Burying her wounded heart in a successful career, Ronan Grace had all but given up on romance. Then, over coffee, she glances up to discover a Greek god in grey wool. Mikalo Delis. Young, handsome, charming, hot. And rich. Very rich. Over passionate kisses and blistering sex, they battle the past. Struggling to forget, learning to forgive, eager for the future. Together. But when Mikalo considers returning to Greece, his soul yearning for the sun and sand and blue skies of home, Ronan wonders if their new love will be strong enough to endure. And how much will she give up to be with the man who awakened her heart, taught her to trust, and showed her true love?
Ronan Grace and her Greek god in grey wool Mikalo Delis. Still happy, still in love, and now living together in New York. Despite it all. Despite the lingering secrets of Mikalo’s past and his complicated life. Despite Ronan’s own doubts and worries, the strength of her love for him both shocking and frightening. Despite the jealousy and spite threatening her once successful career. And despite the unexpected emergence of a drunk, drug-addled viciously vindictive blast from Mikalo’s past. Will Ronan and Mikalo stumble under the weight of all these challenges and doubts and confusion as they move toward creating a life together? Or will they fight, giving their love what it needs to survive. Despite it all.
He was not insideme.
Pressing himselfagainst me, his hardness gripped in his fist, he teased me, refusing to enter,to plunge deep, aware that his thickness pressing against my heat, my wetness,my thump-thump-thumping desire, would drive me crazy.
He was right.
“Ohgod,” I said again as I lifted my hips, desperate for him.
Another smallsmile as he watched me.
“This isgood, no?” he asked, completely aware that it was good, very, very good,but that it wasn’t enough.
He could be acruel bastard sometimes.
“Yes,” Igasped, his hardness repeatedly rubbing, grinding against me, the fleshbecoming slick with my wetness. “Yes, it’s good. So good.
“But –“I continued.
“But you haveme.”
“No,” Isaid, my hips rising, hungry for him. “I want you inside me.”
“But this,this is not a bad thing,” he said.
And then heslapped his hardness against my heat.
I gasped andsnapped my head back, my fingers immediately clutching my breast, the nipplespinched, my teeth nearly biting through my lip as I whimpered.
“It’s notbad,” I finally managed to say. “No, no, it’s not bad. Don’tstop.”
The hips roseagain as he rubbed against me.
“Don’tstop,” I said again.
I almost cried.
His fingers dippedlow, tracing me, slipping in the warmth, the wetness, but not sliding deep, thetips just lightly, almost barely, moving over the surface, over that insanelysensitive nub of delicate flesh. Almosta whisper of a touch.
I’m going to die,I thought. Here in my library on the floor,a cold night outside, a fireplace glowing, the Perfect Man edging me towardorgasmic oblivion.
I’m going to die.
He’s going to killme.
His lips were onmy stomach, moving low and slow as he drifted, licking and tasting, biting andsucking.
I opened my legs,eager for him, desperate for him. Excited over what was to come. The feeling of his lips on me, his tongue worming its way deep. His licks echoing the thump-thump-thump nowracking my legs, my stomach, my heart.
I was ready.
TOMORROW WE’LL HAVE THE PART TWO OF OUR AUTHOR SPOTLIGHT
WATCH OUT FOR OUR SPECIAL ONE ON ONE INTERVIEW WITH SYNDRA