The crisp, formal British accent is a startling shock. It sends me hurtling to a place that I haven’t allowed myself to dream of seeing for a very long time.
Rearing back, I wobble on the balls of my feet, spotting a stranger lingering in the doorway through the mirror. My heart lurches against my breastbone.
It’shim.
Letting the door swing shut behind him, the observer from the crowd stalks into the room. His legs are long, powerful rowing oars that devour the space between us with each assured step.
Midnight-black hair—shaved close to his skull on the sides while the tousled strands are left long on top—perfectly matches his intense onyx eyes.
Up close, I can see a thin, wiggling scar that curves from the end of his right eyebrow to his exaggerated jawline. The puckered skin is pale and faded, evidencing the age of the uneven mark.
He’s tall. Lithe. Packing muscles that strain his dark shirt and jeans, the all-black clothing screaming bad boy. While he isn’toversized, anxiety still prickles over me. He doesn’t need bulk to look dangerous.
“How did you get in here?” I blurt.
Bottom lip curling inwards, his tongue flicks out to tease a silver ring that pierces the soft swell.
“Your trainer is having a chat with my associates.”
“A… chat?” I turn to face him properly.
His sly smile drips with confidence. “Less talking and more bleeding on the floor, last I saw. I expected more from the infamous Carlos Morello.”
I’m not sure my mouth could fall open any wider.
“To confirm… You are Ember Lawson?”
Hearing my real name out loud knocks me for six. I have to blink several times to stop a hot wave of dizziness from sending me to my knees.
“What the… Who… Who are you?”
Lifting the edge of his leather jacket to tuck a big, veiny hand into the pocket of his black jeans, he spreads his feet. I’ve never seen a total stranger act so casual in the middle of an illegal club.
“Is that a yes?”
Awash with numbness, I summon a loose nod.
“Good. I’m Blaine Madden. Pleasure.”
A disbelieving laugh spills out of me. “Well, Blaine Madden. I have no idea what you want from me, but I’ve already gouged one man’s eye out tonight. I can make it another.”
His chuckle is rough, throaty. Full of raw masculinity and amusement. It rolls down my still-screaming spinal cord, leaving a tingling imprint in its wake.
“I saw. Impressive work.”
“He was cocky.” I shrug stiffly. “A bit like you.”
“You think I’m cocky?” His black gaze twinkles, revealing flecks of navy-blue undulating in his irises. “Seems presumptuous.”
“You’re an easy read.”
“Is that so?”
Smiling to himself, Blaine pushes up his jacket sleeve to unveil a silver Rolex. Though lines mar his forehead when he frowns at the time, he can’t be much older than early thirties.
“I’m all for foreplay, Ember, but we’re on a tight schedule. Get your shit.”
“Excuse me?”
