Sadie Francé has known nothing but pain all her life. Good things just didn't happen to people like her.O
nce, she let herself believe the opposite. She believed the lies of the mysterious rich boy who was hell-bent on making her his girl.
He gave her a taste... A taste of happiness. A taste of love. A taste of life.
But the moment Sadie began to let her guard down, believing life wasn't so much of a bitch after all, that taste, that sweet nectar, turned bitter on her tongue.
When yet another of life's unfortunate circumstances worked in her favor this time around, ridding her of her painful memories, Sadie trusted that she was safe. Free.
Until seven years later...
Into Sadie's miserable life barged the most mysterious oddity of a man. He made a fearless Sadie fear, a careless Sadie care, a hopeless Sadie hope.
Against her better judgment, against her own intuition, she wanted this man, body and soul.
But when she began having strange dreams, dreams that were her forbidden memories, memories that doctors told her were irretrievable, Sadie soon realized that Mr. Mysterious in Black wasn't so mysterious after all.
He was tired.
His heartbeat was just beginning to recover from a sweaty engagement of breath-ragged, hair-pulling, nail-scraping pleasure mere minutes ago, evening out and lulling him onward into the soothing darkness of sleep.
Unfortunately, he was yanked back from the calling darkness by the feel of soft feminine hands accompanied by flutters of kisses sliding along his chest. He reluctantly opened his eyes to the annoying realization that the treat of the night was still in his bed.
Yeah, he really was tired, because he usually saw to it that the source of his fleeting pleasure got lost the moment he found his release.
His eyes skidded over the olive-skinned, platinum blonde making a meal of his chest, and his brain struggled to remember her name.
She was a bank investor. That’s all he could remember about her, because he hadn’t been interested in what she had to say when she’d blabbered on (and on) earlier at the Gala. He’d merely paid attention to her curvy figure and the long, toned legs accentuated by six-inch heels that compelled him to spend a few hours in exploration.
He tried again to recall her name…Lacy…Lucy…Lisa... Ah hell, he didn’t know and he didn’t care.
Nameless Blond pressed her plum lips against the middle of his chest and murmured in a sultry voice that caressed him in places he really preferred to remain inert at the moment, “I want more.”
A sigh flowed from him as he mentally kicked himself for almost falling asleep with a woman in his bed. “I’m done. Get dressed. Moore will take you home.”
The covers flipped back with a simple flex of his muscular arm, and he swung his feet to the red carpeted floor. With the heels of his hands, he rubbed the weight of sleep from his eyes. “Oh, you were great, by the way. Thanks.”
The protesting muscles of his limbs told him just how exhausted he was. And as he wrestled with sleep, he detected no movement from Nameless Blond. Turning, he directed his stare at the blond-haired creature whose green eyes shone with tears as she clutched the black silk sheet over her bosom.
In a controlled voice, one straining against anger, he asked, “You don’t understand English?”
“Thanks?” she asked, voice breaking. “That’s it?”
Closing his eyes, he pinched the bridge of his nose. Telling a woman to leave more than once had never happened before, because he wasn’t normally this tired. And when he wasn’t tired, he was everything akin to a whirling dervish. So, when he gave a command, women usually sensed the peril of questioning him and elected not to argue. “Pretty much. Thought you understood what this was.”
When she just sat there still, staring at him, he full on glared. “Listen, girl, whatever the hell your name is, you need to get your ass up, and go.”
Recognizing his seriousness, Nameless Blond hopped up from the bed and scrambled around on the carpeted floor, retrieving her clothes.
Appeased, he got up and strolled over to the floor-to-ceiling glass window of the hotel room, staring out at the bright city lights of Chicago. The weak shade of light from the corner lamp silhouetted his tall, muscular frame in the darkness as he stood stark naked and pensive before the window.
One by one, he cracked his knuckles, trying his damnedest not to think of her.