Her cheeks flush. Her eyes glitter with that inner fight. Damn, but she has a hidden depth, a fierce perseverance that is both endearing and… Endearing? The hell? Since when have emotions ever featured in any relationship, huh? I take, I allow a select few to make me come…then walk away. That is it. No relationships. No entanglements. Nothing that can touch the part of me that I keep hidden away. Nothing to tempt me to cross the line that is forever etched in my memory… Until her. I crack my neck, yawn, then shake my head, "No."
"What?" She gapes.
"One touch and you were ready to throw yourself at my feet, bare yourself to me, and all but ask me to take you right there. I prefer…" I pretend to think, "...a bit more spirit, a bit more spine, a bit more oomph. Not to mention…"
I glance at her gorgeous breasts, her curvy hips, her delicate ankles. If I touch her again, I am a goner. If I look into her eyes, I’ll never find myself again. No, this is the right thing to do. I have to walk away from her. "...I prefer my women to have more curves."
"You bastard."
The color leaches from her face and she sways. I take a step forward, then stop myself. Why do I care if she is hurting? That is the whole point, remember? Hurt her feelings enough that she’ll never turn to me again.
"Want me to spell it out for you, Doll?" I reach her, then thrust my face into hers, "I don’t want you."
8
Why did the two lovers end up in prison?
Answer: Because they stole each other’s hearts
Victoria
I stare at my reflection in the shiny elevator door—hair mussed up, lips swollen and bare of lipstick. I look…like I was thoroughly kissed. He did more than that. He turned me down, he insulted me, and I stood there and took it. What choice did I have? I can’t force him to take me as his sub, ca I?
I stumble out of the office building of 7A investments, my hand bag at my side.
Was it only a few hours ago that I had torn into the building?
A gust of wind buffets me. I sway; the rain slicks my hair back, floods my sight. I step forward, my feet encounter thin air, and I pitch forward. A scream rips from my throat and I am hauled back.
"Hey, you okay?"
I turn around to encounter sharp gray eyes.
"Are you all right?" the woman asks again.
I swallow, nod. Open my mouth to thank her, but no words emerge. My heart is racing so hard that I am sure it’s going to jump right out of my rib cage. She peruses my face, "Victoria?" She frowns.
I peer through the rain. She’s as tall as me, wearing a raincoat cinched around her waist.
"Have me met?" I scan her features.
"You’re Summer’s stepmother, right?"
I wince. That is so not the identity I need to be riddled with… But yeah, no getting away from it. I nod and her face cracks into a wide grin. "I saw you at Sinclair and Summer’s wedding..."
I glance at her features, then shake my head, "Sorry, I have a bad memory for names.”
I glance up at her clear umbrella.
"Oh, shoot." She steps forward to hold her wide umbrella over me. The rain stops pounding my face.
"It’s Amelie." She prompts.
"Amelie?"
“I'm Summer’s friend?"
"Ah."
"I’m a pastry chef." She grins, all bright and happy. Christ, she makes me feel a hundred years old. Was I ever that hopeful about my future? Maybe before the Mafia had gotten to me? When I had been a student at UCLA? No, I'd always been a brooder, a thinker...some would say a dreamer, even. Look where that’s gotten me. I bite my lower lip. She frowns, peers into my face,
"In fact, I was on my way to meeting her right now. Why don’t you come along?’
I stare, then shake my head, "I honestly don’t want to impose."
"Oh, you’re not imposing, and Summer will be glad to see you.
I chew the inside of my cheek. Somehow, I don’t think so.
"She’s mentioned how much she wants to get to know you better."
"She has?" I tilt my head. Is she saying it to make me feel better? Or is she really trying to be friendly?
A man almost walks into us, then excuses himself to veer past us. I stare. "Did he apologize?"
She laughs. "That’s London for you. It’s very civilized, isn’t it?"
"I’d forgotten."
"You’re British, of course. I could tell from your accent. So how did you meet Summer’s father?"
I tense, pull myself up straight, "I think I need to leave."
Her face crumples. "Oh, I’m sorry. I hadn’t meant to be nosy. Sometimes my mouth doesn’t grasp what my brain is trying to communicate. Often, I speak nonsense, and by the time I’ve realized what I’ve said, it’s too late."
I draw in a breath. All that bubbliness is overwhelming.
"I said too much again, didn’t I?" She grimaces, her gaze turning stricken. "Please forgive me, please."
I jerk my chin. "Don’t worry about it."
She locks her arm with mine, then begins to walk. I keep pace. "It’s just us girls tonight. Sinclair’s allowing Summer the evening off."
"Allowing her the evening off?"
"He’s sooo possessive about her. Honestly, that man is 100% alpha… And of course, there’s the rest of the Seven. Put them all in one room, and whoa." She makes a smacking sound with her lips, "I swear my ovaries can’t take it."
"There’s seven of them?"
She nods, "I haven’t seen the seventh, of course."
"Oh? Why's that?" Perhaps she has her uses, after all? Maybe she can shed a little more light on the man I have to find a way to get close to?
"Baron, that's the guy who's not around. He's a kind of mystery figure," she adds obligingly.
"What does he do?"
She raises her shoulders. "Don’t know… Anyway, the ones who are here are more than enough to keep a
