Three years after he walked away from her and broke her heart, Leo is back in Chloe’s life and that’s the last place she wants him. Not that she has any choice in the matter. She’s in big trouble. She needs somebody to watch her back and he’s the “somebody”.
Three years ago, Chloe dumped a bombshell in Leo’s lap. I’m psychic, she told him.
As if he was supposed to believe that. His world is black and white, and he doesn’t buy into that mumbo jumbo. Walking away from her damn near killed him, but he couldn’t be with somebody he couldn’t trust.
His new job? Keep Chloe safe. That’s it.
He’s not supposed to touch her. He’s not supposed to make love to her. He’s not supposed to want her…need her…love her.
But he can’t stop thinking about her, can’t stop dreaming about her. Now that she’s back in his life, he can’t keep his hands off her either.
Swearing, he tried to remind himself where he was. Why he was here.
Who he was with.
But that didn’t help.
This was Chloe and she’d always been his weakness.
“Chloe,” he muttered.
She dragged her lashes up and the sultry, female hunger he saw there laid him low.
Groaning, he dipped his head and slanted his mouth over hers.
Three years. Three long, aching, empty years.
She kept her mouth closed, kept her hands clenched in fists at her sides.
Growling, he licked the seam of her lips, nuzzling them.
She whimpered. Her body swayed against his. Her hands came up, still clenched into tight fists, and rested against his chest. He could feel the heat of them through his shirt and he wanted her to open those hands, smooth them down his chest, all over his body, really. Wanted to feel them unzipping his jeans, slipping inside and closing over his cock.
Just the thought was enough to make his cock jerk in response. Make him grit his teeth and snarl a curse against her lips. Lifting his head, he stared at her through slitted eyes. Fisting a hand in her hair, he tugged on the short, silky strands and muttered, “Open for me, sweet girl. I’m dying to taste you.”
Her lashes lifted and he found himself staring into eyes that burned hot, hungry…and all too clear, despite that hunger. “This isn’t smart, Leo. We both know that.” Her voice was whiskey rough, shaky with need.
“So the fuck what?” He couldn’t care less about being smart. He cared about the fact that she was here. With him again, after three years. He crowded against her until she was against the railing and then he leaned into her, shuddering as her soft, slender body cradled his. Fuck, she felt so right.
She’d always felt so fucking right.
So how had everything gone so wrong?