| BOOK THREE | THE LONDON CRIME KING | A DARK MAFIA ROMANCE NOVEL |
This book contains adult language and subject matter, including graphic violence, drugs and explicit sex that may be disturbing to some readers.
This series is NOT a typical roman...
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The scintillating sun kissed the streets of London, leading a warm path for me to promenade and spend compulsively. So far, I have purchased a nonpareil panoply of designer shoes, each pair, parcelled in pastel-coloured crêpe paper and ribbon-bowed into drawstring gift bags, for Josh, the cantankerous sod, to convey to the parked Bentley.
And I bought a new line of lace lingerie which I plan to model for Liam this evening when he returns from the office.
"Can we go now?" Josh carped, stacking my beautiful assemblage inside the car boot. "I need to eat."
"You had a breakfast roll merely an hour ago."
"So?" Cartier sunglasses shade his blood-shot eyes. "Since when was halloumi and smashed avocado a hangover cure? I need a cooked breakfast, Alexa. The more fat, the better."
I plucked out the travel size moisturiser from my handbag. "Well, I enjoyed it."
"How can you lie? You eat like a budgie, so consuming a decent meal means nothing to you." His lips puckering into a sulky pout, he watched two female commuters saunter past in high waisted pencil skirts and sophisticated up-dos. "Damn." He extends a low whistle. "I like it. I like it a lot."
"What's the name of that fictional ladies' man?" His current female interests are either receptionist buddies or personal assistants who take breaks together. "Oh, that's right. The legendary Don Juan." I poked him in the ribs, and he flinched. "It's fair to say, you and Brad give that Lothario a run for his money."
Pulling his lip into a smirk, he rubbed his hands together. "Maybe there's hope for me yet." A soft wind breezed through his tousled brown hair. "Her and a prime bush."
My nose wrinkled. "I am a woman, Josh. Save the licentious remarks for Brad's ears."
Upon hearing Josh's groaned approval, the females glanced over their shoulders and giggled, flushed and newly energised. The larger, shapelier of two women hadn't joined her friend inside the coffee shop. Her provocative eyes sought Josh as she lit a cigarette.
I suddenly felt like a third wheel.
"Why do women do that?" Moisturising my hands, I sat on the edge of the open boot. "For all she knows, I could be your girlfriend, and she's eye-fucking you from across the lot."
He respired marijuana fumes around us. "This is a moot discussion because you are not my girlfriend. You belong to Warren." Generating a safe, unquestionable gap, he swayed his hips, sashaying backwards. "So, keep your distance—and she can eye-fuck all she wants. It doesn't mean I'll advance with my tongue out." He ogled in consideration. "Now if her friend stood there, I may or may not have a difference of opinion."
His disapproval explored the stretch of her curvaceous body, and something similar to defensiveness unleashed my capricious tongue. "You shallow pig."
