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Excerpt

Lashes of anger hit me so swiftly I feel redness creep up my neck and cheeks. Squirming in my chair, I scowl at his smirk.

He arches a thick brow that is just as perfectly sculpted as the rest of him. The gesture displays arrogance and a heap of self-confidence. It’s like he ate the entire damn cake and left only crumbs for the other males.

Putting his elbow on the polished bar, he rests his cheek in his palm. The gesture is intimate, as if we’ve known each other for a long time and are at ease in each other’s presence. Truly disconcerting.

“Is that your best pickup line?”

“Only for women who try to kill me.”

Is there even a point in denying the truth? Curiosity gets the better of me and I engage in this odd interaction.

“Lucky you. You get to live another day.”

“Any idea how to spend my last hours on earth?”

He rolls his bottom lip through his teeth, which are impeccably white and perfect. For God’s sake, there has to be something wrong with him. He has a small dick, for sure, to compensate for that big mouth of his. He’s clearly flirting or trying to seduce me. What he doesn’t know but is bound to find out is that I am immune to charms regardless of the sex.

“How do you usually like spending your time? Pick your favorite. You don’t have much left,” I offer with a sweet smile reeking of pretense as I sip from my glass.

His eyes zero in on my mouth, then he casts a glance at his silver watch, which I know is a limited-edition model that costs millions.

“I like to fuck, but something tells me I won’t be able to enjoy it while thinking there’s a killer out for me.”

I roll my eyes at him. “I can spare you the few minutes.”

And then the strangest thing happens. He throws his head back and laughs, a deep, heartfelt sound. Butterflies swarm my belly, flapping their wings erratically, upsetting my stomach with their unwelcome raid.

“A few minutes?” He clicks his tongue. “Clearly you haven’t been fucked properly.”

At all would be the better description.

I wave a hand through the air to appear unaffected. “Not interested.”

“I’ve heard that. Must have sucked to fail at the only thing you’re good at.”

I gasp, taken aback by the truth in his words making me murderous with rage. My hand moves to my small clutch, blinded by the desire to slice his throat right here and now.

I am about to take out my small knife and thrust it into his chest when he bends over me. Lowering his head, his mouth is only an inch from mine, causing my lips to tingle. His presence short circuits my brain, so that I forget anything else for a moment.

“It wouldn’t look good on your track record if you follow that instinct. Hmm, am I riling you up, Luciana?”

My name out of his mouth is as decadent as chocolate and just as bad for your health, pouring over me in streams. I need to leave before I lose my damn mind in his presence. Every second it gets harder to keep my grasp on control.

As if he notices my disheveled state, he asks, “Why are you here?”

With the change of topic, I gather my thoughts and escape the spell he put on me. It’s like everything about him is hypnotic, starting with his deep green eyes with flecks of blue that bore into me as if trying to peer into my soul—positively staggering.

“You’re here for me. I hoped you wouldn’t… I guess we’re at an impasse.”

That’s not good. That means he has people on the inside and was waiting for me.

I purse my lips, remaining silent and sort through this new information.

“I haven’t gotten this far by being negligent, Luciana,” he says matter-of-factly.

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About the Author

Bianca Borell is a contemporary romance author, voracious reader, nature lover, and unapologetic daydreamer. She spends her nights deciding between getting up to write or trying to silence the voices of her characters. The battle is never-ending.

She has a weakness for tormented characters, second chances, and happy endings.

She currently lives in Germany with her amazing husband and indulges in way too many pastries than she should.