4 Book(s) Related to jeff bozes

Sure, I can rock a tank top and ponytail while collecting ancient relics, but don’t call me a tomb raider. I knew the guy who built the pyramids… and I mean in the biblical sense.   Archaeologist, fashionista, and an ancient immortal with a serious memory problem, Dr. Nia Rivers has spent the last few centuries filling in the blanks of her past, all while outrunning dark assassins and stealing brief moments alone with Zane, her immortal lover.   But when a two-thousand year old relic from her past resurfaces, Nia isn't sure if the story connected to it is one she wants told to the world. The fact that Tres Mohandis, a fellow immortal and Nia’s greatest rival, is determined to develop the land and bury the site before Nia can excavate it suggests some dark history lies hidden in the site. Worse, Nia is beginning to realize that she doesn’t dislike the broody billionaire land developer as much as she remembers.    Letting Tres have his way might be best for Nia, especially when the truth might expose a horrific crime from Nia's past—one with her name written all over it. But don’t all stories deserve to be told? Even the ugliest ones.   Even if it proves she’s not at all who she thinks she is.   Get this hot urban fantasy featuring spine-tingling adventure, twists on historical mysteries, and thrilling romance, where Tomb Raider meets Indiana Jones—and they live forever!

I was the best student, the most obedient, the most compliant—yet the only unloved child in our family.

When my brother got into fights, I took his punishment. When my sister snuck out with boys, I bore the consequences. Mom force-fed me pills and made me get my stomach pumped just to scare my brother away from smoking. Dad dressed ten-year-old me like a prostitute and threw me into a bar to warn my sister against going astray.

In the end, they sold me to a gambler for a few hundred dollars.

I died in a dark pond, and no one heard me calling for help.

But when my spirit drifted home, they were gathered around the dinner table, laughing and talking as if nothing was wrong.

It wasn't until the police knocked on their door that they realized—I had been missing for seven whole days.

Later, my brother clutched the chocolate he never got to give me, crying every day. My sister dreamed every night of ten-year-old me struggling and screaming in that bar. Dad knelt at my grave daily, consumed by guilt. And Mom, after killing that gambler, threw herself into the same pond where I had drowned.

Finally, they loved me.

But I was already dead.

In the third year of my marriage to Damian Spencer, I accidentally scratched his first love.
For that insignificant little scratch, on the evening of my birthday, he personally brought his bodyguards and cornered me in a damp, cold alley.
Without flinching, he had them crush my right hand—the one that held my bow—bone by bone.
He looked down at me coldly as I slumped in the mud, his voice devoid of any warmth: "Just be a good Mrs. Spencer. You don't need this anymore."
Yet later, this same man caged me in his arms like someone possessed, begging again and again—pleading with me not to forget what we'd been.
But all that met him was my empty gaze—hollow, confused, as if he were no one to me.

Un matrimonio ligado por un contrato, y ella estaba obligada a aceptarlo. Él era su jefe y ella su secretaria.
Ella le dio todo lo que él quería, pero su amor fue desatendido, pero cuando ella decidió irse, él le ofreció un contrato de matrimonio para que se quedara. Pero alguien ocupaba su corazón y no podía ofrecerle nada excepto su talento en la cama.
Después de su matrimonio, soportó el dolor, pero esquema tras esquema destruyó su tolerancia. Finalmente, estaba lista para dejarlo, pero de repente él se negó a dejarla ir.
Charles pareció sentir su dolor, la abrazó de repente y susurró: “Sarah, puedes confiar en mí. Nunca estaré con ella. Eres diferente de todas esas otras mujeres. Realmente quiero estar contigo. Si no lo hubiera hecho, entonces no habría cortado las relaciones con todas las demás mujeres. ¿No me crees ahora?
Sarah sollozó suavemente: “Si has aceptado que se acabó con ella, ¿por qué todavía tienes su foto en tu billetera? ¿Por qué todavía la extrañas? ¿No ves cómo me duele?
Charles la miró, "¡Ella es solo otra mujer de mi pasado!"
La atmósfera entre ellos se volvió sofocante y Charles dijo en voz baja: “Sarah, ¿te dije que podías irte? Recuerda, soy tu jefe. ¡Eres mi secretaria y mi esposa!
Enfadado, Charles volvió a gritar: "¡Sarah, soy tu hombre!".
"¿Oh? ¿Mi hombre?" Sarah se rió y lo miró fijamente. Las lágrimas comenzaron a deslizarse por sus mejillas, "¿Eres tú, mi hombre? ¡Señor presidente, solo soy una mera posesión suya y nunca me convertiré en su esposa! ¡Libérame, te lo ruego!