Page 20 of Merciful Lies

His short-sleeved shirt is tight, showing off his incredible biceps and pecs, hinting at the abs beneath the fabric.

His fitted pants are just as fantastic, showing just how powerful and thick his legs are.

I’ve seen him naked. I know what he looks like, and I appreciate him for all his masculine beauty.

But it’s not Nico’s good looks that leave me speechless. It’s the hardness I see in his eyes.

He looks upset.

Angry.

Oh wow. He looks so fucking mad. But I don’t know if it’s at me or what?

Why should he be angry with me?

I am nothing to him. I’m just someone he once fucked. No biggie, right?

To guys like him, I’m a dime a dozen. Another notch on his bedpost. But why do I have the feeling he is mad at me?

Scantily clad women pose and gasp, each of them vying for his attention. I feel sick to my stomach, wondering how many he’s slept with since I skipped town.

It’s not fair of me. I have no right. But I can’t help it.

But for all their beauty and all their silicone-enhanced assets blatantly on display, I can see for myself that Nico is not looking at them.

He's looking at me.

And suddenly, I feel warm. Like really warm.

His eyes are burning like blue flames as he closes the distance between us.

I gape, mouth open. I can’t help it. Tattoos dance across his skin like shadows in the dim light and I can barely make them out, but I know what they are.

He stops right in front of me, completely invading my personal space.

I haven’t seen or spoken to Nico since New Year’s Eve.

But my body lights up, like it recognizes its master. I feel his warm breath on my forehead as he bends his head and puts his hand on my belly.

My eyes widen. My waist is thick. The child we created is stretching my already soft flesh.

The baby kicks. And I know he can feel it.

“My office. Now,” he says, his voice so damn deep.

He drops his hand, like it burns, and walks away, leaving me to trail behind him. It’s like he doesn’t even worry I won’t obey him.

That’s when I notice all the other eyes on me, and I realize he’s right.

With all his men watching me, creating a barrier between me and the rest of the bar goers, I follow him. I have no other choice.

He's talking into a cell phone, and I swear I hear him say “Get me Preacher”.

But I’m not sure.

When we get inside his office, he takes my purse and I think he's gonna hang it up, but instead, he goes through my wallet and takes out my driver's license.

“What are you doing?”

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