Just like Mina.
I shoved the thoughts of my ex out of my head. I didn't want to think about her and all her lies.
I sprung up out of bed. I slept commando, so I padded over to the closet and eased the bottom drawer open on the far left. I took a pair of boxers from it and swiftly put them on. If I was about to have a fight, there was no need to have the lads flying about uncovered.
Luckily, I slept with my door slightly ajar, so easing into the living room didn’t cause any unwanted sound. Then I saw it. The shadow in the study, going through my things.
What the fuck? How had anyone gotten in here?
My feet moved of their own volition. My rational brain was chirping up with things like, ’Call security. You are closer to the door than to the study, so just leave.’ Or the oh so helpful, ‘At least put a fucking shirt on.’
No, I wasn't going to do any of those things. I was going to find out who the fuck was in my suite.
The study door was open, and I saw someone in a uniform. Black vest, long-sleeved white shirt. One of my fucking employees? I could play this scenario one of two ways. I could approach, turn on the lights, and ask them what the fuck they thought they were doing, or I could jump them. Option two seemed excellent to me.
With a step-over-step motion, I slid against the window to the living room. And then, it was easy.
One arm in a choke hold, the other pressing the knife against the jugular, leaning close. But that smell. A woman?
And why did she smell so fucking familiar?
My fucking dick didn't seem to know any better. This wasn't some game with a girl who liked it rough. This was deadly serious. But God, why did she smell... and then I knew why. I whipped my intruder around so fast that she squeaked, and with my hand on her throat, I backed her up against the wall and placed the knife to her jugular again.
"What the fuck are you doing in here, Emma?"
To be continued in London Bridge …
* * *
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Bridge Edgerton has only ever wanted one woman. One little problem. They hate each other. But he’s sworn to protect her, so he can never have her.
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UPCOMING BOOKS
Royal Line
The Spy in 3B
To Catch a Thief (A London Lords Standalone)
London Bridge
Also from Nana Malone Cheeky Royal
“You make a really good model. I’m sure dozens of artists have volunteered to paint you before.”
He shook his head. “Not that I can recall. Why? Are you offering?”
I grinned. “I usually do nudes.” Why did I say that? It wasn’t true. Because you’re hoping he’ll volunteer as tribute.
He shrugged then reached behind his back and pulled his shirt up, tugged it free, and tossed it aside. “How is this for nude?”
Fuck. Me. I stared for a moment, mouth open and looking like an idiot. Then, well, I snapped a picture. Okay fine, I snapped several. “Uh, that’s a start.”
He ran a hand through his hair and tussled it, so I snapped several of that. These were romance-cover gold. Getting into it, he started posing for me, making silly faces. I got closer to him, snapping more close-ups of his face. That incredible face.
Then suddenly he went deadly serious again, the intensity in his eyes going harder somehow, sharper. Like a razor. “You look nervous. I thought you said you were used to nudes.”
I swallowed around the lump in my throat. “Yeah, at school whenever we had a model, they were always nude. I got used to it.”
He narrowed his gaze. “Are you sure about that?”
Shit. He could tell. “Yeah, I am. It’s just a human form. Male. Female. No big deal.”
His lopsided grin flashed, and my stomach flipped. Stupid traitorous body…and damn him for being so damn good looking. I tried to keep the lens centered on his face, but I had to get several of his abs, for you know…research.
But when his hand rubbed over his stomach and then slid to the button on his jeans, I gasped, “What are you doing?”
“Well, you said you were used doing nudes. Will that make you more comfortable as a photographer?”
I swallowed again, unable to answer, wanting to know what he was doing, how far he would go. And how far would I go?
The button popped, and I swallowed the sawdust in my mouth. I snapped a picture of his hands.
Well yeah, and his abs. So sue me. He popped another button, giving me a hint of the forbidden thing I couldn’t have. I kept snapping away. We were locked in this odd, intimate game of chicken. I swung the lens up to capture his face. His gaze was slightly hooded. His lips parted…turned on. I stepped back a step to capture all of him. His jeans loose, his feet bare. Sitting on the stool, leaning back slightly and giving me the sex face, because that’s what it was—God’s honest truth—the sex face. And I was a
