| 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...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Brad's hands latched onto the door frame above his head in a performative gesture. His body took up the space, the escape route, and he knew as much, which is why he did not move. His brows lifted daringly, almost as if to challenge the inner vixen in me. Then, slowly but surely, his eyes lowered to the exposed skin of my neck and shoulders.
I felt too hot under his intense scrutiny. "What is your favourite colour?"
"It used to be blue." He looked at my mouth like he wanted to go there. "Royal blue to pair with tan accessories." His attention shifted to my eyes. "Nowadays, I prefer green."
I cannot breathe. "Music?"
"That's a hard one." Still, he thought about the question. "The eighties were the best decade for music. I love that era."
A droplet of water trickled down my neck. "What's your favourite food?"
"I am a proud gastronomist." His mouth twitched like he was privy to something I wasn't. "I will eat pretty much anything."
"You do not have a favourite? Food, I mean."
He stared for a second. "No, I do not."
I breathed a little, relieved for an unfathomable reason. But then our eyes reconnected--whiskey-coloured hues to curious greens--and oxygen became no more. I completely forgot how to inhale and exhale. He looked at me like he wanted to throw me down and devour me, which scared the ever-living daylight out of me.
"I did not miss you, Emma." His voice was a deep whisper. "Not even a little bit."
"Likewise," I lied, the air in the room too stuffy. "Not at all."
"I could go the rest of my life without seeing you." He took a deep breath and released it raggedly. "I would never think about you—or us, or what we could be."
I had lost the ability to swallow. "Ditto."
Then, with the confident movements of an unwavering man, he released the door frame, one arm at a time, and bridged the gap between us, slow yet predatory. "I did not miss this face," he said hoarsely, his fingers tracing the delicate place along my collarbone as he backed me up against the hand basin. "Or these eyes." His thumb outlined my parted lips. "Or these lips."
I held onto the towel by my chest.
"Or this kiss." His lips were on mine before I could catch my breath, soft yet desperate, tasting the memories of us on my tongue. Pulling my arms around his neck, he lifted me onto the hand basin, directing my legs around his waist. "Christ, I fucking missed you."
My hands clung to the nape of his neck as our tongues reacquainted themselves. I was lost in him, consumed by him, and helplessly besotted with him.
Brad kissed the column of my throat, teeth sinking into my flushed skin, tongue tracing the indents he had placed there, and then his mouth, hungry for more, revisited mine for our tongues to dance.
