Ever since he rescued her from a dangerous kidnapper, Mystery Mullins has wanted Axel Dillon. When he returned her to her Hollywood father and tabloid life, she was grateful…and a little in love. Mystery wasn’t ready to let Axel go, even after the soldier gently turned her away because, at nineteen, she was too young.

Now, six years later, Mystery is grown, with a flourishing career and a full life—but she’s still stuck on Axel. Disguised, she propositions him in a bar, and the night they spend together is beyond her wildest dreams. Mystery steels herself to walk away—except the sheets are barely cold when her past comes back to haunt her.

Once he realizes Mystery isn’t the stranger he thought, Axel is incensed and intrigued. But when it’s clear she’s in danger, he doesn’t hesitate to become her protector—and her lover—again. And as the two uncover a secret someone is willing to kill for, Axel is determined to claim Mystery’s heart before a murderer silences her for good.

EXCERPT

A
xel Dillon
. . .
Even
the thought of him turned her inside out.

Mystery glanced around the bar again, easing farther inside. Some biker types in the far corner playing pool eyed her. The bartender still stared down his pierced nose at her. Three cops huddled together all focused on her. Did they think she was casing the place for a robbery? She had to stop standing in the middle of the room like an idiot.
Take a seat and order a drink.

Finally, her head forced her body to obey, and she eased into a little booth near the back. Once she’d seated herself, everyone around her started talking again. And from her new vantage point, she could see the back half of the bar, previously obscured by the wall of televisions.

There he sat, absently staring at ESPN and sipping a beer, his profile strong. As usual, his rugged face was unreadable. He still kept his dark-blond hair military short. And he still looked like the side of a mountain. Somewhere around six foot five, he’d always been built big, but in the last few years, she’d swear he’d put on another slab of muscle. His tight black T-shirt hugged every hard swell and lean dip, tapering past a flat belly to narrow hips. She had to hold in a sigh. Even a single glance of him made her heart knock against her ribs and everything below her waist tingle. Mystery swallowed.

He didn’t once look her way. Somehow, she’d hoped their stares would lock. He would approach her, want her, and whisk her away for a spectacular night of unbridled sex that would blow away both her panties and her mind. That had been another one of her fantasies. Right now, he clearly had no idea she existed.

On shaky knees, she stood again and headed in his direction. She tried not to stare. A glance up at the television proved he watched a recap of a pro basketball game. With a grunt, he glanced down into the neck of his beer bottle as she slid onto the empty stool beside him.

Now that he was so near, Mystery could feel his body heat, smell him—rugged earth, cut wood, musk. Damn, being this close made her feel both safe and weak.

“Something on your mind?” He turned to her, his stare expectant.

She searched his expression and didn’t see a hint of recognition on his large, blunt face. What a relief. But the cleft in his chin and his bright blue eyes still made her feel weak and wanting. That instant chemical attraction she’d felt years ago hadn’t waned in the least.

“There is.” She mimicked the British accents she’d been surrounded with since she’d fled the U.S.—and him—over six years ago.

Her assertion obviously surprised him. Though he narrowed his eyes, they pierced her.

“I’ll bite. Lay it on me.”

The bartender chose that moment to come around and plunk a napkin in front of her.

“Now that you found a seat, you want a drink?”

A glass of vino sounded heavenly. “Do you have a wine list, please?”

He snorted. “No. I got three types: red, white, and pink.”

Mystery paused. She hadn’t expected anything private label, but surely more of a selection than that.

“Is the white a pinot grigio?”

The bartender looked as if he was losing patience. “I don’t know what kind that is, but the jug of white I have is as close as I’ve got. You want some or not?”

That could be seriously terrible booze. She’d been willing to give up designer for the night and leave her Tiffany baubles at her hotel, but she’d spew if she drank the equivalent of Boone’s Farm.

“Then I’ll have a glass of water, please.” Better to keep a clear head, anyway. “Thank you.”

As he turned and grabbed a glass, the bartender shook his head and muttered something to himself. Mystery really didn’t want to know what.

“I’m not sure what threw him off more, your accent or your request.” The corner of Axel’s mouth lifted in amusement, giving her a flash of dimples.

She’d forgotten the way his smile could soften his harsh face. She grinned back. “He seemed quite ruffled.”

A moment later, the young, pierced guy set a glass in front of her with lots of ice and a bit of water, sans lemon. She blinked, and her colored contacts jabbed her eyes with a reminder of their existence. Or maybe it was a warning that her plan would likely fail spectacularly.

“So do you,” Axel said. “I won’t point out that I’ve never seen you here, but I’ll guess you’ve never been to a place like this.”

“Never,” she admitted. “What gave me away?”

He chuffed. “Leaving the door open so you could gape with barely disguised horror was a start. I particularly liked the way you turned slightly green when you stared at the guys about to do to body shots with Trina.” He nodded to the corner where the bearded men and the woman in the halter top all laughed. “So why are you here?”

She’d forgotten how observant he could be and how accurately he could draw conclusions. He did it in an instant, as if nothing in the world shocked him anymore. The world still shocked her all the time.

She hadn’t, however, forgotten how direct he was.

“Curious,” she lied and held in a wince at her lame answer.

He shrugged. “Let me try another way: The place is more than half empty, so why did you sit next to me?”

Brutally direct,
she mentally corrected.

Mystery gaped for an answer. “Why not?”

In retrospect, she could have been a little less obvious and a little more coy in choosing a seat. Maybe she should have sat a few stools away, ordered some terrible wine, and seen if he’d struck up a conversation. But she’d taken one look at him, and any thought of careful or logical had flown out the window.

He leveled her with a disbelieving stare. “That’s all you’ve got? You couldn’t even have come up with a good lie?”

Not really. She could have gone the “You look familiar” route, but that would have been too close to the truth. As far as she could see, that only left her one tactic.

“You’re very attractive. Pardon me for being interested.”

A little smile lit up his eyes before he took another swig of beer. “I didn’t say you being close upset me. You’re attractive yourself.” He stared a moment longer, then glanced down at his empty beer before he shifted his attention to her untouched glass. “You sure I can’t get you something stronger to drink? I can’t believe a girl like you would risk life and limb to come to this dive for a swig of water.”

Truth was, drinking didn’t hold a lot of appeal for her. In the past, she pretended otherwise, but . . . “While I appreciate the offer, I’m actually not interested in alcohol.” She forced herself to meet his inquisitive stare. “Would you like to find somewhere more private to . . .”

“Talk?” He gave her an ironic curl of his lips.

“No.” She sucked in a shaking breath. “To fuck. Would you be interested?”

Pre-Order On Amazon Here

AND OUT RIGHT NOW FROM NEW ROMANCE SENSATION

RAVENNA RUSSO:

HIS FOR TONIGHT:

SECRETS FANTASIES UNLIMITED, BOOK 1

EXCERPT

A
ll the air
vanishes from my lungs as I look at his face for the first time.

Standing in front of me is one of the hottest guys I’ve ever seen. He’s definitely
not
middle-aged. Oh my God, he’s only a few years older than me! His hair is black and glossy and so thick, it falls into his eyes—brown eyes, the color of espresso. He’s got broad shoulders, a hint of a five o’clock shadow darkening his angular jaw, and a tan that definitely did
not
come from a salon. He’s got the rugged look of a guy who’s never set foot in a salon.

He’s wearing evening clothes, like he’s been out at some fancy party—but the expensive black suit doesn’t make him look any less tough. His jacket is open, the first few buttons of his crisp white shirt undone, a loosened bow tie dangling around his neck. The intensity of his expression sends my thoughts spinning. He’s not smiling.

“M-Mr. West?” I gasp. “But you…you
can’t
be. Is this a joke? Are you…Mr. West’s assistant…or something?”

One edge of his mouth tilts up, but it’s still not a smile. More of a cocky smirk. “You don’t recognize me?”

Confused, I shake my head. Am I supposed to know who he is?

He looks surprised. “Doesn’t matter.” He lifts his right hand and crooks his finger at me, beckoning me to come into his penthouse. “Come, Miss Snow. We are about to get to know each other
very
well.”

I step through the door and he closes it behind me with a soft click. My heart skips a beat when I hear him turn the security lock.

Taking my hand in his, he leads me into the spacious room. Even wearing heels, I feel small next to him. The guy is at least six feet two. His hand is so big, it envelopes mine. His skin is surprisingly rough for a billionaire. And hot. It’s like touching fire.

His suit fits him like it was custom made. Which it probably was. Then again, I don’t know much about men’s fashion. Or women’s fashion, for that matter. I catch the scent of his cologne—woodsy, dark, earthy.

I realize with a start that it’s the same scent I noticed in the restaurant the other day, when I arrived for my interview.

He must have gotten there just before I did that day.

“So, Miss Snow.” He stops in the middle of the room and turns to face me. “What do you think?”

“Umm, you’re…not quite what I expected,” I answer honestly.

Chuckling, he nods toward the windows. “I meant the room—the view.”

My cheeks flush with warmth as I realize that I’ve been so busy staring at him, I haven’t even glanced at my surroundings. When I look around, I can’t hold back an exclamation.

“Wow!”

The penthouse is
huge
. It’s a corner suite at the very top of the building. There are floor-to-ceiling windows on the far side of the room that stretch all the way up to become angled skylights. The view of the night sky and city lights is stunning. A sparkling chandelier of swirly, copper-colored glass dangles from the center skylight, near a mahogany dining table. To the left is a fully stocked private lounge, bottles of liquor neatly arranged in front of a mirror, the long bar made of pale marble that’s lit from beneath so it seems to glow.

Mr. West and I are in the living area, surrounded by upholstered couches and chairs, glass and mahogany coffee tables, soft taupe carpet. A clear fireplace fills most of the wall on the right, a flat-screen TV above it. Subdued R&B music plays from speakers hidden in the ceiling.

He’s still holding my hand. “How much did they tell you about me?”

My attention snaps back to him. “I…only that…that you’re from Europe. And rich. I think Jane said ‘handsome’ and ‘athletic,’ too.”

“All true.” He flashes a cocky grin. “Did she forget to mention impeccably dressed?”

“Yes. And humble.”

Oh shoot, I probably shouldn’t have said that
. I’m not being paid to be sarcastic.

To my surprise, his grin only widens. “You are very
vivace
, Miss Snow.”

That smile could knock a girl off her feet from all the way across a crowded room.

Up close, it makes me forget the entire English language for a moment.

“I-I don’t know what that means.”

Letting go of my hand, he removes his dangling bow tie. “I do not know the right word in English. It means you are…as you say, not quite what I expected.” He tosses the tie on a coffee table. “We Italians, we do not have many reasons to be humble. We are the best.”

“At everything?”

“Fashion, fast cars, food, football…fucking.” He takes off his suit jacket, casually dropping it over a chair that probably costs more than the annual rent on my apartment. “Everything that matters.”

My mouth goes dry as he starts unbuttoning his shirt, revealing the sculpted muscles of his shoulders and chest, the intricate black tattoos that mark his tanned skin…and the ridges of his six-pack—no
eight
-pack abs.

Whoa, that’s a lot of muscle
.

His shirt hanging open, he moves closer, towering over me. “And what about you,
mia bella
…”

Other books

How to Be a Person by Lindy West

The Daughters: A Novel by Adrienne Celt

Blaze by Susan Johnson

Containment by Sean Schubert

His Golden Heart by Marcia King-Gamble

Shadowed Soul by John Spagnoli

Craving Flight by Tamsen Parker

Deceit by Deborah White

The Naked Room by Diana Hockley

This Is Not a Love Story: A Memoir by Judy Brown