Solving problems, my trade.
Until the tables turn, and trouble finds me.
Now on the run, I need a plan.
But not before I’m blindsided by a pain-in-the-ass stranger.
Curves, startling blue eyes, and she hates me.
I don’t trust her and with good reason.
My plan is simple: use her.
Then I kiss her. Touch her. Crave her.
She was my way out, now she’s my downfall.
Two thick raven braids like shiny rope trail over her shoulders. She has a completely different look. Younger. Innocent. A stark contrast to the fierce woman last night who could hold her own, not backing down no matter the situation.
I feast on her delicate bone structure and smooth moves. Elegance seeps from her every pore despite being covered in grease. I saw the same last night. Even naked and fighting, or shivering and vulnerable, she was pure grace.
She’s both queen and warrior. A young Elizabeth Taylor or Grace Kelly with her small, pert nose; full, perfectly symmetrical lips, and high cheekbones; and her enigmatic eyes.
The bruising on her neck jerks me from my trance. She didn’t bother to hide the marks from our altercation last night, and it’s the first thing blond boy notices.
I gnash my teeth together at the scarlet markings on her pale flesh. My fingerprints, angry and raw, band her throat, and it’s as if I feel her thumping pulse again.
The violent and sudden urge to hit something erupts within me. I don’t hurt women. Never. But I also never give anyone the chance to kill me. The jury is still out on whether that was why she was at the loft.
Golden Boy attempts to touch, but she steps back. Undeterred by her rebuke, he leans in to kiss her, hungry. Again, she shifts slightly, his lips brushing her cheek instead of her mouth. His face flushes like a little boy put in the corner.
Boyfriend? Friend? Either way, things aren’t all rosy, not with the move she just made.
He follows her like a puppy dog inside the building. A slow, easy smirk slides across my face. She’s got him by the balls. Better him than me.
My phone vibrates, and I glance at the text with an encrypted attachment.
Paddy: You’re going to want to see this.
The file is brief, but enough to almost choke me with the details. Any residual shame from the way I handled her last night evaporates.
Glimpsing the sable-haired beauty disappearing from my view, my blood simmers, both satisfied with being right about her and incensed at her deception. Last night’s mix-up at the loft wasn’t a fluke.
There’s more to Maggie than meets the eye. She may be the perfect portrait of class, but I see under her veneer. She’s a fake.