Munro Leaf Books Novels & Stories

He shouldn’t have imagined her lying naked on his bed. She shouldn’t have imagined his devilishly handsome face between her legs. But it was too late. Kiara began noticing Ethan's washboard abs when he hopped out of the pool, dripping wet after swim practice. Ethan began gazing at Kiara’s golden skin in a bikini as a grown woman instead of the girl next door he grew up with. That kiss should have never happened. It was just one moment in a lifetime of moments, but they both felt its power. They knew the thrumming in their veins and desperation in their bodies might give them all they ever wanted or ruin everything if they followed it. Kiara and Ethan knew they should have never kissed. But it's too late to take that choice back, so they have a new one to make. Fall for each other and risk their friendship or try to forget one little kiss that might change everything. PREVIEW: “If you don’t want to kiss me then... let’s swim.” “Yeah, sure.” “Naked.” “What?” “I always wanted to try skinny dipping. And I really want to get out of these clothes.” “What if someone catches you... me, both?” “We will be in the pool, Ethan. And no one can see us from the living room.” I smirked when I said, “Unless you want to watch me while I swim, you can stay here.” His eyes darkened, and he looked away, probably thinking the same when I noticed red blush creeping up his neck and making his ears and cheeks flush. Cute. “Come on, Ethan. Don’t be a chicken...” “Fine.” His voice was rough when he said, “Remove that sweater first.”

Book 1 Saints and Sinners She was the light to my dark. The saint to my sinner. with her innocent eyes and devilish curves. A Madonna that was meant to be admired but never touched. Until someone took that innocence from her. She left. The darkness in my heart was finally complete. I avenged her, I killed for her, but she never came back. Until I saw her again. An angel dancing around a pole for money. She didn’t know I owned that club. She didn’t know I was watching. This time I won’t let her escape. I will make her back into the girl I knew. Whether she likes it or not. Book 2 Judge and Jury I can’t stop watching her. I’m not even sure I want to. Taylor Lawson, blonde, beautiful, and totally oblivious to how much dangers she’s in. She’s also the one juror in my upcoming murder trial that hasn’t been bought. The one who can put me behind bars for a very long time. I know I should execute her. After all that’s what I do. I am the Judge. I eliminate threats to The Family. And Taylor is a threat. But I don’t want to kill her. Possessing her, making her love me seems like a much better plan for this particular Juror.

She was meant to sell books. Not steal a billionaire’s broken heart. Julian Blackwood is a man of power, wealth, and secrets—his name synonymous with control and cold precision. Since the death of his wife, he’s locked love away and drowned his pain in one-night distractions. No strings. No vulnerability. No heart. Then he walks into a small, struggling bookstore—and meets her. Lena Carter is soft-spoken and stubborn, running a little shop that smells like vanilla and paperbacks, where his daughter finds comfort... and where he begins to unravel. Her kindness disarms him. Her touch ignites something wild. And her innocence? It drives him insane. He tells himself it’s wrong. He’s too broken. Too dangerous. But temptation doesn't ask for permission. And once their lips meet, there’s no going back. He’s the fire she never meant to play with. She’s the quiet he never knew he craved. Together, they’ll burn down every rule they thought they had.

After eight years of loving him in vain, my boyfriend, Gilbert Hughes, finally proposed. The wedding is set for a week from now. However, just as I'm happily preparing for it, I accidentally overhear a conversation between him and his friends. "I have to give it to Gilbert. The moment he proposes, his first love, Cheryl, gets restless." "But now that Cheryl's back, what are you going to do with your girlfriend?" Gilbert pauses for a moment, then replies casually, "It's fine. I'm not actually going to register my marriage with Jennifer. At worst, I'll just hold a wedding and play along." At the party the next day, he wraps his arm around me dotingly and socializes with our guests. Yet, the moment Cheryl Manning runs out in tears, he instantly lets go of me and chases after her in a panic. I follow quietly and watch them embrace tightly in the dark, kissing each other deeply. With my heart completely shattered, I turn away and dial a number. "Want to get married? I need a groom."

Seven years into our marriage, my husband, Lucas Thorne, is hailed as a legendary astronomer in the field of astronomy. It is no secret that he absolutely adores me, his wife. He always keeps a polite, distant demeanor with those around him. Even when his new assistant, Serena Cox, asks for his number, he coldly turns her down. In the year he proposed to me, he named a star "LAW", which was an acronym for "Lucas Adores Wilma". Since then, every asteroid he discovers is named with initials that hold a special significance only the two of us know. To others, they might just be scientific achievements. But to me, they are unspoken love letters. This goes on until this morning, when I stumble upon an unfamiliar phone. I unlock it easily with my middle name, thinking it's yet another quiet gesture of his love. But to my horror, I find a string of explicit messages between him and another woman. The person who was at the receiving end of those messages was none other than… Serena, his assistant.

Dakota Stelter and I tumbled down that steep ravine together. I lay there bleeding and broken, only to watch my boyfriend scoop her into his arms and walk away without a backward glance. He left me. In that moment, in every way that mattered. While everyone fussed over Dakota's scratches, no one even checked if I was still breathing. When I was finally rescued and recovering at the hospital, my boyfriend didn't even visit. I was hurt. So I moved on. Piece by piece, I rebuilt myself without him. But then he became distraught. Suddenly, he was sobbing, telling me he had always loved me.

My childhood sweetheart who promised to marry me the moment I graduated proposed to Camille Willow, my sister, during my graduation ceremony. At that moment, Dennis Malcolm, the most eligible and admired bachelor in Blington City's elite circle, stepped forward and confessed his love for me immediately after my childhood sweetheart's proposal was accepted. For five years after our marriage, Dennis showered me with devotion, treating me with such tenderness that it felt as though I were the center of his world. But everything shattered the day I overheard a conversation between him and his close friend. "Dennis, now that Camille's on top, are you really going to keep pretending with Tracy?" "It doesn't matter. I'll never have Camille. Besides, as long as I'm here, she'll never disrupt Camille's happiness," he answered. The paper notes he held dear, each one carefully preserved, revealed a harsh truth. Each one carried her name, accompanied by heartfelt wishes: "May Camille be released from her burdens. May she find peace within herself." "May Camille achieve all she dreams of, and may her heart love freely." "Camille, we were never meant to be together in this life. I can only hope that in another, we will walk side by side." … Five years of devotion shattered in a single moment of clarity. I crafted a false identity and planned an elaborate drowning to vanish without a trace. From this day forward, in this life and all others, we shall never cross paths again.

There wasn't a package pickup station anywhere in our apartment complex. So out of goodwill, I turned my storage room into a pickup station. I took in packages, organized shelves, labeled everything, and stayed up late every night waiting for people to pick up their deliveries. Then one day, a resident showed up at my door and accused me of stealing her $3,000 gold necklace. "You signed for the delivery. Now it's gone. You had to have opened the package and swapped it out." Residents crowded the hallway, whispering behind my back. Not one person defended me. My stomach dropped. They were the ones complaining about packages getting stolen off their doorsteps. I was the one helping them. But over one baseless accusation, they turned on me instantly. I didn't argue. I just sent a message in the group chat: [Notice: Effective immediately, the One-Penny Pickup Station is officially closed. I will no longer accept, store, or manage packages for residents. Please make other pickup arrangements going forward.]

I had been married to James Tennant for seven years. In that time, he had already kept twenty-nine mistresses, like pretty little canaries in gilded cages. Now, I saw the thirtieth one in our bedroom, young and draped in nothing but a bath towel, lounging across our bed. I turned to him and asked coldly, “Can’t get enough out there, huh? Did you really have to bring her home?” The girl deliberately tugged her towel lower, her pale skin showing as she sneered, “Mr. Tennant says you’re like a dead corpse in bed! He wanted me to teach you how to please a man.” That night, I was forced to watch their little performance right in front of me. The next morning, James was furious at my indifference, resenting me for not reacting. However, he seemed to forget that our marriage was nothing but a contract, and in just one week, that contract would expire.

The pills I keep by my bedside have been swapped with vitamins. I almost die after getting a heart attack. After the stent surgery, I ask my husband, Evan Whitmore, to find out who did it. I just want the truth. However, he doesn't even look up and just brushes me off. "It was just a mistake. Cecilia probably grabbed the wrong bottle. She bought those vitamins for me. "Don't push this. She has asthma. She can't handle stress." I stare at him in shock, my chest tightening. I can't tell if the pain is from my healing heart or from the words he just threw at me. Cecilia Monroe is his secretary, and he always takes her side. That moment is when I realize that our five years of marriage mean nothing to him at all.