This was an exotic city, full of the ambitious, rich and beautiful. An oasis for some and hell for others.
Money knew no bounds here and everything had a price. The ugly were rare and priceless, the exquisitely beautiful common and cheap.
It was a place I loved and despised in equal measure.
I leaned over the balcony of my lover’s penthouse and stared down at forty floors below me, contemplating, planning, considering the unthinkable.
Yet would he miss me?
I straightened up and threw a wary glance at the kingsized bed partially covered with crumpled black silk sheets. My skin was clammy and damp with sweat. I only had six hours before I left this hellhole and flew back home. The thought disturbed me so much I blocked it. I still hadn’t seen my lover that evening. I looked back down onto the city and gulped. Miniature cars moved like worker ants on a trail. Did I have the courage or would I fail myself again?
Deciding to give us another chance, I withdrew from the balcony and padded into the bedroom.
The stench of sex hit me. Not mine.
That hurt me. That wounded me. That bled me.
A bitterly cold breeze invaded the room, and I shivered. Opening up the large closet, I pulled out his varsity sweatshirt, hesitating a fraction before I hauled it over my thin cotton blouse then left the bedroom.
In the adjoining living room, my lover sat nursing a glass of malt brandy. The nightscape of the sinfully glamorous city lit up like fairy lights on a holiday tree, and gave him a menacing outline.
The way he gripped his glass with his deftly graceful fingers revealed he was angry. Beautifully angry. So angry that a rouge passion lit in his tremulous green eyes.
I leaned against the inner wall studying is exquisite male form. Powerful. Perfect. Lethal.
Callum Ryman, one of the most beautiful yet dangerous males in the world. I knew he was powerfully rich but I didn’t how rich or how he made his money.
Legal or criminal, I was blissfully ignorant. All I knew was I was bound to him.
He looked up from his drink and frowned. His beautiful face etched into an exquisite scowl. His steely green eyes, the depth of an enchanted whirlpool. ‘Ethel, don’t linger. We need to talk,’ he ordered ominously. ‘Then we fuck.’