Danielle Lori

He grabbed my hips and set me on the island, spreading my legs to stand between them. He slid his hands up the sides of my thighs, and the warmth of them made me shiver.

“For thinking I’m a psychopath, you don’t seem to fear being alone with me.”
“I can scream. Loudly.”
He glanced at me, like my words had an entirely different meaning—like he might like to hear me scream. My breathing became shallow.

A cool rush of shock flooded me as he grabbed the back of my neck and pulled me within a foot of him. My heart was in my throat and my eyes squeezed shut, because I didn’t want to see how he was going to kill me. All I felt was warm skin and a tug on my dress, and then his hand slipped from my nape and he was gone.
After a couple seconds, I opened my eyes to see him walking away with a part in hand.
I stood there, frozen.
“Never really thought about it,” he drawled. “But I guess I’ve always been.”
Feeling something out of order, I glanced down.
My lips parted in disbelief. He cut my bikini strap.

My lips parted in disbelief. He cut my bikini strap.

“Coming.”
As I passed Nicolas and noticed that Benito was preoccupied with texting next to his car, I tossed my bikini top under the hood. “Don’t psychopaths like souvenirs?”
The tiniest hint of amusement pulled on his lips, and one grease-stained hand fisted the white fabric before I left the garage.

I understood my attraction to the man. His hands were rough, his voice deep, his presence commanding . . . he checked all the boxes I needed but didn’t want

Whenever he was near, an invisible string pulled me toward him, vibrating with the promise of a thrill if I gave in to the heavy tug.

“And here I thought I’d never see you out of pink.”

Still leaning against the wall, I pulled up the hem of my dress until my hot pink heels were showing.

A hint of a smile pulled on his lips, and he wiped at it with a thumb before sliding his hand back in his pocket. Butterflies erupted low in my stomach. If I ever cursed—really cursed—it would be to describe how handsome he was. It deserved a salacious word, otherwise no one could understand the magnitude of it.

“What do you know Sweet Abelli to mean?” I asked, my expression thoughtful.