Here’s a sexy snippet of my work in progress Evermore. It’s the third installment in my Descendant of Ra series.
A bit of clarification, Emeline isn’t attacking Avery. She’s jonesing for someone else.
From the instant Avery touched Emeline, the frayed dark core churning within him, slowed and turned into something more deadly—desire. Her skin was soft, delicate, and so damn warm. Or was it him on fire from simply touching what he’d craved for so long?
She pushed against him, not struggling to be free, but to continue her assault. He took the knife from her hand. Her head jerked up, and her hostile gazed nailed him. Then widened with surprise. Luscious lips parted and she sucked in a sharp breath. Did she remember their first encounter? He wondered, hoped. If she did, probably for all the wrong reasons. Avery shoved the thought away.
Her chest heaved. “Why’d you stop me?” she said, yet didn’t pull her hand away.
Avery tossed the knife in the bar sink. “Too many witnesses to get away with it.” From the corner of his eye, he noticed the man watching them. Avery gave the guy his full attention.
Lightweight, he thought. Soft hands clasped the beer bottle, matched the soft body beneath the cashmere coat. No obvious bulge of a weapon. But by his grin, he was cocky, use to giving orders. Avery had seen his kind many times, usually surrounded by sycophants. The guy rose from his seat. He gave Emeline a possessive glare and saluted her with his beer before sauntering away. The man toyed with his life. “Who is he?” Avery asked.
Emeline wrested her hand away. Her eyes threw daggers at the guy’s retreating back, then at Avery. “Who the hell are you?” She waited for his answer.
He didn’t give it to her. Nothing good would come from her knowing his name. She pushed, and Avery stepped out of her way, but watched as she stomped into the office. She returned a few seconds later in a pair of low slung jeans, shrugging on a short leather jacket and slinging her purse over her shoulder.
Emeline passed by him on the way to the exit, without a glance his way. E.J. whistled low and angled his neck to follow her strut. And she had a strut. A sensual sway her angry march couldn’t hide. And damn, she had an ass. Avery wasn’t an ass man, that didn’t get him going. He was a legs man. Loved them long and smooth and wrapped around his waist while he’s stroking deep, making that wet, sucking sound of two bodies slamming together. Looking at Emeline’s rear made his reevaluate everything he ever thought about being a legs man.