He’d been ten years old when he’d last begged someone for something, and he’d promised himself he’d never do it again, but this was too important.
She laughed, and the sound was tantalizing. He didn’t understand how musical notes could stroke a man’s skin and dance along his thighs. He didn’t understand how the notes could be an arrow that pierced his heart. She owned him.
In that moment he knew she could shatter him. Break him into a million pieces and he’d never recover. Not in this lifetime. He realized all the lore in his family was truth. Ferraro men. When then found the right woman, loved her with everything in them and they did it only once. Francesca was his once.
He was becoming intimate with her mind, with her body, like a lover, though he had not yet shared her body or mind in the way he wanted. Darius.
She’d managed, in a very short period of time, to slip under his guard and get inside him. There was something very valiant about her.
There it was. His woman. Laying it out for him. Giving him truth and making him feel like he was the luckiest man on earth.
So now I’m supposed to believe you haven’t been with another woman for five years. Get. Out.
Ashe’s entire face lit up when she laughed. That laughter did something to his insides, turning him to mush, so he thought some of the ice that had frozen all emotions so many years earlier had melted and allowed her deeper.
Bottom line, dolce core, that’s who I am. When the cops can’t do something to protect citizens, it’s my turn. You have to decide if you can live with who I am. The real me.
She wasn’t certain what he was going to work on, being a caveman all the time, or trying not to be a caveman most of the time.
This woman could break him when nothing that had come earlier in his life ever had.
Coffee. It was decisive. Without their women, their chosen drink would always be what it had been.
It was an observation, not a judgment. Shylah liked the way Draden seemed to reserve his conclusions until he had the facts.
I curl my hand around her throat so her heart beats right into my palm,” Fyodor confessed as if he could read Timur’s mind. “Even that isn’t enough. I can hear my own heart beating right over top of hers because I’m terrified living with the idea that I could lose her”.
Blythe was Viktor’s in. He’d arranged a casual meeting and swept her off her feet. He was good with women. He knew exactly how to read them and what they wanted and needed. He was good at providing.
His team consisted of a group of mavericks. They were cohesive when they needed to be, but their strength was their individual thinking. Many of their enhancements enabled them to do their jobs better alone then in a group. The idea had been that the GhostWalkers easily could do teamwork or perform alone.
Blythe turned the tables on him. She was genuine. Sweet. Protective. Nurturing. Everything he’d never had and didn’t know he needed or wanted. It was impossible not to love her.
They were coarse and crude. They made rude finger gestures to one another and they were their scars like badges. They were a family, unbreakable, loyal and absolutely powerful when they stood together.
That kind of loyalty could never be bought. Fear couldn’t buy that loyalty. Timur was reminded of that every time he saw the two men. They weren’t related by blood, but they were brothers all the same.
He liked that she gave the questions thought. That she actually saw the mysteries and worked at solving them.