security camera footage from a street two blocks away from the studio. The man. Baseball cap. Sunglasses. Same build. And just visible above the frame of the glasses— A thin scar near his eyebrow. Her stomach dropped. “That’s him.” Vince nodded once. “His name is Marcus Hale.” The name meant nothing to her. But the way Vince said it made it sound important. “He worked private security for Caldwell’s company for years. Disappeared after the arrest.”

Noah walked through them like a man heading to execution. --- The office was cold. Literally and emotionally. Spanning the entire top floor, it looked like a villain’s lair: black steel, matte charcoal walls, and sharp edges. Nothing warm. Nothing soft. Then he saw Elias Voss. Six-foot-something. Black suit tailored like sin. Sharp jaw, slicked-back dark hair, ice-gray eyes behind rimless glasses. He didn’t look up from his laptop. “You’re thirty seconds late,” he said. “I—”

Weapons raised again despite their weakened state. “Don’t move!” But the man ignored them. Completely. When his hand emerged— he was holding another device. Smaller. Black. Minimal. And somehow— more dangerous. Yichen’s expression darkened instantly. “What is that?” The man tilted his head slightly. “Insurance.” Then— he looked directly at Fang Jia. And pressed the button. Nothing happened. At first. Then Fang Jia gasped sharply. Pain shot through her body instantly. Like electricity burning under her skin.

The next moment, the man hastily intended to get off the woman named Chloe. Edward has been known as a man who likes to change partners frequently. After all, who wouldn't want to be a dating companion of Sebastian Edwardo Martin? He's a wealthy aristocrat, the sole heir of Quantum Corporation. Whatever he does always becomes the center of attention for the general public.

He couldn’t even get that right. The only good thing right now is Goose found us another house. The dirty motel room was more than I could take. This place was available because it has no central air in this godforsaken desert heat. It has what’s referred to as an evaporative cooling system. It circulates warm air while adding moisture in this damn over-abundant humidity. This wasteland is not the promised dry heat they brag about.

Why don't you just admit you have the hots for me? Devan ~”The only thing that is hot for you is my hand that is going to smack your face.” Rey ~”Hey at least there is some part of your body that is hot for me. Why don't you slap me and see if something else gets hot.” Devan ~”Your face is the only other body part that is getting hot here.” Rey ~”Oh that is what you think.” Devan ~”The only raise you getting out of me is an eyebrow.”

The wind hummed softly, touching the trees and making them sway to its caress. The smell of the gutter, spoilt fruits, ice fish and more all mixed together in the air. All around, people were busy. The wheel barrow pusher shouted at people to clear as he approached with cartons of indomie stacked on his wheel barrow. A man selling boxers made from bedsheets was walking around calling for customers. A woman shouting, ' upstairs and downstairs!' was walking around waving pants and bras in the air.

On New Year’s Eve, Kian Newman never came home. Instead, he had someone deliver a container of frozen ravioli and sent me a single message: "Stay safe this year." I had barely locked the screen when a photo popped up in the company group chat. Isabel Wilkinson, Kian's assistant, had posted it. It was a lavish holiday dinner spread across the table, every dish clearly homemade. The caption read: "Someone spent all day cooking so I could have a taste of home. Love you."