Devoted to Wicked
Page 13
But I can’t make myself leave. I just stare, willing her to look at me.
Suddenly, she stiffens. I see the moment she becomes aware of my presence. She tilts her head toward her right shoulder. I see the jut of her chin. She pauses for a sliver of a second, as if she’s not sure she truly wants to know if I’m just beyond her line of sight, making her senses flare.
“Britta,” I call out to her.
At the sound of my voice, she whips her head around, as if she’s heard a ghost and is eager to dispel the notion I could be standing ten feet behind her.
Our eyes meet. My breath stops. God, she’s still so fucking beautiful to me.
In that moment I know one thing: no matter what’s happened, how long it’s been, whatever Britta thinks—she’s still mine.
A gasp falls from her lips. She drops her drink, her face going pale in an instant.
The woman she was speaking to frowns in concern and grabs Britta’s shoulders, shooting me the evil eye.
Yeah, I’m the bad guy here. Everyone knows it, even me.
I take a step toward her, and that seems to pull her from her daze. She waves off her concerned friend and darts in my direction, bearing down on me with something between shock and fury.
Her eyes are still such a stunning shade of blue, almost turquoise, like the warmest ocean waters near the shore. They’re the first thing I noticed about her. Blue-eyed blondes aren’t terribly unusual, especially in Los Angeles, where I spent my childhood. But everything about Britta is different. Her eyes are slanted and slightly far apart, framed by heavy lashes. The effect is exotic, sexual. Her pillowy mouth sucks me in next, bent with an exaggerated bow on top and a puffy curve on the bottom. I still dream of that mouth. I remember every time I kissed it, every pleasure it ever made me feel. Tonight, she’s exaggerated her pouty lips with a soft gloss that makes me want to tell everyone else at this gathering to fuck off so I can eat it from her now.
No one else has lips as enticing or soft as Britta Stone. Believe me, I’ve looked. A lot. But when I really want to torture myself, I close my eyes and stroke my cock to a memory of her eyes flaring wide for me while her mouth opens to let loose the gasp of orgasm she can’t keep in anymore.
Any wonder I’m harder than hell?
Any wonder I want her back?
“What are you doing here?” she hisses in demand.
How did I find her house or why did I choose this moment to invade her life again? I’ll spare her the boring details of both. “Somewhere in the back of your head, you must have known this day would come. I want to see my son. Where’s Jamie?”
Her eyes flare wide with shock. Her chest caves in, as if my words are more of a battering ram than a question. She braces her left hand over her heart. She’s wearing a round diamond solitaire on a simple gold band. The sight of another man’s ring on her finger makes me homicidal. Someday, somehow, some way, I’m going to remove it and replace it with my own.
“Griff…”
When her face goes taut, I see she’s fighting worry and tears. I want to do something—hold her, reassure her I don’t mean to take Jamie away, wrap her in my arms and kiss her until she forgets about the world.
But when I reach for her, she jerks away. “Don’t. Why would I know this day would come? He’s two and a half, and before tonight you never showed any interest—”
“I found out he exists an hour ago. It took me three minutes to coax your address out of my brother and fifty-two minutes to drive here.”
She stares at me in blinking shock.
MORE THAN LOVE YOU
More Than Words, Book 3
By Shayla Black
Coming February 13, 2018!
Click HERE to pre-order!
I’m Noah Weston. For a decade, I’ve quarterbacked America’s most iconic football team and plowed my way through women. Now I’m transitioning from star player to retired jock—with a cloud of allegation hanging over my head. So I’m escaping to the private ocean-front paradise I bought for peace and quiet. What I get instead is stubborn, snarky, wild, lights-my-blood-on-fire Harlow Reed. Since she just left a relationship in a hugely viral way, she should be the last woman I’m seen with.
On second thought, we can help each other…
I need a steady, supportive “girlfriend” for the court of public opinion, not entanglements. Harlow is merely looking for nonstop sweaty sex and screaming orgasms that wring pleasure from her oh-so-luscious body. Three months—that’s how long it should take for us both to scratch this itch and leave our respective scandals behind. But the more I know this woman, the less I can picture my life without her. And when I’m forced to choose, I realize I don’t merely want her in my bed or need her for a ruse. I more than love her enough to do whatever it takes to make her mine for good.
MISADVENTURES OF A BACKUP BRIDE
Misadventures, Book 1
By Shayla Black
Now Available!
Click here to purchase!
An Overnight Billionaire
When Carson Frost inherits a confectionary that rakes in billions but is too cash-strapped to last another sixty days, he agrees to take a loan from his late father’s rival. There are two catches: Carson has to sign over a permanent stake in the company, and marry the man’s daughter.
Concocts a Fake Bride
Two weeks before the wedding, he gets cold feet and claims he’s in love with someone else. The investor says he’ll still hand over the cash if Carson takes a stroll down the aisle—with the woman who owns his heart. Since he isn’t even dating anyone, Carson panics. Where is he going to find a bride willing to jilt him at the altar on such short notice?
And Whips Up a Little Love
Ella Hope is an actress happy for any paying gig, but jilting a hottie in public isn’t what she had in mind. Still, she needs rent, and he’s in a bind. How hard can it be? While playing at matrimony, suddenly their intimacy isn’t so fake. Ella can’t help but fantasize that Carson is her groom and they will live happily ever after. But once his company is safe, will he want her anymore?
* * *
EXCERPT:
ELLA
“Want me to open a bottle of wine?”
With sleepy eyes, I slide a glance over at the clock. “It’s almost three in the morning. Aren’t you tired?”
Suddenly, she stiffens. I see the moment she becomes aware of my presence. She tilts her head toward her right shoulder. I see the jut of her chin. She pauses for a sliver of a second, as if she’s not sure she truly wants to know if I’m just beyond her line of sight, making her senses flare.
“Britta,” I call out to her.
At the sound of my voice, she whips her head around, as if she’s heard a ghost and is eager to dispel the notion I could be standing ten feet behind her.
Our eyes meet. My breath stops. God, she’s still so fucking beautiful to me.
In that moment I know one thing: no matter what’s happened, how long it’s been, whatever Britta thinks—she’s still mine.
A gasp falls from her lips. She drops her drink, her face going pale in an instant.
The woman she was speaking to frowns in concern and grabs Britta’s shoulders, shooting me the evil eye.
Yeah, I’m the bad guy here. Everyone knows it, even me.
I take a step toward her, and that seems to pull her from her daze. She waves off her concerned friend and darts in my direction, bearing down on me with something between shock and fury.
Her eyes are still such a stunning shade of blue, almost turquoise, like the warmest ocean waters near the shore. They’re the first thing I noticed about her. Blue-eyed blondes aren’t terribly unusual, especially in Los Angeles, where I spent my childhood. But everything about Britta is different. Her eyes are slanted and slightly far apart, framed by heavy lashes. The effect is exotic, sexual. Her pillowy mouth sucks me in next, bent with an exaggerated bow on top and a puffy curve on the bottom. I still dream of that mouth. I remember every time I kissed it, every pleasure it ever made me feel. Tonight, she’s exaggerated her pouty lips with a soft gloss that makes me want to tell everyone else at this gathering to fuck off so I can eat it from her now.
No one else has lips as enticing or soft as Britta Stone. Believe me, I’ve looked. A lot. But when I really want to torture myself, I close my eyes and stroke my cock to a memory of her eyes flaring wide for me while her mouth opens to let loose the gasp of orgasm she can’t keep in anymore.
Any wonder I’m harder than hell?
Any wonder I want her back?
“What are you doing here?” she hisses in demand.
How did I find her house or why did I choose this moment to invade her life again? I’ll spare her the boring details of both. “Somewhere in the back of your head, you must have known this day would come. I want to see my son. Where’s Jamie?”
Her eyes flare wide with shock. Her chest caves in, as if my words are more of a battering ram than a question. She braces her left hand over her heart. She’s wearing a round diamond solitaire on a simple gold band. The sight of another man’s ring on her finger makes me homicidal. Someday, somehow, some way, I’m going to remove it and replace it with my own.
“Griff…”
When her face goes taut, I see she’s fighting worry and tears. I want to do something—hold her, reassure her I don’t mean to take Jamie away, wrap her in my arms and kiss her until she forgets about the world.
But when I reach for her, she jerks away. “Don’t. Why would I know this day would come? He’s two and a half, and before tonight you never showed any interest—”
“I found out he exists an hour ago. It took me three minutes to coax your address out of my brother and fifty-two minutes to drive here.”
She stares at me in blinking shock.
MORE THAN LOVE YOU
More Than Words, Book 3
By Shayla Black
Coming February 13, 2018!
Click HERE to pre-order!
I’m Noah Weston. For a decade, I’ve quarterbacked America’s most iconic football team and plowed my way through women. Now I’m transitioning from star player to retired jock—with a cloud of allegation hanging over my head. So I’m escaping to the private ocean-front paradise I bought for peace and quiet. What I get instead is stubborn, snarky, wild, lights-my-blood-on-fire Harlow Reed. Since she just left a relationship in a hugely viral way, she should be the last woman I’m seen with.
On second thought, we can help each other…
I need a steady, supportive “girlfriend” for the court of public opinion, not entanglements. Harlow is merely looking for nonstop sweaty sex and screaming orgasms that wring pleasure from her oh-so-luscious body. Three months—that’s how long it should take for us both to scratch this itch and leave our respective scandals behind. But the more I know this woman, the less I can picture my life without her. And when I’m forced to choose, I realize I don’t merely want her in my bed or need her for a ruse. I more than love her enough to do whatever it takes to make her mine for good.
MISADVENTURES OF A BACKUP BRIDE
Misadventures, Book 1
By Shayla Black
Now Available!
Click here to purchase!
An Overnight Billionaire
When Carson Frost inherits a confectionary that rakes in billions but is too cash-strapped to last another sixty days, he agrees to take a loan from his late father’s rival. There are two catches: Carson has to sign over a permanent stake in the company, and marry the man’s daughter.
Concocts a Fake Bride
Two weeks before the wedding, he gets cold feet and claims he’s in love with someone else. The investor says he’ll still hand over the cash if Carson takes a stroll down the aisle—with the woman who owns his heart. Since he isn’t even dating anyone, Carson panics. Where is he going to find a bride willing to jilt him at the altar on such short notice?
And Whips Up a Little Love
Ella Hope is an actress happy for any paying gig, but jilting a hottie in public isn’t what she had in mind. Still, she needs rent, and he’s in a bind. How hard can it be? While playing at matrimony, suddenly their intimacy isn’t so fake. Ella can’t help but fantasize that Carson is her groom and they will live happily ever after. But once his company is safe, will he want her anymore?
* * *
EXCERPT:
ELLA
“Want me to open a bottle of wine?”
With sleepy eyes, I slide a glance over at the clock. “It’s almost three in the morning. Aren’t you tired?”
