Page 37 of Turmoil's Target

The next thing I know, his lips are on mine, claiming me in a searing kiss that steals the breath from my lungs.

I melt into him, my fingers tangling in his hair as he deepens the kiss, exploring my mouth with a skill that leaves me weak in the knees.

When we finally break apart, I’m panting, my heart racing in my chest.

Abe rests his forehead against mine, his breath mingling with my own.

I whisper, throwing caution to the wind. “Come home with me tonight.”

I want him, all of him, consequences be damned.

Abe’s eyes darken with desire, his grip on my waist tightening. “I’m good with that,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough. “When do you want to leave?”

I giggle lightly, “Right the fuck now.”

Abe smirks at me and nods.

As we make our way out of the bar, I can hardly believe I’m doing this.

But there’s something about Abe that makes me want to take risks, to embrace the moment, and see where it leads.

Tonight, I’m not the dutiful daughter or the cunning avenger.

I’m just Seraphina, a woman in the throes of passion, ready to lose myself in the arms of a man who sets my soul on fire.

Let tomorrow bring what it may.

Tonight, I’m living for the here and now, and the promise of ecstasy that awaits.

I walk outside and my driver is waiting on the other side of the street.

I don’t always make him drive, but there are days where I do like to take my sportscar out for a spin.

My driver starts to get out of the car, so he can open my door, but Abe shakes his head. “I can open the door for the lady, sir.”

My driver smirks and rolls up his window as Abe opens the door for me.

I slide into the plush leather seat of the Rolls-Royce, my heart pounding in my chest as Abe follows after me.

As he settles in beside me, his large frame taking up most of the space, I can’t help but be acutely aware of his presence.

The scent of his cologne fills the car, a musky blend of citrus and sandalwood that is unmistakably masculine and utterly intoxicating.

My driver turns back to glance at me in the rearview mirror. “Home then, Miss Seraphina?”

“Home,” I confirm with him, turning my attention back to Abe.

We’re soon moving smoothly through the neon-lit streets of Las Vegas, the city’s vibrant nightlife a colorful backdrop to our drive.

Music flows from the car’s speakers—something mellow and bluesy that suits the mood perfectly.

My driver keeps his eyes on the road, discreetly giving us the illusion of privacy.

Abe’s hand finds mine on the leather seat, his fingers lacing through mine in a gentle grip.

His thumb brushes over my knuckles in a soothing rhythm, the simple action somehow managing to calm my racing heart.

I tear my eyes away from our entwined hands, turning to study his profile.

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