Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 67966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
Lincoln tried not to fall into the black abyss of Sharpe’s eyes—unyielding, endless, dangerous—or obsess over the way his mouth worked that splintered toothpick with confidence. Moving his lips slowly, quirking one side of his mouth, knowing he was staring.
Fuck that fuckin’ arrogance.
Hate charged and sparked between them…but under the contempt was a need so hot it frightened him.
Sharpe was the kind of brutal, uncompromising, pessimistic man he’d been begging Thorn to find for him, and now that he was in front of him, Lincoln couldn’t decide if he wanted to fight him, kiss him, fuck him, or all three.
Lincoln tried to brush past, but Sharpe caught him by his upper arm and yanked him close enough to whisper in his ear.
“Your boss-slash-lover-slash-landlord may not be guilty of murder, but he’s doing something funny in that mansion of his. And I’m gonna find out exactly what.”
The nerve of this sexy piece of shit, daring to presume he knew anything about Thorn, growling his ignorance into Lincoln’s ear.
For one reckless heartbeat, he imagined yanking Sharpe closer and crushing that self-righteous mouth against his own until neither of them could breathe. Sharpe was a fool if he thought Lincoln couldn’t see right through his ass like fucking glass.
His cock got harder as he turned his head, the shift causing Sharpe’s stubble to brush against his own jaw.
“You think I don’t know that look in your eyes, Detective?” Lincoln grinned, glancing down at Sharpe’s fingers where they dug into his bicep. “Because I do. I also know when a man just wants to put his hands on me.”
Sharpe narrowed his eyes before he pulled his hand away and shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’m sure I’ll see you again soon, Lincoln.”
“Mmm, I fuckin’ guarantee it, Detective,” Lincoln moaned low in his throat, the sound promising both pleasure and challenge.
Forty-Second Floor of the Bank of Tidewater
Lucas’s Office
Downtown Norfolk, Virginia
3:30 a.m.
Lucas sat on the leather couch in his office, nursing his fourth Beluga Gold vodka on the rocks.
He’d been gazing out at the harbor below, lashing against the docks, the murky water restless from the storm, the boats usually anchored in the marina out in the open water where they couldn’t be damaged.
Lucas wished the heart worked in the same way. If he could just move it somewhere safe until the storm passed, he’d be all right.
Lucas checked his phone for the hundredth time since he’d gotten Thorn Blackwell’s message.
He’d given up concentrating on work about six days ago because all he could think about was the dark man he’d played knight in shining armor to last week.
He was stupid to only give Thorn his business card. Now he had to wait and hope he’d hear from him.
Lucas downed the last of his fine liquor.
I’m rebounding. I’m thinking about Thorn Blackwell so much because I don’t fuckin’ have anyone else to think about.
That realization brought him to his next dilemma.
Did he go home to a big empty house and a cold bed, or did he just sleep in his office another night?
Staying again would do nothing to quash the rumors and gossip spreading like wildfire about him and his recent divorce. Apparently, Lucas was spiraling, he was depressed, he was a functioning alcoholic, and more recently, he’d overheard that he was desperately seeking companionship online and hooking up in back alleys.
Maybe he should go on a vacation, out of the city, hell, out of the country. He hadn’t had a week off in years, and the time away from the office might do him some good.
Yeah, I need to get the fuck outta here.
When he returned, he’d sell his five-bedroom house and move into a condo downtown or something. Besides, it was Adam who’d wanted that monstrosity of a house, not him.
Lucas got up, put his crystal glass in the sink of his wet bar, and went to his desk to power down his computers.
He figured he’d go home and crash in his den for a few hours before he came right back to his office. Burying himself in his business had been the only way to keep his heart and his mind off losing his husband.
Lucas released a long, defeated sigh as he took his suit jacket off the back of his chair and turned off the lights. He was almost out of the door when the downstairs security desk buzzed his phone.
Who in the hell would be at his building this time of night?
It better not be Adam.
Lucas frowned as he crossed the room and pressed the intercom button. “Yes,” he answered.
“I have a man here in the lobby asking to see you, a Mr. Thorn Blackwell. He says it’s urgent,” the overnight officer answered.
“Send him up,” Lucas said quickly, his heart thudding even at the mention of Thorn’s name.
What is he doing here, and what’s so urgent?