Kristen ashley wild man pdf free

 
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  2. Wild Man (Dream Man, book 2) by Kristen Ashley
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Read "Mystery Man" by Kristen Ashley available from Rakuten Kobo. Sign up Free. Kristen Ashley. $ Heaven and Hell ebook by Kristen Ashley. Heaven. Editorial Reviews. From Booklist. Tess O'Hara is a fortysomething woman with an ex-husband Wild Man (The Dream Man Series Book 2) - Kindle edition by Kristen Ashley. Romance $ Read with Our Free App; Audiobook. $ Free. KB. Kristen Ashley - Dream Man 02 - Wild capersterpmofor.ml KB. Kristen Ashley - Law capersterpmofor.ml MB. capersterpmofor.ml

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Kristen Ashley Wild Man Pdf Free

Read Wild Man read free novels online from your Mobile, Pc. Wild Man is a Romance novel by Kristen Ashley. Read Motorcycle Man free novels read online from your Mobile, Pc. Motorcycle Man is a Romance novel by Kristen Ashley. Kristen Ashley - Mystery Man - dokument [*.pdf] Mystery Man Kristen Ashley They were currently living a carefree, Ginger-free existence and I didn't want to.

A novel by Kristen Ashley While filling her display case in her bakery, the bell over the door sounds and Tessa O'Hara looks up and sees the man of her dreams. Within thirty seconds he asks her out for a beer. Thirty seconds later, she says yes. But after four months of falling in love, she discovers he's an undercover DEA Agent investigating the possibility she's involved in her ex-husband's drug business Obviously Tess decides this means it's over. A man on a mission who's really committed to his job, he's spent years in the underbelly of Denver with the dregs of society. And spending four months with Tess who's as sweet as her cupcakes, he seriously enjoyed his job. But during Tess's interrogation, Brock learns the devastating secret Tess is carrying and he's determined to be the man who helps her heal as well as take her back as she walks on the wild side. As wild and sweet mix, they face challenge after challenge of family struggling with history and terminal illness. Not to mention, Tess's ex-husband, the drug lord and Brock's ex-wife, who has a very big playbook are scheming to tear them apart. But Brock Lucas has wild in him and once in his past on the trail of vengeance he let that wild loose, making a mistake that he would have no idea years later will put his sweet Tess in the position to pay his penance.

I turned to my back, tucked the covers around my naked body and I stared at the ceiling. I didn't even know his name. I should have been working.

I had three deadlines the next two weeks and I'd barely begun on the work. I was a freelance editor. I got paid by the hour and if I didn't work that hour, I didn't get paid.

I had a mouth to feed, my own. I had a body to clothe, a body that liked all sorts of clothes, it craved them so I had to feed the habit or things could get nasty. I had a cosmopolitan addiction and cosmos didn't come cheap. And I had a house I was fixing up. Therefore, I needed to get paid.

Okay, that wasn't strictly true. I wasn't fixing up my house. My Dad did some of the work. My friend Troy did other work. So, I should say that I had a house I was guilting, begging and emotionally blackmailing others into fixing up. But still, it needed fixing up and cabinets and tile didn't march from Cabinet and Tile Land into my house and say, "We want to live with you, Gwendolyn Kidd, fix us to your walls! Like right then, sitting at my computer, one heel to the seat, my chin to my knee, my eyes staring out the window, I was thinking about my Mystery Man, the Great MM.

I was daydreaming about changing our first meeting. Being smarter, funnier, more mysterious, alluring, interesting, hooking him instantly with my rapier wit, my flair for conversation, my ability to discuss politics and world events intelligently, my humble stories of expansive charity work all wrapped up with enticing looks that promised a lifetime of mind-blowing orgasms, making him declare his undying love for me.

Or at least tell me his name. Instead, I was drunk and definitely not any of that. I heard my doorbell go, a chime then a clunk and I started out of my elaborate daydream which was beginning to get good. Then I got up and walked through my office into the upstairs hall making a mental note, again, to call Troy and see if he'd fix my doorbell for a six pack and a homemade pizza. This might mean he'd bring his annoying, whiny, constantly bitching new girlfriend though, so I changed my mind and decided to call my Dad.

I got to the bottom of my stairs and walked through my wide living room, ignoring the state of it, which was decorated in Fix Up Chic, in other words dust rags, paint brushes, power tools, not-so-power-tools, cans and tubes of practically everything, all of it jumbled and covered in a layer of dust. I made it through the area without my hands going to my head, fingers clenching my hair and mouth screaming, which I counted as progress. I got to the entryway which was delineated by two narrow walls both fit with gorgeous stained glass.

Two years ago, that stained glass was my undoing. Two years ago, approximately six months and two weeks prior to meeting my Mystery Man, I'd walked one single step into this ramble and wreck of a house, saw that stained glass, turned to the realtor and announced, "I'll take it. My father, who hadn't even made it into the house yet, turned his eyes to the heavens.

His prayer lasted a long time. His lecture longer. I still bought the house. As usual, I should have listened to my Dad. I looked out the narrow side window at the door and saw Darla, my sister's friend, standing out there. Shit, shit, shit. I hated Darla and Darla hated me. What the hell was she doing there?

I searched behind her to see if my sister was lurking or perhaps hiding in the shrubbery. I wouldn't put it passed Ginger and Darla to jump me, tie me to the staircase and loot my house.

In my darker daydreams, this was how Ginger and Darla spent their days. I was convinced this was not far from the truth. No joke. Her eyes came to me at the window, her face scrunched up, making what could be pretty, if she used a less heavy hand with the black eyeliner, and the blush, and her lip liner wasn't an entirely different shade as her lip gloss, not so pretty.

Then I went to the door because Darla would shout the house down and I liked my neighbors, they didn't need a ten thirty in the morning, biker bitch from hell standing on my doorstep and shouting the house down.

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I opened it but not far and moved to stand between it and the jamb, keeping my hand on the handle. Totally spent her days looting. It took effort but I stopped my eyes from rolling.

Bitch, if you're in there you better come out here, right fuckin' now! Ginger, you crazy, stupid, bitch! Get your ass out here! Ginger isn't here. Ginger is never here. Rock Chick Series: This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please download an additional copy for each person. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

It was so warm it was hot, like the blood that ran through its veins went faster than the blood of any average man. I opened my eyes and it was dark. It was always dark when he visited me.

I had a moment like every moment I had when he showed. A moment of sanity. A moment where my mind said to close my eyes and open my mouth and tell him to go away.

Wild Man (Dream Man, book 2) by Kristen Ashley

But if I did, I knew he would. But this was the right thing to do. The smart thing to do. The sane thing to do. And I was thinking of doing it, honest to God, I was. I thought about doing it every time. Then I felt his weight hit the bed, his body stretching out beside mine, he turned me into him, I opened my mouth to speak and before I could do the sane thing, his mouth was on mine.

But I felt. I felt a lot. And all of it was good. I lay in bed and watched him move. It was weird.

There was a rustle of clothes but other than that, silence. Even as a shadow, I saw he had masculine grace. Powerful masculine grace. That was weird too. Just my mystery man putting on clothes was like watching a badass, macho dance if there was such a thing. No, when he was getting ready to leave. It was so fascinating I should sell tickets. I probably already shared with half of Denver, all of them getting their own private show. That already messed with my head enough, that and the fact that he came at all, I let him come, then he made me come after which he came.

Then, often, like tonight, repeat. He moved to the bed and I watched that too. He bent low, I felt the heat of his hand on my knee, his fingers curling around the back and he lightly kissed my hip, his lips skimming across my skin, making it tingle. Then he slid the covers up my body to my waist where he dropped them.

I was mostly on my belly, partly on my side, my arm crooked, hand tucked under my face on the pillow. His body moved in that direction, his fingers slid under my hair, pulling it gently back and his lips came to my ear. His head moved infinitesimally and his lips skimmed the skin at the back of my ear then his tongue touched there. That made my skin tingle too, so much my whole body shivered. He pulled the covers up to my shoulder.

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Then he turned and he was gone. No noise, not even the door opening and closing. He was just gone. Freaking crazy. I stared at my bedroom door awhile. My body felt warm, sated and tired. My mind did not feel the same. I turned to my back, tucked the covers around my naked body and I stared at the ceiling. I should have been working. This sounded worse than owing a biker gang two million dollars. That means protection. Now do you get me?

You walked in here and had no clue. Oh boy! His grin got bigger. Then he let me go but slid my purse off my arm and before I could make a peep, he dug into it.

I decided to let him have at it. I also figured he could best me in a fight for my purse so I was going to let him take what he wanted. My best lip gloss was in that purse but at that point, if he wanted it to give to one of his bitches, I was willing to let it go. He came out with my cell, flipped it open, his thumb hit buttons, he flipped it closed, dropped it into my purse, then slid it back on my arm. You need it, use it. Now, do you get that?

I got that. He thought I was cute. I fought back another shiver. She was my half sister. Mom had left when I was three but she came back occasionally and when she did we had fun.

That was until one visit, while she had me for the weekend, she met a guy she liked and she liked him a lot. She took him back to her hotel, gave me a bunch of candy and sent me outside to sit and wait for her to call me back in. The manager of the motel saw me sitting out on a bench, swinging my legs, eating candy, daydreaming and doing it for ages, so he called the police. I told the policeman my phone number that Dad made me memorize and they called.

Meredith was awesome. She was the coolest stepmom ever. She was sweet and funny and she loved my Dad, like, loads. She also kept homemade cookies in the cookie jar all the time and for a kid, a girl who was being raised by a man who was all man, that meant she was practically perfect She and Dad got married and I was the flower girl but not like normal flower girls. She made her special day our special day.

She was making a public statement that she was walking down the aisle not only to take a man in marriage but to build a family. I was six and I never forgot how special she made me feel, never, not to this day.

But that was Meredith. Then she and Dad had Ginger who was my Mom times, about, five million. This was the cruel twist of fate. For Dad, Meredith and me. The second thing I was thinking about was all things Tack. What he said, the way he looked and how he made me feel. How he got in was as much a mystery as his name. But he did. But he always came back. Okay, so he thought I was cute and another bonus was that I knew his name and he knew mine which, Mystery Man, by the way, did not know.

But my sister owed him over two million dollars and he was scary. And lastly, I was thinking about my Mystery Man. The days after he visited I always did. None of them came close to what little I had with MM and therefore none of them got to the second date or second base yes, the Great MM was that good of a kisser.

He was totally screwing up my life. I was screwing up my life. This was what I was thinking after I parked my car in my drive, walked up to my house studying my boots, slid the key into the lock and opened my door. Once I cleared it, the door slammed, hard and loud. Then a hand in my chest slammed me into the door, again hard and loud.

Then a man was in my space, his body deep in mine, pressing me into the door and I looked up into a pair of somewhat familiar black eyes. God, I forgot how beautiful he was. I blinked at his surprising tone and angry question. Jesus, are you insane? Firstly, because I was confused. How did he know I went to Ride? Secondly, I was more confused. What was he doing there during the day? Thirdly, I was even more confused because his unbelievably handsome face showed clearly he was extremely pissed off.

He was scarier than Tack, Dog and the entire biker gang all rolled into one. But I blinked again. Then he stepped back and ran his hand over his short-cropped black hair at the same time he shook his head but not even for a second did he unpin me from his ferocious scowl.

He planted his hands on his hips and leaned back into my face. Gwendolyn Piper Kidd. Thirty-three years old. Self-employed, freelance editor. You pay your taxes on time, your mortgage on time and your bills on time. Your father is Baxter Kidd, ex-Army, current construction foreman, married to Meredith Kidd, executive secretary to a hotshot divorce attorney who, incidentally, pulled your shit outta that mess you got into with that asshole.

Your sister is the definition of loser. You spend too much on clothes. When you go out, you show too much skin. Then I closed my mouth only for it to fall open again. Then I closed it only to open it to speak.

Belatedly, I was getting angry. It was safe to say Ginger was a piece of trash. It was also safe to say my Dad, Meredith or I could call her that. Even Tack and Dog, who she owed over two million dollars, could get away with calling her that. And one I was discovering was a big, fat jerk! His eyebrows flew up and it sucked because he was so goddamned handsome, all that brown skin, those black eyes, that strong jaw, that thick, short, black hair, his beautifully chiseled features and equally beautifully chiseled physique — all of it hinting at Hispanic or maybe Italian and all of it freaking, unbelievably amazing.

But the worst for me, right then, was that he could be even more drop dead beautiful with his eyebrows raised in disbelief like he thought I was an idiot.

The best end to this scenario is she turns up dead. He continued to ignore me. Your sister does not exist for you.

Now, you keep your head down, be smart and keep yourself out of trouble. Which means you stick to what you know, who you know and where you know. You do not move out of regularly scheduled programming. Now I was getting really angry. I get you. Now go. Oh my God. Because at that moment I was pretty certain mine was about to.

Never, not once, not even that first night, did I see him smile and if he was beautiful normally, his face smiling knocked my freaking socks off. Lordy be, the man had two dimples. For some reason the warmth in his eyes deepened at the same time he whispered his warning.

I tried to pull my face away but his hands tightened and I stopped. He called my dare and raised me. My eyes rolled back to him and I instantly noted my mistake when I found one of his hands had disappeared and his mouth was at my neck, his lips at the skin behind my ear and then I felt his tongue there.

Without my permission, my body did a top to toe tremble. I stared at the closed door then moved to the window and checked and I was right.

Kristen Ashley

He was gone. Then I turned my back to the door and stared into my messy living room. And I was thinking I was pretty sure he felt the tremble. Chapter Three The Day of Epiphany My house was an old farmhouse that once graced fields but now was situated in a neighborhood of much newer houses, that was to say built in the last fifty years, on the close outskirts of Denver.

Once you made it through the narrow walls with kickass stained glass of the entryway, my house had a living room that ran the length of the front.

To the right behind sliding inset glass doors was a dining room or den, but it was nothing now. Empty space.

To the left, a swinging doorway into a big kitchen. Upstairs were three bedrooms, one somewhat small so I made that into my office, and a mammoth bathroom. My father had not let me move in until he and his buddy Rick had installed a new bathroom. He said this was because the bathtub was imminently going to fall through the floor. I thought he was being dramatic because he hated my house and still does. Even so, why I thought this I really did not know because my father was not a dramatic person.

So Dad redid my bathroom, after, of course, he rebuilt the floor, and now it was gorgeous with clawfooted tub, pedestal sink, heated towel racks, the lot. He also redid the wood plank floors in my bedroom and the office and re-skimmed the walls in both rooms. Meredith and I painted my bedroom and Meredith made me killer roman blinds to go in the windows of my bedroom and in my office.

My friend Tracy and I painted my office. I then proceeded to the fun phase of renovation: decoration, while Dad moved onto the kitchen on which he worked with Troy. The completion of this took five months because they both got sidetracked with other things like their own lives and the faucet in my half-bath downstairs not turning off and the roof leaking and the light switch in my bedroom not working and the furnace going out, stuff like that.

So after MM left, I went to my kitchen, made chocolate chip cookie batter, took the bowl, a spoon and a cup of coffee to the table and grabbed my phone. Then I sat with one foot on the floor, one heel to the chair and stared at it. I should call Camille. Camille was a straight-talker. She was smart. She was worldly and she had her head together.

It was a good relationship, loving but challenging because both Leo and Camille had attitude. But if they ever broke up it would be like Goldie Hawn and Kurt Russell breaking up, that was to say proof that the world would soon be coming to an end. Camille, however, knew all about MM and she thought I was part nuts, part crazy letting him come to me in the middle of the night and not knowing his name.

She advised repeatedly that during the very next visit I should firstly, kick him in the gonads and secondly, call the cops. I could also call Tracy. Tracy was a romantic. Tracy was not a straight-talker. Tracy would rather endure torture than say anything that would make you uncomfortable or hurt your feelings.

Tracy also loved the idea of MM. She was convinced one day he was going to reach out, turn on the light, frame my face with his hands and tell me the sun rose and set for him through me, promptly marry me in a fairytale wedding and thereafter treat me like a princess to the end of my days.

Even after all this time she was totally convinced this was going to happen and she never faltered in that belief. She would never see it for what it was, jerky, intrusive and supremely annoying. Troy had always been just Troy. Troy had been around before Camille and Tracy. Troy was a friend and the thought that he wanted to get in my pants freaked me out almost more than everything else that happened that day.

I stared at my phone and spooned up some dough.

I dialed, swallowed and put the phone to my ear. No, total silence. And I know you do not wanna go there. They call themselves Chaos for a reason and these boys are not like other boys. These boys do not have the civilized filter other people do. They do not only not exist in a world of law and order, they exist in a world of survival where there is only instinct.

And she also knew about MM, who was also hot, way hotter than Scott, and was proving to be of the Scott bent, namely a jerk. You need to lay low. She did. The kindest there was. Therefore when she continued, she did it gently.

No hesitation. Hell no. This said a lot about me and how I felt about MM, namely that I was ashamed of what I was doing and also why I was doing it.

It more than hinted at desperate and slut, two things no girl should be. I loved Dad, Meredith, Troy and Leo. I did not want these people to think I was a desperate slut. This guy has the means to investigate you and keep tabs. Totally over. I told you what he said about our relationship. He investigated me. He knows everything about me.

He says only he gets to end things. There are hot guys out there who are not motherfucking assholes. They do not use you to get off. And Camille Antoine, smart girl who had her head screwed on right. Ten minutes later, we hung up. After that, I sat at my table, spooned up dough, ate it and stared at my phone, hoping that I could follow through with my grand statement. Then I picked up the phone and called Tracy. Chapter Four Baseball Bat or Crowbar I heard the crash and jerked awake, instant adrenalin pumping through my body making my skin and fingers tingle.

Someone was in my house. I listened and heard not a sound but I knew. I knew. Even if I moved something or work was being done on the house, he avoided it and moved silently like he could see any obstacles in the dark. He did not make a crash. I turned to reach to the phone and wished I had a weapon. Even a baseball bat.

Something that would make me feel less powerless. Less alone. I was happy for the company of an inanimate object if it could inflict injury.

I grabbed the phone and dialed Send someone. This is not a prank. I loved that snow globe. It was a Rosina Wachtmeister snow globe with a happy kitty in it, little flowers dancing around the base and if you turned it over and shook it, glitter danced around the kitty. And, if I used it to clock someone on the head, they might not be able to rape me. I snatched it up and ran on tiptoes to the opposite wall where I pressed my shoulder against the wall and stared at the door.

My heart was beating so fast I could hear it in my ears, my entire body was alive and I could feel every inch of it. Someone was out there. Then I heard them, footfalls in the hall. Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod. I tried to remember what the response time was supposed to be for cops. He was close. I silently inched up the wall toward my door staring at it.

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