I burst into laughter. “That is not me.”
“You're a man-eater,” he says, as if this should be news to me.
I tease him before I can even stop myself. “Don't you wish that were true in the literal sense?”
One of his eyebrows pops up in erotic suggestion. That look is enough to make any heterosexual woman want to kiss his face off. I guzzle my drink and push the mostly empty cup into the middle of the table.
“Have dinner with me,” he orders.
“Look, our little visit today has been fun, but—”
Before I can finish my sentence, he leans in and presses his lips against mine again. I try to fight it, but it’s really tempting to lose myself in him. He doesn’t let up. We’re in public for God’s sake. He sinks in that kiss and holds on to my face until I relent. Not only do I surrender to his mouth moving against mine, but I kiss him back. He tastes of chocolate and cinnamon. Desire snakes through my body and hints for me to warm things up a notch, but I know better!
I pull free from his grip and catch the intimate expression on his face before he opens his eyes. That one small gesture leaves me even more confused.
“I’ve got to go.” I glare at the few dirty singles I pull from my pocket and slap them onto the table. I hastily leave him sitting there before his eyes even get the chance to search mine for an answer.
“Wait!” he calls after me, but I don’t stick around to see whether he’ll follow me again.
I quickly replace the sound of his plea in my ears with music, and then I jog all the way back to my motel room with a worried smile on my face.
Some things in life are better left unsaid.
To be continued…
Learn more about Wicked Intentions now, or read on for a sneak peek at Chapter One!
1: Bad Habits
I scan over my dark motel room, but it’s a waste of my time. I know I have everything safely inside my bag where it has remained all week so it doesn’t catch cooties. I don’t dare check under the bed again. Even if I had unpacked, it wouldn’t take me long to pack back up. I don’t own much, and what I do own is mostly clothes and hair products. This is nothing new. I’ve always believed, the less you have the better. For every time I decide it’s safe to call something mine, it disappears or dies.
It’s just like when I decided I could take my college life back into my own hands. Finlay died. I thought it was safe to call Zayne my husband—the father of my child—but I couldn’t save him. I couldn’t save either of them. They were doomed from the start—just like me. I can’t protect myself from the cruel fate I seem to have been dealt, no matter how hard I try.
It’s the curse of the Black Widow.
I don’t like to buy into all that hocus pocus, but it’s the only logical explanation. Why else am I alone, again?
“Yoo-hoo, Clarisse?”
“Oh!” I catch Derek’s large shadow stretching into my room through my open door. “Hey, Derek.”
“Is this it?” he asks, picking up my single black bag and walking it out to his trunk.
“That’s it,” I tell him while I lock the door behind me. I head for his car and stretch my arms toward the sky.
Derek slams his trunk and stares at me again. At first he’s just noticing the way my shirt separates from my skirt when I raise my arms, and then he shakes that off and pays real attention to me. “Everything okay?”
I hate how intuitive he is. “Yeah, I’m good,” I lie.
He opens up his car door and looks back at me. “Then what are we waiting for?”
I glance toward the registration office. Even with the light on inside the small room, there’s a layer of dust filtering the view. “You go on ahead. I’ll be right back.”
“Are you sure? It’s getting pretty late. I can wait.”
“I’m sure. Don’t worry about me. I’m not afraid of the dark, but I am low on cash. I’m going to run down to the Piggy Mart to visit the ATM real quick.”
“Hop in. I’ll drive you.”
I shake my head. “Thanks, but I could use the fresh air. I’ll be back before you know it.”
He nods at me. “You want to be alone. Got it.” He salutes me and gets into his car. “Be careful,” he says, before closing his door.
I watch the navy blue car cross the four-lane highway, with the moon glimmering off the sparkly paint job. The red of his brake lights fills the night. Before Derek changes his mind and hollers at me to skip the ATM, I readjust the purse hanging from my shoulder and hurry down the sidewalk toward the Piggy Mart. The ATM is on the other side of the building, and I find it lit up like the fourth, with colorful spotlights and a dull street lamp hovering above it. Otherwise, the parking lot is dark—like, really, super dark.
I glance around but appear to be alone when the single car parked at the store takes off. I shrug my shoulders and then smirk at myself for worrying at all. Derek’s just overprotective. I step into the spotlight, pull open my bag, and scoop out my wallet. As I plug my debit card into the machine, I notice an exchange of lights in the reflection of the panel. I freeze in place and remain very still, until I see the shadows moving oh so slightly.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say there is someone behind me, and I’m guessing from the bulky stature that the large shadow belongs to a man. I squint into the monitor to get more details, but the screen starts to time out. I quickly punch in my number, hoping that I’m dreaming this up, but no. I sense him moving closer, and I suddenly wish I was wearing more clothes.
When I cautiously check over my shoulder, I see it’s definitely a man. He’s wearing a hooded, long-sleeved shirt. I try to see his face, but he stands just clear of the lamplight, making for damn sure anything his hood exposes is hidden by the shadows. Pepper spray would come in handy right about now. It’s too bad I left that in my other bag.
I wait for the machine to process my withdrawal request, hoping this guy will leave, but an eerie feeling nags at me to forget about the money. I should run back to the safety of Derek’s company. I ignore my instincts, knowing I have a wild imagination and an even worse track record with judging people. Maybe he’s just waiting for me to finish with the machine.
Something tells me it’s more than that.
It doesn’t matter. I’m not leaving. I will wait for my money out and then get the hell out of here. With a deep breath, I relax a little.
The man doesn’t make a move or a sound. Instead of sticking to the plan, I find myself twisting around to check him out. He quickly twists away. Is he intentionally hiding his face from me? A chill passes over my arms. I rub them quickly to shake the sensation washing over me as I face forward to check my balance.
“Shit!” My latest deposit hasn’t cleared yet, and I don’t think the $93.92 left in my account is going to cover the balance of this week’s rent.
As I contemplate what I’m going to do next, staring at the pavement next to me, I notice the man’s shadow blending into mine. The tall, dark figure moves up behind me, a little too close for comfort. My heart beats erratically as I ask the machine for my last four twenties. I hesitantly peer over my shoulder while the machine lines up the bills. I worry that I’m going to be attacked, my eyes finally connecting with the man’s shadowed face.
I swallow and turn back to the machine. This is even worse than I had imagined. The man presses against me, just as my money starts spitting out. I barely stifle my gasp as he brings his mouth close to my ear.
“Don’t move.”
I roll my eyes. “Or what?”
“Do as I say and no one will get hurt,” he says intimately.
I sigh out of amusement. “I've heard that before, on every crime show right before the criminal blows the victim’s head off. Go nuts. I dare you to try and see what happens.”
He slides something long and hard against the small of my back. “If you don’t shut your mouth, I might be forced to do something I don’t want to.”
I use sarcasm as a crutch, recogniz
ing the feel of the cold barrel against my skin. “Is that a banana in your pants, or are you just happy to see me?”
He doesn't lighten the pressure. “Take the money.”
I glance at the little tray with the four bills hanging out. I don’t even hear the incessant beeping noise until he tells me to pay attention. I quickly pull the twenties free and slide them into my wallet.
He wraps around me and growls in my ear, with his hands clutching me confidently, his warm cinnamon breath washing over my skin. “You’ll follow me if you know what’s good for you.”
My left eyebrow quirks up at such a dark suggestion, and I absorb the thrill of him acting so menacingly. The man knows me too well. If he had approached me as a gentleman with a friendly question, the answer would have been no, but when he licks that full lower lip with that hooded glance, it gives me a chill and not an unpleasant one.
I can’t decide whether he’s trying to take advantage of me with fear or seduce me for romance, but when his breath on my ear makes me shiver, I feel it tingle across my entire body. I need to stop thinking these thoughts, but my breathlessness only brings that wickedly sexy smile back to his mouth. Without asking, he takes my elbow and pulls me toward the back alley. I don’t fight it.
What am I doing, exactly?
I know any reasonable person would be screaming for help and kicking him in the balls. Unfortunately, I can’t mess with such big, handsome balls. Eh, worst case scenario, he takes me from this cruel world. Best case, we have some amazingly hot sex.
He forces me around the back corner of the nearest building and presses me into the warm bricks as his mouth crashes into mine. He quickly slips his tongue past my lips and tastes me, his hands scouring my thighs and gripping on to them with large, masculine hands. When he thrusts forward, I feel the way he fills those jeans. He gasps for a breath and hooks on to my eyes, but he doesn’t even need those long, dark lashes to lasso me in. I’m already roped.
That look has him devouring my mouth, my neck, and his hands seem to have a mind of their own. He grips me again, his hands then sliding up my thighs and in between them. He touches me like he’ll never get to touch me again. If that’s what he’s thinking, he’s probably right. Guilt gnaws at the corner of my mind. I start looking away, but he snares my gaze with those delicious chestnut eyes. A gentle movement of air cools my face, but it doesn’t help the slow burn that is officially consuming my body.
Is he letting me go? That would be best. Well, not the best for my exploding ovaries but best for my conscience. He smirks at me. Still, we don’t exchange a single word.
He’s not letting me go anywhere.
Pick up your copy of Wicked Intentions today and get the crazy finale readers are dying to get their hands on!
“Day by day, piece by piece, he puts it all together.
What will happen when he finally realizes what I've done?”
-Clarisse Blackwell
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About the Author
Christa Simpson is a Bestselling Author who entertains her readers with protective alphas, sassy heroines, and a fast-paced storyline. She writes wicked steamy contemporary romances and erotic thrillers loaded with passion, suspense and sarcasm. In her free time, she loves reading, writing, music, movies and dancing.
Christa is a small town Canadian girl living in Tilbury, Ontario, with her husband and two beautiful daughters. She’s a dreamer and has always believed you can do anything you set your mind to.
Please visit her website for more info:
http://christasimpson.com/about
Author of . . .
THE TWISTED SERIES
Twisted
Twist & Turn
A Twist of Fate
Twisted Desire
THE DESTINY SERIES
Finding Destiny
Beautifully Broken
Perfectly Ruined
TOUGH LUCK (A Forbidden Romance)
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A Note from the Author
Hey, you. Thanks so much for reading my book! I hope you aren’t too upset about the cliffy, because this story needed to be told but was too wild, crazy, and thrilling to squeeze into one novel. I assure you that Wicked Intentions, book two in this dark, erotic duet, will answer all your lingering questions. If not, you can contact me directly to demand an explanation! I don’t bite.
Honestly, I’m always looking for people just like you to join my VIP Reader’s Group. If you enjoy my books, or are a voracious reader, you should seriously consider becoming an active member of my PRIORITY READERS team today. Try it out for free! You can start enjoying the perks immediately, and I promise not to spam you. Good stuff only!
What more can I say? You must read Wicked Intentions to understand the true reason behind me publishing this story. I’ll tell you now, some of the horrifying shit in this book you’re thinking has to be completely fictional, I’ve experienced firsthand. There, I said it. It feels good to finally get that off my chest, but don’t ask me which parts because I won’t tell you. Then again, maybe my loose lips will share more at the end of book two. Hope to see you there!
~Christa
Acknowledgements
Okay, I’d like to drop a quick thanks or three before I go...
To my right-hand woman, my bestie, my beta, my girl. Sometimes I wonder how many times I can thank a single person, but you really are my SFAM. I always trust your opinion, rely on you to give it to me real, and love that I have a virtual shoulder to lean on whenever I need one. We will meet in person someday soon. I promise!
To Lori, my very first beta reader ever, who I know doesn’t even read my kind of shit on a regular basis. Your input on this one was beyond amazing. If it wasn’t for you and your support, I might not have had the courage to indie publish all those years ago. My thanks will never be enough. Much love!
To Lia, my editor. What a relief to know she has my back. If it wasn’t for her, you would be stuck reading my Canadianisms. Odds are many of you wouldn’t have a clue half the time what I was talking about. Lol. Cheers to that!
Last but not least… you—yeah, you! Thank you so much for taking the time to read my story. You didn’t have to do that but you did. I appreciate it. Having said that, don’t be a stranger. I’m always happy to connect with you across social media, and I hope to see more of you there!
~ Christa Simpson <3
Other Books by Christa Simpson
The Dark Secrets cast returns in...
WICKED INTENTIONS
BLACK WIDOW
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Playing House: A Black Widow Novel (Dark Secrets Duet Book 1) Page 20
