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Red. The color of extremes.
Tate Conrad’s existence is annihilated. Destroyed by two men: one, her hero and the other, her worst nightmare. She has nothing to lose.
Determined to survive, vengeance feeds her. There are no limits, no boundaries, not even death, in seeking liberation.
Rylan Wolfe is driven. A stellar FBI agent close to breaking the case of a lifetime. It’s more than career-making, it’s personal. Tate’s the linchpin to it all. They need each other to succeed.
For Tate, is he her salvation or ruin?
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Spinning to face me, her eyes brim with fear, stirring an unnamed emotion in me. I don’t want her to ever be afraid, worried or unprotected.
“Shit, you scared the hell out of me,” she snaps.
“I’m sorry. I followed you. I sensed your mother was not happy about something.”
“So, you heard?” She shuts the door. “We need to be more careful, Ry. It’s one thing if Bobby doesn’t like you, but if you also become a problem for my father, you’ll be cut off or worse.”
Closing the distance, I take both her hands and pull her near. Again, my need to touch her is strong and instinctive.
“Listen, we’re being careful. I realize now my comment about Bobby being a fool was likely what caused her outburst.”
I grin at her sarcasm. My humor turns to overwhelming want when her tongue darts out to lick her plump lips, desire ricochets up my spine.
“You need to stop the I want her act because they all see it and while you’re likely doing it to get at Bobby, it could backfire,” she warns.
“I can’t.” We’re mere inches apart, but there’s too much space between us. Tugging at her, our chests collide, her soft breasts nestle in my chest. If I’m not mistaken, her nipples are hard. Her breath hitches. “It’s not an act.”
“Ry,” she whimpers. “We can’t do this,” she cautions, yet her lust-filled eyes tell a different tale.
Blowing by the sirens and hazard signs, I leave all reservations in the dust. Even though this is a bad idea, I’ve tunnel vision. All I see is her. This exquisite creature before me. Despite what I said minutes ago, about being careful, I want nothing more than to taste her. Have her. Make her mine.
Tate’s eyes dilate and darken with desire, her gaze on my lips. Her fingers curl the lapels of my tux, I take that as an invitation. Tightening my hold, her soft dips and curves mold perfectly to my hard lines.
My hands rest on the swell of her flawless ass. Drawing her deeper into me. Her eyes widen as my erection presses into her stomach. Feel what you do to me. I want you.
Cupping her jaw, she affectionately leans into my touch, a contented sigh passes her lips. Briefly closing her eyes, long lashes fan her light pink cheeks. Inching our faces closer together, her plump, enviable mouth is less than a breath away from mine. Fuck, I need to taste her.
Mixed with her natural, tempting scent and her wanton need, my senses are overpowered. I’m a goner. At last, the reality of tasting, sucking and nibbling those luscious lips, that have taunted and teased me, is finally here.
About S.M. West:
Born on the shortest day and longest night of the year, Winter Solstice, she’s a self-professed night owl. From a young age, creating stories and conjuring characters was always one of her favorite pastimes. She loves a great story with romance and intrigue, a strong heroine and fiercely passionate hero with passion, intensity and edge. If she’s not writing or reading, she’s planning her next adventure, spending time with her family or drinking a great glass of wine and indulging in chocolate.
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