From New York Times Bestselling Author, S.L. Scott, comes a ROMANTIC SUSPENSE STANDALONE that will have you on the edge of your seat and swooning over this ALPHA BILLIONAIRE.
Six foot three. Dynamic green eyes. Utterly irresistible.
Ethan Everest stole my breath the first time I saw him. He romanced me with skill, dazzled me with his charisma, and proceeded to steal my heart right after.
I might have fallen for his easy going smile the first time we met, but I fell for him the second time.
Honey-colored hair. Cherry-kissed lips. Captivatingly gorgeous.
Singer Davis was the first, and only, woman te the only thing that made sense in a world that made none.
o ever intimidate me. She spoke to my heart with her wit, seduced me with her eyes, and becam
I let her slip through my fingers once. I won’t make that mistake twice.
Secrets broke us apart. Can a second chance bring us back together?
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PROLOGUE
Ethan Everest
Every female here
has eyed me up and down, even the ones with boyfriends. They don’t even try to
hide it. They want me to see. They want me to know I can have them if I
want them.
Except
her. Blue dress. Red lips. Hair the
color of a golden sunset in winter.
Several
girls made themselves more than available. I was offered a fast fuck in the
bathroom within fifteen minutes of arriving. Fantasies may be taking over, but
there’s only one woman who catches my eyes—the demure beauty sitting on the
couch.
I want to stare at her.
She’ll
see me though.
I want to sit next to her.
There
are no more spots on the small futon.
I want to talk to her.
What
do I say when she makes all the blood rush from my brain and shoot straight to
my dick? Damn, I want her.
She’s
given me no reason to think of her naked beneath me. No indication that I
should have dirty thoughts about those delectable lips. Absolutely no sign that
I could have the pleasure of stroking her bare back while I take her from
behind.
Fuck. Me.
While
images of her cloud my thoughts, I’m not sure I have a shot in hell of even
taking up a minute of her time, much less a night. Nope, not one clue if I have
a chance with this beauty.
I’ll
take the risk, something I’m adept at doing. More often than not I win in the
end. She won’t be an easy target, but nothing worth having ever is. I’m
determined to find out if her tongue is as seductive as her eyes.
Although
she brings out my instinctive side, this is not about sex and passing time.
It’s about spending time with someone who challenges my mind while turning on
my body.
Nudging
the guy who lives here, I signal across the room and ask, “What’s her name?”
“Who?”
He follows my gaze. “The hottie on the couch?”
Heart-shaped
face, flawless skin, ample tits, hourglass shape at her waist. She’s not built
like a girl who doesn’t eat. She’s shaped like a woman I want to meet. “Yeah.”
“Dariya
Rostavik. She’s fucking hot.” He pats my shoulder. “And single. If my
girlfriend wasn’t here, I’d be all over that.”
“Cuz
you’re an asshole.” Her name, Dariya, rolls around my mouth, spikey instead of
rolling off the tongue naturally. The name doesn’t fit her.
“Pretty
much.” He laughs. “You gonna hit it, Everest?”
“I
don’t know.” I feign interest to him, lying to get his eyes off her. “Fuck,
they scored again.” My diversion works, and his attention is back on the big
screen.
The
truth is, I don’t know if I’m going to hookup with her. I’ve caught her looking
at me when she thinks I don’t notice. But
is she looking at me the way I’m looking at her?
Was
I busted moving closer when she was talking to her friend? Did she see me
eavesdropping to hear her voice? Did she notice when I joined a conversation
behind her to be closer? Or that I stepped out of the way of the fridge when she
wanted a bottle of water?
I
never get shot down by women. I’ve lived on easy street when it comes to my
looks and, from what I’m told, my personality, attracting the most attractive.
Something tells me I might be rejected by her.
She’s
not like the other girls here. Nothing about her fits in this environment—a
party with a bunch of guys getting drunk while watching sports and yelling at
the TV and girls dragged here by their boyfriends or convinced by their friends
to stop by.
She’s
an innocent among sycophants. Everyone wants something from me, except her.
Sexy and smart—speaks right to my heart.
I
catch her eyes on me again. This time I stare back until she looks away with a
pretty pink coloring her cheeks.
This
game with her is much more interesting than the one on TV. I follow her with my
eyes as she gets up and joins a group by the window. She seems to know the
other girl, but not so much the two guys.
Good,
I inwardly growl.
Keith
hits me in the chest. “Who do you have your eyes on?”
“The
woman by the window.”
My
best friend shakes his head. “No. Check out eleven o’clock. She’s a model from
Romania. Hot as fuck.”
“Not
interested. I want more than a fuck.”
“I’m
sorry. Have we met?” His sarcasm is as annoying as he’s been lately at the
office.
“I’m
for real.”
“So
am I.”
I
exhale and shoot him a glare. “I really am. I can fuck anyone. I want to spend
time with someone who interests me.”
“You’re
working too much. You’re so caught up in your head lately you’re missing what
life is really about.”
Crossing
my arms over my chest, I indulge him. “And what is life really about?”
“Doing
everything in your power to get it while the gettin’s good.”
“Are
we talking about business or women?”
“Both.”
The
model is hot, but I feel like I’ve been there done that. I don’t care what he
wants. He can have shallow, meaningless relationships. They’re more hassle than
they’re worth.
Glancing toward
the woman outside, an ease comes over me, releasing some of the pent-up
pressure that’s been expanding lately. “You go for the model. I’ll go for
Dariya.”
“Dariya?”
I’m knocked on the arm, and he points toward the couch. “That’s Dariya, man.”
“The
model?”
“Yeah,”
he says, laughing.
Thank
fuck I didn’t go outside and call the beauty by the wrong name. “I’ll be back.”
I grab two cans and head toward the window. I stop briefly by the group she was
talking to prior, but they’re buried deep into a conversation about American
consumerism. I’m not interested in their philosophical views on finances. The
only thing I’m interested in is the pretty woman sitting alone outside. The
woman excuses herself and I ask, “Hey, you guys know her name?”
They
look outside. “Singer.”
“She’s
a singer?”
“No,”
he says, chuckling. “Her name is Singer. Singer Davis. She came here with her
friend, Melanie, who just left.”
I
don’t hear most of what he says because I’m stuck on the woman with the red
lips. Singer. Singer Davis. “Thanks.”
Singer’s
been sitting on that fire escape by herself long enough to not feel like I’m
invading her space, like she’s taken over my thoughts. I seize the moment and
climb out.
This is where our story begins . . .
ABOUT S.L. SCOTT
Living in the capital of Texas with her family, Scott loves traveling and avocados, beaches, and cooking with her kids. She's obsessed with epic romances and loves a good plot twist. Her favorite color is blue, but she likens it more toward the sky than the emotion. Her home is filled with the welcoming symbol of the pineapple and finds surfing a challenge though she likes to think she's a pro.
AUTHOR LINKS
The Scott Scoop: http://bit.ly/2TheScoop
