Page 15 of Never Fall for an Angel

Her cheeks flame, and her tongue darts out to lick her lips. All the while, I can’t help but wonder what she tastes like. Will she taste just as sweet as she smells? Like vanilla and honey and everything that makes me want to ruin her?

And then she shocks the hell out of me.

“No,” she breathes, her back arching against the counter behind her.

I search her gaze, giving myself an out before I allow the thoughts swarming in my head to go too far. She’s always been the unobtainable. Perfect for me in every way.

And that’s precisely why I can’t fucking have her.

I’ll ruin her. Steal the light from her eyes and replace it with my darkness. Until all she can feel is me. Until she’s as deep in this obsession as I am.

“Time for bed.”

I stoop down, lifting her back into my arms. I need her in bed where the scent of her perfume and those pretty gray eyes aren’t fucking with my head.

She huffs, her eyes fluttering closed and her head leaning against my chest. I place her on her bed, reaching behind her forthe zipper of her dress. I unzip it, pull it up to her waist, and slip it over her head, ignoring the fact that she’s got nothing on but a black lacy thong and bra underneath.

This is about taking care of her. Something I’ve done half a dozen times in the last three years. Nothing else.

I lift her, placing her under the covers while she clenches her eyes shut at the head rush. I pull the covers up over her, and I’m about to walk away when her hand reaches out to catch mine. I turn around, finding her smokey eyes running over the bruises still healing on my knuckles.

She doesn’t know what they’re from, and she probably never will. Not if I have a say in it.

She’ll never be a part of that life. Never.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” she whispers.

Her words catch me off guard, and I freeze. She blinks like she can see multiple of me when I lean down, pressing my lips to her forehead.

Vanilla and honey.

Fuck me.

She won’t remember this in the morning. Unfortunately, I will, and now that the thought’s there, I have a feeling it’ll never leave.

Looking back, I don’t think I understood, even at the time, the impact that moment would have on the rest of my fucking life.

Standing from the bed, I cross to the bedroom door before turning back to find her eyes shut and breathing soft.

“Sweet dreams, little devil.”

CHRISTIAN

LA, May, 2 years ago

There are two things I know for sure in life.

One: I’m not a good man. I’m crude. Chaotic. I’ve killed more men than I can count, and the list of unfortunate souls will probably get longer.

Two: Mila fucking Carpenter is going to be the death of me.

Fucking Carpenter women. I’ve gone toe to toe with some of the most sadistic motherfuckers in this country. Ruthless murderers, Bratva mob bosses, secret CIA “special” agents.

None of them measure up to the three LA princesses I’ve been charged with protecting.

Like wild rabbits, once you get one in the cage, another slips out behind you. In this case, I’m the idiot trying to wrangle them in, and Mila Carpenter is the fucking Houdini bunny rabbit that keeps escaping.

“I need a break, Mom,” Savannah snaps. “Mile gets to go to college. Why can’t I?”

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