An all-new sexy standalone novel from authors Melanie Harlow and David Romanov is here, and I have an excerpt for you!
All the lights were out and the house was completely silent, so I froze when I heard what sounded like the clink of ice in a glass coming from the living room.
That’s weird. Derek was home? And sitting alone in the dark? Or was Carolyn with him?
The last thing I wanted to do was interrupt, but on the off chance that it wasn’t Derek in there but some kind of intruder, I stood at the threshold of the room and peered into the darkness. I thought I made out a lone figure sitting on the couch, but my eyes were still adjusting when he spoke.
It was him. “No, thank you.”
Always have to have your way, don’t you? I hated myself for it, but I entered the room. He stood, went over to the bar cart near the window and poured something into his glass. The silver-gray light filtering through the blinds outlined his silhouette, and his shoulders appeared even bigger than I remembered. My dick betrayed me by trying to get hard.
“Drink?” he asked.
“No, thank you.” I played cool Russian because I knew it would bother him.
Still facing away from me, he lifted the glass to his lips. “How was your night?”
“Great,” I lied. “Yours?”
“Fine.” He didn’t elaborate, and I wasn’t about to ask.
“Guess I’ll head up to bed. It’s late.” And then I stood there for some stupid reason, as if I expected him to object.
I puffed up my chest a little. “Tomorrow, I’m leaving. I’ll find another place to stay.”
A pause while he drank. “Why?”
“Because it’s the right thing to do.”
“The right thing to do,” he repeated, and I wondered if he was drunk. He tipped back the rest of whatever he’d poured and set down the glass. Then he walked over to me, and we stood chest to chest. “The right thing to do would be to go upstairs and lock your door. But you’re not going to do that, are you?”
It was a challenge, and I took it.
Turning away from him, I tried to leave the room, but he grabbed my arm and yanked me backward. Then his mouth was on mine, hot and hard and heavy, one hand gripping the back of my neck, the other wrapped around my forearm.
After a few seconds of stunned ecstasy—he still wants me—I shoved him away from me. Hard.
“Yes. Fight me,” he seethed, whipping his shirt over his head. “Fight back.” He came at me again, all strength and rage and heat, pushing me back against the living room wall. “I want you to say no. I want you to push me away. I want you to be the one to stop this because I fucking can’t.” His lower body anchored mine, the solid bulge of his erection digging into the front of my hip. “I fucking can’t.”