Deny Me (Southern Nights Enigma Book 4)

by Ella Sheridan

  “Who knows?” The petite redhead stroked a hand over what really did look like a cute little beach ball of a stomach—not that he’d be stupid enough to say that aloud. “My due date is four weeks away, but Maryann assures me it could be anywhere from two to six weeks. Whatever the baby decides.”

  “Well, let us know if you need anything.” He kissed her cheek, called their goodbyes while he slipped Charlotte’s coat on, then ushered his woman out the door.

  Charlotte’s eyes were closed when he slid behind the steering wheel. “Okay?”

  She hummed her answer with a slight smile. They’d been out of the hospital only a couple of weeks, and though both of them were still working on recovering, she’d had more of a struggle. Maybe it was the whole he-man, me-feel-no-pain attitude he’d had to cultivate in his line of work, but he was more concerned about Charlotte’s healing than his own.

  “I like your family,” she finally said as he steered the car onto the interstate. “I’m really glad you found them, King.”

  He was too. And they were his family. Although his parents knew he’d been shot, they hadn’t bothered to contact him. He’d done his best to reach out to Warren and Christy the past couple of weeks, but they would never be close. His team was, and he was incredibly grateful for that—and for them—every day.

  After a bit Charlotte opened her eyes, a crease appearing on her brow. “Where are we going?”

  King couldn’t hold back a grin. “Somewhere,” he said. Not his apartment, not yet.

  “Somewhere, huh?” She laid a palm on his thigh, her fingers so close to his groin that he had to bite back a growl. “Will I like this somewhere?”

  He knew she would, but instead of saying so, he made the universal gesture of locking his lips and throwing away the key. Charlotte tortured him for that by stroking up and down his thigh, closer and closer to the part of him that strained to meet her touch, until he turned off the interstate to a mountain road he knew she recognized. Not long after, he pulled into the ragged dirt drive that was the only access to the piece of property her father had given her as a pre-wedding gift when they got engaged the first time.

  Or at least, he prayed it was the first time. If not, he might carry her off like a caveman and hold her captive in the woods somewhere.

  With the car shut off, the interior went quiet. Outside, the trees blocked the wind and the ambient light from the city, surrounding them in darkness except for the lights from the dash, but he still caught the track of a tear on Charlotte’s cheek when she turned his way. His gut clenched as he reached to wipe it away.

  “Why are you crying?”

  Charlotte shook her head, a wry laugh escaping despite another tear glittering as it dropped. “Just remembering.” She looked out the window, then back to him. “I came here that day, you know.”

  “What day?”

  “The day Richard hit me. I was…missing you, missing what we’d had.” A heavy sigh escaped her. “I had no idea how close you were to coming back into my life that day.”

  King wished it hadn’t taken a near-fatal car accident to make it happen, but God, he was glad something had.

  Reaching down, he pushed the button to back his seat up to its fullest extent. He leveraged up the middle console, then pulled Charlotte carefully across until she was full in his lap. Only when she was comfortably settled did he tilt her head up and take the kiss he so desperately needed.

  And just like that, he was lost. Charlotte’s mouth opened to him, allowing him in, her heat matching his, their tongues dueling for long minutes before the need for air broke them apart. He rested his forehead against hers, breathing deep, counting down the seconds until he could have more.

  “Why did you bring me here, King?”

  Her words reminded him this wasn’t a random drive down memory lane. Anticipation set his already racing heart off even faster. “I brought you here for a very specific reason,” he said hoarsely.

  “You did?”

  Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulled out a small square box. When Charlotte’s gaze latched on to it, she reached up with a hand he noticed was shaking, and flicked on the interior light. “What is that?”

  Something he prayed she wanted as much as he did. Without answering, he popped the lid of the box open to reveal a platinum band inset with two heart-shaped diamonds twinkling in the artificial light. One of the diamonds had been in their engagement ring long, long ago, the ring she’d given back to him when they broke up. Now…

  He pulled the ring from its nest. “A few years ago,” he rasped, “when we were young and not as smart as we are now, I gave you my heart in a ring I wanted you to wear for the rest of our lives.” He reached for her hand, poising the ring above her fingers, waiting for her signal. “Now I realize it takes two hearts to make a whole—the one I gave you”—he nodded toward the ring—“and the one I hope you’ll give me. Charlotte, will you marry me?”

  She stared at the ring for so long he began to sweat. Maybe it was too soon. Maybe she needed more time to trust him again. But no. They’d been through hell together, and there was no going back, for either of them. They belonged together; he knew it.

  “This is really the diamond from my old ring?” Charlotte raised liquid eyes to his.

  “It really is.” He tipped the ring between his fingers, giving her a look from all angles. “A piece of our past, but set in something completely new, just like we are. We can’t go back, but we bring the past with us, and I know this time we will only make things better.”

  She nodded, her smile wet with tears. “Yes. We will.”

  When she slipped her finger inside the ring, he wanted to howl at the moon. Caveman, indeed. She brought out every facet of him, rough and tender, sweet and sexy.

  And speaking of sexy…

  Neither of them were healed enough for acrobatics in the front of a sports car, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t give his fiancée—God, how he loved calling her that!—a taste of their future. He gripped her nape and guided her mouth back to his, showing her exactly how much he wanted her. His fingers shook as he pushed them beneath the hem of her shirt, all the way up till he could pull the cup of her bra down and find the swollen mound of her breast. Already her skin flushed, sending heat into his palm, and within seconds of his teasing, her nipple was rigid between his thumb and forefinger, her back arching carefully into his grip. At a particularly hard pinch, her mouth opened beneath his on a gasp, her moan ending in his name, breathy and begging.

  She was fire and flame, his woman. His angel. He teased her without mercy, driving her high while holding her secure, her writhing on his lap making his cock hard as steel. The monster need driving him would have to wait, but in the meantime he reveled in the rocking of her body over him, the way she spread her legs to give his fingers access when he dived beneath the waistband of her slacks, the sound of her moans as he thrust two fingers deep into her creamy channel and drove her to the edge of sanity before tipping her over it. Nothing could be better than her hunger, her desire for him. Nothing but the way she sank into his hold when it was over, trusting herself completely to him, no matter how vulnerable she became.

  “King,” she finally whispered, still breathless.

  “What, angel?” He nipped at the lobe of her ear, hunger keeping him on the razor’s edge.

  “Take me home.” She turned her head and whispered the next words against his lips. “Make me yours again.”

  His cock thumped against his zipper. “Let’s go.”

  ∞

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  Before you go…

  You might have noticed a cameo in DENY ME from the world of ASSASSINS: Abby and Levi. Meet the entire Agozi family (and see tantalizing tidbits from the ENIGMA crew as well) in this dark romant
ic suspense series, beginning with…

  ASSASSIN’S MARK

  Assassins 1

  I knew the minute I saw him that Levi Agozi was too perfect to be real. I didn't care. He came to me, asked for me, and, dazzled by his dark good looks and the bad-boy aura surrounding him, I gave in. Willingly.

  My father is set to become the next governor of Georgia, and he'll use me to get there if he has to. He'll hand me over, virginity and all, to the man with the biggest bank account and political pull.

  I wanted something more.

  I wanted Levi. And I had him—until I woke up, disoriented and confused, at his mercy. He’s a bad boy, all right. A sexy, deadly assassin. And I'm the pawn torn between him and my father, two powerful men intent on destroying each other.

  I might not understand their war, but I do understand one thing: no matter who wins, I lose.

  ∞

  “I inhaled this sexy, gritty, thrilling new series and I can’t wait for more!” — Lara Adrian, NYT Best-selling Author

  * * * One-click your copy of ASSASSIN’S MARK now! * * *

  ∞

  Chapter One

  I’m not sure what I expected. I’d been to bars, but not the kind of bars with pool tables and smoke haze and men on the prowl for a one-night stand. The bars I’d been to specialized in cocktail hours and old men in business suits. The Full Moon wasn’t refined or elegant or quiet.

  It was everything I was not. Exactly where I needed to be tonight.

  “What’ll you have?” the bartender asked. He was staring at Candy’s breasts, but she didn’t seem to mind, just flashed him a sexier version of her friendly smile. Had she slept with him before?

  It was Renee who answered. “Pitcher of strawberry margaritas, Dave.”

  “Make that two,” Candy tacked on.

  Dave the Bartender nodded at her cleavage. “I’ll send ’em right over.”

  I followed my friends through the crowd toward a table Sarah had snagged while we ordered. The three women obviously had a routine. I’d known they were close, and the fact that they’d extended their little circle to include me from the first day we met in Nursing 101 class had touched me in ways they couldn’t possibly understand. They were normal girls with normal lives and normal homes. I wasn’t, but if they’d noticed, they didn’t mention it. No flicker of recognition at my name, no questions about where I lived or why I never went out when they invited me. Just basic friendship, no strings attached.

  They had no idea how rare that was.

  “So, Abby, see anything interesting?”

  Too much, actually. Heat flushed my cheeks. “Um…”

  Sarah giggled. “Wait till she’s got at least one margarita in her, Renee. Then ask.” She bumped my shoulder with hers. “The selection always looks better the later it gets.”

  The selection already looked pretty good to me. Most of the men were our age—early twenties—and not a suit and tie to be found. Jeans and half-buttoned shirts and messily styled hair were the go-to. A tattooed forearm or the wink of an earring wasn’t rare. Beers in hand, the men joshed each other while prowling the room, hungry gazes assessing each woman they came to. One by one they’d peel off with their choice, either to the dance floor or a table or the front door.

  What was it like to be the women they chose? In the circles my family required me to frequent, the barrier of my father’s name and status kept men away from me. Here, there were no barriers except my friends and my own insecurities. The idea that I could choose to ignore both and do whatever I wanted quickened my breath. Either I was excited or about to hyperventilate; I wasn’t certain which.

  I refused to let the terror win anymore.

  The margaritas arrived and we each poured ourselves one. The fruity yet tart liquid set my tongue alight like a sparkler on the Fourth of July, a pleasure I hadn’t experienced before. I savored it as I listened to the girls’ giggling commentary about each man who walked by. It wasn’t long before the room went hazy with something other than smoke and I found myself joining in the conversation without reservation.

  I was pouring my second margarita when my phone vibrated in my back pocket. Two shorts, one long: my father. A healthy gulp helped bolster my confidence before I pulled the cell out for a look.

  I shouldn’t respond, shouldn’t care, but I clicked on the message anyway, just to see. Maybe he’d changed his mind. Maybe he was worried about me. Maybe he wanted to apologize, tell me he loved me for once in twenty-one years.

  Where the hell are you?

  Or maybe not. I returned the phone to my pocket.

  Sarah leaned close, her voice low. “Everything okay?”

  Renee and Candy were focused on the table of men to their right. I gave Sarah a wry smile. “My dad.” I took another drink. “It’ll blow over, I’m sure.”

  Sarah laid her hand over mine on the table and squeezed. The gesture mesmerized me. I couldn’t remember the last time someone had touched me because they cared. How sad was that?

  My phone buzzed again. I ignored it.

  “Holy shit.”

  Sarah’s hand left mine to grasp her drink. She took a gulp, her gaze trained somewhere over Candy’s head. I followed it.

  Holy shit is right.

  The man was tall, dark, and dangerous with a capital D. I’d never seen anyone like him, anyone who made my insides clench just looking at him. Thick dark hair, long on top and shaved close on the sides, highlighted perfect ears and a jaw chiseled from granite. His eyes seemed too light for that hair and his olive skin, shining like spotlights beneath dark brows, almost too intense to bear. And those lips. God. They hinted at sensual pleasures I could only guess at.

  He prowled across the room, a lean, muscular panther intent on prey—every woman’s fantasy, including mine.

  And he was headed straight for us.

  My gaze dropped to my drink. The tables around us held either men or couples, so I wasn’t mistaken about his focus. Which girl was he interested in? Sarah with her sweet smile? Or maybe Candy, with her unabashed sensuality?

  An empty glass stared back at me. I reached for the pitcher.

  “Hello, ladies.”

  My hand froze on the handle as the words quivered through my body. Look up! Look at him! But I couldn’t; I could only sit there like a dumbass holding the pitcher in my shaking grip and praying I didn’t make a fool of myself.

  No fear, remember?

  No fear. I tightened my grip, lifted. So far, so good. Somehow I managed to pour a fresh drink without spilling, replace the pitcher on the table. Despite the sick pounding of my heart in my throat, I made myself glance up.

  Gray eyes locked with mine.

  Lord, he’s beautiful.

  I expected him to look away, to focus on one of the other women. He didn’t. He stared—at me. Until the urge to squirm crawled up my spine and my cheeks burst into flames.

  “Hello.”

  Was that my voice, all breathy and…suggestive? It must’ve been; the other girls were staring, silent, their round eyes just as awed as I’m sure mine were. I looked back to the man looming over our table.

  He reached a hand out to me. “I’m Levi.”

  My fingers settled into his grip like they had been created to fit him. “Abby.”

  My voice cracked. I cleared my throat.

  “Hi, Abby.” He didn’t let go of my hand, didn’t glance around. Just held me captive with those intense eyes. “Would you dance with me?”

  Me?

  I barely managed not to say it aloud. Instead I looked to Sarah, who was frantically nodding. “Uh, okay. Sure.”

  Could I be any more awkward if I tried? Where was the vaunted hostess who demurely handled every crisis that arose?

  Maybe she’d died along with the dream that someday, somehow, my father would see me as his daughter and not his pawn.

  Levi tugged on my hand, urging me to my feet. My body responded to his command automatically, breaking through the nerves that had held me f
rozen. I didn’t want to be frozen, not anymore. And I didn’t want to miss this, not a minute of it.

  Grab ASSASSIN’S MARK here!

  ∞

  “I have a handful of authors that write books that I consider comfort reads. I can typically rely on these books to bring me joy when I'm in a reading slump. Ella Sheridan is one of those authors.”

  ~ Blogging by Liza

  About the Author

  Ella Sheridan never fails to take her readers to the dark edges of love and back again. Strong heroines are her signature, and her heroes span the gamut from hot rock stars to alpha bodyguards and everywhere in between. Ella never pulls her punches, and her unique combination of raw emotion, hot sex, and action leave her readers panting for the next release.

  Born and raised in the Deep South, Ella writes romantic suspense, erotic romance, and hot BDSM contemporaries. Start anywhere—every book may be read as a standalone, or begin with book one in any series and watch the ties between the characters grow. Connect with Ella at:

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