* Smuggle diamonds from Liberia to Morocco
* Make the trip in three days
* Don't get caught
* Don't kill each other
* Don't have sex with each other
* Don't fall for each other
* Stick to the plan
This is the story of what happens when an unlikely bond is formed between enemies, causing tensions to rise, and igniting a chemistry that threatens to burn them both. Together, they'll learn that sometimes even the best laid plans can fail.
If this NOVEL were a MOVIE, it would have an R rating from the MPAA. Contains: Violence, Grisly Images, Strong Language, Nudity, and Graphic Sexual Content
Crazy woman living in an undisclosed location in Alaska (where the need for a creative mind is a necessity!), I have been writing since ..., forever? Yeah, that sounds about right. I have been told that I remind people of Lucille Ball - I also see shades of Jennifer Saunders, and Denis Leary. So basically, I laugh a lot, I'm clumsy a lot, and I say the F-word A LOT.
I like dogs more than I like most people, and I don't trust anyone who doesn't drink. No, I do not live in an igloo, and no, the sun does not set for six months out of the year, there's your Alaska lesson for the day. I have mermaid hair - both a curse and a blessing - and most of the time I talk so fast, even I can't understand me.Yeah. I think that about sums me up.
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“Room?” she asked, still watching TV.
“No. I'm looking for my friend, he -” Lily started.
“Third floor, third room on right. You stay longer than two hours, I charge extra,” the woman warned her.
“Sounds fair to me.”
Lily slowly made her way up to his room. She didn't want to come off as too eager. They'd been playing cat and mouse for a month under the assumption neither would get caught. Now that it was time to eat, she wasn't quite ready to be the mouse.
The door to the third room on the right wasn't locked. She was cautious as she opened the door, but the first thing she saw was the black duffle bag he'd taken off with, followed by the clothing he'd been wearing. She moved into the room and shut the door behind her.
She could hear water splashing around in the bathroom, so she took her time, looking over the space he'd been living in for the past month. It was simple. A room. A bed that was little more than a cot. A small table. One small chair. There had been electricity downstairs, but there didn't seem to be any in his room. Three mismatched, stout candles were burning on the table, and those were the only light source.
The sound of water diminished to just a gurgling drain, so she made her way back towards the bathroom. Just as she grasped the knob, she felt it turn from the other side, and the door started to pull away. She smiled.
She lost her smile the same moment a hand wrapped around her neck. She let out a shriek as she was yanked around and slammed against a wall. The hand was replaced by a forearm, a much more effective body part for choking someone. She gritted her teeth, slapping at the arm that was restraining her.
“It's me! It's me!”
Marc looked surprised. And angry. He backed off a little and she sucked in gasps of air. His forearm moved to her collar bone, still holding her in place against the wall. She glared right back at him, resisting the urge to plant her knee in his testicles.
“What the fuck are you doing here!? How did you find me!?” he demanded, then his eyes darted around the room as if he thought she'd brought people with her.
“You weren't exactly hard to follow, you idiot. You walked here,” she growled.
“I thought you were talking with Ivanov.”
“I was. It wasn't a very long conversation.”
“I told you, I don't let anyone know where I sleep,” he reminded her, his voice low.
“Well, I didn't come here with any intentions of sleeping, so we're still good.”
That got through to him and he finally smiled at her. The pressure from his arm let up, but he leaned more of his body against her, lining them up from the hips down.
“I told you to meet me at a bar,” he pointed out, lowering his head to brush his cheek against the side of hers, then dipping down to rub against her neck. She heard a sharp inhale, like he was smelling her.
“Sometimes I'm not very good at listening.”
“I have to be out of here in a couple hours.”
“I only need a couple hours.”
“That's it? I had such high hopes for you.”
She snorted and moved her hands to his waist, yanking his towel away.
“And I had high hopes that your mouth would be good for something other than talking. So far, it's a disappointment.”
His lips met hers in a way that made their first kiss seem like a church greeting. His tongue was present and forceful in her mouth, his hands moving to press heavily against her breasts. She moaned, reveling in the feeling of being touched. Of actually wanting to be touched.
She scratched her nails along his hips and went to dip down between them, but he was quicker, and he grabbed her wrists, slamming her arms against the wall above her head. She gasped and automatically tried to resist, but he just squeezed tighter, pushed harder. Cat and mouse was over, the roles had been established. If he didn't want her to move, then she wasn't going to be able to move.
Does that mean I'm in the mouse trap?
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