Page 1 of What's Left of Us

PROLOGUE

Lincoln

Fuck her.

Picking up the box of Johnnie Walker Blue Label left at the bottom of the stairwell, I glare at the white ribbon stuck to the top and grip the present as I walk up into the air-conditioned living room of the two-thousand-square-foot split-level ranch. The second I open the door, my body is cocooned by the strong scent of floral Valentino perfume lingering in the air.

Nostrils flaring, I drop the whiskey onto the entryway table a little harder than necessary and glance at the matching red lacy bra and panty set on the carpet.

“What are you doing here?” I ask the woman lounging on the couch.

Nothing about the sleeveless red cotton dress she’s wearing should make me as hard as I am right now, considering the circumstances, but it never ceases to fail. Especially not when those long brunette locks are pulled away from her petite, feminine face, and her round amber eyes, striking and mischievous, lift from her phone screen to my piercing scowl.

Georgia Del Rossi is the kind of beautiful that turns heads—lean with the slightest curves and long legs that any man would fantasize having wrapped around them.

The problem with beauty like hers is that she knows how to weaponize it.

She smiles, her bright lips painted the same sinful shade of her dress. “Hello, darling.”

Teeth grinding at her flirty greeting, I walk over and take her phone—the oneIbought for her all those years ago. “No.”

“No, what?” she asks innocently.

“We’re not doing this today.”

Her lips twitch. “Doing what, exactly? I’m here to see you. That’s not illegal. You, of all people, should know that.”

The timid girl I met at the bar almost a decade ago is long gone, morphed into a manipulative temptress. That’s whathewanted, wasn’t it? And I hate that those sharp, manicured nails still have their grip on me after everything she’s done.

“You need to leave,” I tell her, trying to ignore the growing ball of tension in my chest. “I’ve had a long day, and I’m in no mood to handle whatever the hell this is.”

“Funny,” she muses, eyelashes batting as she bites into her bottom lip. “You used to love handling me.”

What the fuck does she think this is? I’m getting whiplash trying to decipher what she expects from me these days.

Closing my eyes, I count to three to simmer the temptation that twitches my cock.

“Georgia…” I murmur, feeling her palms slide up my chest and resting over my shoulders.

I open my eyes.

“If you want me to leave,” she says sweetly, rising onto her knees, “you’re going to have to make me.”

Something inside me snaps at the challenge in her voice. I wrap my hand around her throat to make her stand.

When she peeks up at me through her dark lashes, there’s a flash of lust in her whiskey-colored eyes that curls her lips higher. This is a game to her.

Cat and mouse.

So, I’ll play.

My fingertips tighten around her neck before I crush my lips against hers, spin her away from the couch, and force her onto her knees in the middle of the floor.

Because this is what she’s here for.

Grabbing a pair of handcuffs that I keep tucked in one of the cabinets under the entertainment stand, I dangle them from my fingers. “Put these on behind your back and open your mouth.”

She watches me with a Cheshire cat grin and obeys. My ears perk when I hear the two subtle clicks of each of the metal cuffs that secure her hands.

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