by Amber Bardan
He tilts my face, brushing his cheek against my ear. “I promise it will be worth it.” His stubble chafes my earlobe, stinging and electrifying. I’ve felt those bristles scrape against my neck, my breasts, my thighs. There’s not an inch of me that hasn’t felt the sweet torture of their abrasion. “Can’t you see it?” he asks. “The future where you’re mine?”
My eyelids drift shut. I know it’s only the hand cradling my face that’s holding me up. I can see that future. I see it with fluorescent intensity. Life with the lights turned on. Life where living means more than existing. For everything he’s taken from me, he’s given me back more. He breathed a soul back into me. Without it, without him, I’d be a walking corpse.
I see our future. I ache for it, yearn for it, despise myself for it.
“Say it, Angel. Say, Haithem, I’m yours.”
For all intents and purposes, I’m a prisoner—captive—perhaps even a slave. Because I have no choices but the ones he gives me. Yet, he gives me this choice—or at least the illusion of a choice—to choose him.
To love him.
As if making a choice had ever been an option. The moment I met him, I may as well have been branded.
Chapter One
One month earlier
Trouble. Nope, I didn’t love trouble, even if my foot did have a tendency to find its way into steaming piles of it. Like the time I failed my driving test, swerving for ducks only to plow right over a letter box. Yet, when trouble walked in—snug suit jacket clinging to too-broad shoulders, the sharpest gaze I’ve ever seen ripping through the café—my attention homed right in on trouble.
His chin jerked toward the person next to him. The other man slipped ahead, responding to the silent command by making his way to the back of the room.
I stared. A little more. He just needed to move about thirty degrees clockwise and—
He shifted, blasting me with the full impact of him front on. His gaze met mine the way lightning meets the sea. Electric. Black eyes burned a trail over me. The dark of his irises flicked between darker lashes, taking me in and peeling back the world.
No more café. No more dry Melbourne heat pushing sweat from my scalp into my hair. No more job interview in forty-five minutes. Only the sharp angles of a face that could have been cut from granite.
Oh, sweet god of chin dimples.
I swallowed, the bitter linger of coffee bouncing off the back of my taste buds. Those eyes tracked the movement, almost as though he’d caught the secret slide of my tongue against my palate.
The table jerked. A cool spray splattered my neck.
The world burst back into focus—scraping chairs, humming voices, waitress walking right into my table...
“I’m so sorry.” She slammed the tray down not two inches from my open laptop and set the empty glass of juice, the contents of which trickled down my chest, upright. “It’s my first day.”
I ran my hands down my throat, attempting to halt the slide of liquids to my brand new job-interview attire. “It’s okay.”
She tugged napkins from the dispenser. “I’m really sorry. There’s orange juice on your shirt.”
I scooped the napkins out of her hands and patted over my chest. Yep, of course she was right. A slash of orange streaked between my first and second buttons.
I took a breath. “It’s okay. May I have a soda water?”
“Of course.” She scooped up the empty coffee cups from my table and collected the tray.
I glanced at the laptop, blessedly spared a juicy coating. The cursor flashed at the top of the article I’d been working on.
“Aged Care Crisis—How everyday Australians are at risk of homelessness.”
A laugh burst from my lips, and I clamped a fist to my mouth. The laugh turned to a nasal snort. Homelessness, not funny whatsoever. Yet the idea of turning up at Poise magazine, orange stain between my boobs, sweat I could literally feel spawning some kind of frizz demon in my hair, well, it would be no shock if they suggested I perform a little investigative journalism on the matter.
Like the deep-undercover, pushing-around-a-shopping-cart kind of investigative journalism.
“Here’s your soda water.”
“Thanks.” I took the bottle and cracked the lid, then poured some out onto fresh napkins.
“Can I get you something else?”
My belly piped up like the over-excited child it tended to be. But I hadn’t lost a dress size for nothing. “Just another coffee, please.”
I wiped at my blouse, undoing the top button for maximum stain access. Dammit, juice managed to soak into my bra. My nice white one, too.
Excellent.
Tiny bumps rose where I wiped, a shiver rippling through my extremities. I looked up, dropping the napkins.
He stood right where my gaze had left him—facing me. As though he hadn’t taken a breath since I’d stooped looking at him. His brows pushed together, as though maybe he were lost. I glanced behind us. People sat around tables. The man he’d been with earlier was nowhere to be seen.
I turned back to chin-dimple dude. His eyes moved just a fraction. It took a moment to realize where he’d stolen a peek.
I’d left my shirt open.
Heat flooded every limb, but something else, too. Something that made my spine go straighter and made my chest snap farther out. His gaze flew back to mine, and he smirked. An expression so close yet so far from a smile my chest hurt from it. Everything went liquid hot. My insides pounded warm and fluttery, yet also heavy.
There stood trouble all right. I experienced the full breadth of that trouble as a sucker punch to my vagina.
Did he want to see my boobs? That was a thing I could do. They’d have an “out the back” here, wouldn’t they? Like an alley or something? I could handle soft-core flashing. Why not? No one else had seen them since—let’s not even think about when.
Suddenly, he looked over me and strode through the café.
He walked right past me.
My arm almost shot out to stop him.
I forced my palm onto the table and let him go. My heart pitter-pattered around my rib cage. Air rushed from my lips. I knew this feeling...excitement. The real, actual kind. Not the supposed-to-be type. A slow smile widened until it stretched my cheeks to an ache. Well, that was nice. I could still feel that. It’d taken a while, but I was glad the feeling still lived in me. I’d almost given up.
Haithem
The napkin scraped over the underside of my jaw before I scrunched it in my palm. She was a problem.
A problem that plowed through me like a train the instant I’d entered. Stealing the concentration from my mind.
Who the hell is she?
A billion possibilities swarmed. Had someone sent her to watch me? The waitress set a cup on her table. She smiled in thanks, cheeks dimpling. No, of course not.
Just a girl drinking coffee...
Yet, the thump under my ribs didn’t slow. Now even sweetly smiling women sent suspicions coursing—this is what had become of me. The men at my table babbled nonsense that didn’t bear listening to. I was about to educate them exactly how things would be.
But her.
She tossed her head again. A hand through her hair and chin to her shoulder. Did she think I wouldn’t notice?
Or did she want me to?
If so, I should find out why. I dropped the napkin into an empty glass. How did things proceed like this? In the day. In public. I rubbed my fingers against my thumb. When was the last time I’d met a woman in daylight? Or one who wasn’t ready, hand out, rules set?
From where we sat, I had the gift of her profile. It wasn’t enough. Her bottom lip caught between her teeth, then popped back out.
My balls contracted. Went full and heavy. I might excuse myself for
a moment, go over and—
No.
I expelled a breath. Whatever she was up to, she was too young for it. The girl was too young for me. Even if I couldn’t remember the last time a woman had made me fidget. Or made me want to crawl out of my skin just to get to her.
“Haithem,” Karim whispered.
This wasn’t the time for distractions.
Today’s company was a precious few that knew who I was and craved something from me other than spilling my blood. That didn’t warrant complacency. I focused on the men across from me. They already knew I was the real deal. The sweat beading across Steve Parker’s nose, and the way his tongue darted to the corner of his thin lips revealed negotiations would be wrapped up by the time I finished my tea. Steve’s partner, Brad, was harder to read. He didn’t sweat, didn’t shift, but I didn’t miss the tension corded in Brad’s neck, either. They knew what was going to happen—that they were about to be the first people in the world to gain access to something that until now had only been dreamed about. I’d have them folding before they knew bargaining had begun.
“So, do we have a deal or not? We’re losing patience.”
My chin lowered at Brad’s question. Direct. Good, things would move even quicker.
“There’s no reason to lose patience. Considering the personal risk I’m taking just in being here, I’m sure you can appreciate my reluctance to commit until all my terms are met.”
My gaze shifted over Brad’s shoulder. Dammit. She baited me again, pale eyes boldly flirting in my direction. Her cheeks were flushed, and her lips parted as if she’d been running or was freshly fucked—or perhaps just wanted to be...
Karim cleared his throat. I presented Steve my final offer. Time to finish this. There’d be opportunity for play later. Five years of hell and we were about to make the deal that would change the world—yes, change the world—and cement the price on my head. Normally, this kind of business was done at night, in empty construction sites or parking lots. But I’d learned that sometimes the best place to hide is in plain sight. To anyone listening, this would sound like any average business lunch.
They’d be wrong.
I didn’t need to look to sense her eyes on me once more. My muscles tightened, but I resisted the urge to give her a taste of my full attention. I studied her in my peripheral.
She rubbed the bare expanse of her arm below the sleeve of her blouse, and tilted her head slightly away from us.
She’s listening.
The lust, only just acknowledged, morphed into something harder and meaner. Did she spy on me?
I responded to Brad’s futile negotiations without narrowing my vision.
Who is she?
Brad and Steve caved at half a cup of coffee then took their leave through the rear entrance of the café. Karim and I had agreed we’d wait ten minutes before leaving for the next meeting in the building across from us. I’d have waited anyway.
Waited just to find out what she thought she was doing.
I’d have waited to see if her voice was as husky as I imagined it’d be. Or if it’d be light and musical.
Husky, I knew it’d be husky.
If it wasn’t for today’s business, I’d be right over there, offering what she clearly wanted. Maybe. If I wanted to break the rules.
“It’s been too long since you enjoyed company, Haithem.”
I drained the remainder of my tea and eyed my assistant over the lip of the cup. “We’ve been busy.”
“Yes, and now you’re getting distracted. Invite the girl to a hotel for an hour and clear your head.”
I set down the cup with a clank. Too tempting, and a bad idea. She wasn’t my type. Not my type at all. Plus I didn’t like the way her attention fixed on me. “I’d need more than an hour.”
“Then take it. There’s a long trip ahead of us, there may not be a next time.”
We didn’t need to leave until morning.
I could take her now.
Just stride over there and tell her what I wanted, give her an offer she’d never refuse. My thigh brushed the table, and I glanced down. I’d stood without meaning to. A scowl twisted my lips. No, not what I needed. There was too much to be done.
Yet, it wasn’t only the twenty-five minutes of silent flirtation making me want to finish the job. I’d wanted her from the moment our gazes locked. There was something there—in those pale eyes. Secrets I wanted to uncover.
All reasons why I had to leave her alone.
Don’t miss DIDN’T I WARN YOU by Amber Bardan.
Available now wherever Carina Press ebooks are sold.
www.CarinaPress.com
Copyright © 2016 by Amber Bardan
Acknowledgments
Thank you to my husband, whose support makes my dream job possible. Thank you to our parents, the grandparents of our kids, for always helping out. Thanks to my sister, Melissa, for being my cheerleader.
Thanks to my publicist, Neda Amini, for helping readers find my books.
To everyone at Carina Press, thank you for your fantastic work and for giving this series the perfect home. Thank you to my editor, Alissa Davis, whose insights have helped this book be the best it can be.
I am tremendously grateful for my agent, Laura Bradford, for her constant dedication.
A million times thank you to my dear friend Dani, for all your wisdom and guidance.
Thanks to all my lovely friends at Melbourne Romance Writers Guild and also Romance Writers of Australia for making this journey an even greater one.
My dear critique partner Eden Summers, thank you for the many hours of critiquing and cheerleading; your support has meant so much.
This writing gig can be lonely—thank you to all my virtual friends. Connecting with you keeps me sane and grounded. Thanks to everyone who has taken the time to leave messages, reviews, comments and Tweets about my books. Your support means everything.
Also available from Amber Bardan
and Carina Press
The Bad For You Series
Didn’t I Warn You
Didn’t You Promise
Don’t Lie to Me
King’s Captive
About the Author
After spending years imagining fictional adventures, Amber finally found a way to turn daydreaming into a productive habit. She now spends her time in a coffee-fueled adrenaline haze, writing thrillingly erotic romance.
She lives with her husband and children in semirural Australia, where if she peers outside at the right moment she might just see a kangaroo bounce by.
Amber is an award-winning writer, Amazon Bestselling Author and member of Romance Writers of Australia, Melbourne Romance Writers Guild and Writers Victoria.
You can find out more about Amber by visiting her website, amberabardan.com. Connect with Amber on Facebook at Facebook.com/amberabardan or Twitter at Twitter.com/amberabardan.
For a free gift, and to keep up with new releases, please subscribe to her newsletter at bit.ly/2d4L6sD.
Introducing the Carina Press Romance Promise!
The Carina Press team all have one thing in common: we are romance readers with a longtime love of the genre. And we know what readers are looking for in a romance: a guarantee of a happily-ever-after (HEA) or happy-for-now (HFN). With that in mind, we’re initiating the Carina Press Romance Promise. When you see a book tagged with these words in our cover copy/book description, we’re making you, the reader, a very important promise:
This book contains a romance central to the plot and ends in an HEA or HFN.
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Look for the Carina Press Romance Promise and one-click with confidence that we understand what’s at the heart of the romance genre!
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