| BOOK SIX | 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 romance...
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Alexa arrived at the estate at the appointed time. The photos she had sent previously did no justice to her beautiful image. She was resplendent in a newly purchased black strapless dress and Giuseppe Zanotti high-heel sandals. Her styled hair, glamorous waves, framed one side of her flawless face. Her earrings, perfect pear-shaped diamond droplets, coruscated with light, and the Cuban micro chain of white gold tags bedazzled with authentic ice diamonds and ruby halo settled beneath her breasts, above her navel.
In slow-spaced politesse and requisite suavity, Alfie, attired in an all-black dinner suit, reached for Alexa's hand and interlaced their fingers.
To be of service, Alfie supported her up the front steps, his hand clad in leather on the small of her spine, his eyes solely focused on her noticeable baby bump.
"Mind your step," he said lightly, not that she expressed amusement. "Command will kill me if you fall."
"If any harm is to come to Warren's firstborn child, I will be the least of your concerns." I gave the man a look of contempt. "His artistic capabilities exceed my own."
"Yes." He ungloved his bionic hand and, alternately, uncurled his fingers. "I am well aware of our boss's easily angered characteristics. Though, I must say, you are not one to be frowned at."
I smiled proudly.
"Well?" Slipping a quilted clutch bag under her arm, Alexa took furious strides into the foyer. "Where is he?" The devilish colour of red stained her unsmiling lips. "I must speak to him at once."
"Logan passed out in the ballroom," I lied unpremeditatedly, and her face screwed up in overt puzzlement. "By all accounts, he loves nothing more than an evening nap on the cold floor. He really is a troublesome young lad."
"What of the cougars?" Her arms crossed and rested atop her protruding pregnant belly. "Assuming they continue to leech the estate."
"Is that what we call them?" My eyes narrowed fractionally. "Leeching is an exaggeration."
Alexa's left eyebrow curved. "It is the precision of what you described."
Yes, I suppose I did.
"Have I missed something?" Her quizzical stare roved over the grand foyer, where uniformed employees strolled without a care in the world. "Why do they carry empty bottles of champagne to the kitchen?" When I remained unforthcoming, her eyes returned to me. "And why do you wear a tux?"
I fixed a cufflink. "I have a date."
"A date?" Her right eyebrow joined the left one. "Really?"
"Yes." I sneered down at her. "Why is that so hard to believe?"
"You, Brad Jones, the biggest playboy in London, are going on a date." She passed Alfie a disbelieving look. "And in a tux, no less."
"You have this habit of offending me lately." Still moderately affronted, I slipped a toothpick between my lips. "I'll have you know that I am an outstanding date: chivalrous, courteous, gracious and well-mannered. I am never late. Always on time. For any woman fortunate enough to attend dinner with me, I dress to impress, open doors, pull out chairs and pour glasses of wine." My glare travelled the length of her body with deliberate conceitedness. "And I am not shy about complimenting a bird or inviting her to my bed."
