Bleu MacAllister is consumed. A horrific childhood incident has caused every decision in her life to revolve around bringing a monster to justice. With years spent studying The Fellowship, an organized crime brotherhood of liars, thieves, and killers, Bleu will rely on her skills as a special agent to cut Thane Breckenridge off at the knees. But walking hand in hand with retribution means risking collateral damage, in the form of Breckenridge’s son Sinclair—until Sin becomes so much more than Bleu bargained for. She’s always known this undertaking would place her life in danger—she never imagined her heart would be as well.
Bleu MacAllister’s POV:
“Damn, you don’t give much away.”
He’s right. I have to make myself more vulnerable. “Most men don’t appreciate hearing the word no when it comes to sex, so I thought you were skipping out on me.” I shrug. “I must confess it was a huge letdown to not see you for two days. I wondered if my demands might have been too much for you to handle or maybe I was a turnoff.”
“It’s the opposite for me. I’ve never been more turned on.”
“I’m calling bullshit.” As much as I hate to admit it, that damn Geneen was stunning—until I broke her nose. “I’ve seen the women at the bar. Some are gorgeous and have bodies to die for. There’s no way I’m the biggest turn-on you’ve ever had.”
“Bleu. Those women are beautiful until you know them and understand their motives for being at Duncan’s. Every last one of them wants to be claimed, and they’re willing to do whatever it takes to make that happen.”
Claimed. I remember reading about this in one of the files. The Fellowship has this bizarre practice of laying claim on women they aren’t married to. “I don’t understand what you mean by claimed.”
“You don’t understand because you aren’t like them. And I like that very much.”
“I want you to tell me what it means. Is it a Scottish thing?”
“Another time, Bonny Bleu.”
Sinclair Breckenridge’s POV:
“I’m in the business of boundaries and limits. I’m aware of what mine are and how far I’m willing to go to get my job accomplished. It can include lying and sometimes stealing.” I wait a moment for driving the last nail into the coffin. “And perhaps the occasional killing.”
“How do you feel when you do those things?”
“Powerful.” I purposely choose that word because it’s the one she used to describe how she felt when she brought Duff to his knees. I want her to see just how similar we are.
She watches out the window for a minute before speaking again. “Do you like the way it feels?”
I can’t lie. I get a high from it. “Very much.”
Another minute passes. “Okay.”
What? “Just … okay?”
“Would you like me to be horrified?” she asks. “I can do that if it would make you feel better or improve your opinion of me.”
She’s no fucking Pollyanna. So I guess there’s no reason for her to pretend to be. “No. Okay works for me.”
I’m not sure if I should be disturbed by her lack of appall. It feels like a double standard to be shocked by an absence of dismay.
My God, has the pot met the kettle? “I wish I could get inside your head.”
“No, you don’t,” she says. “My mind is a dark place to be.”
I think I may have met the perfect woman. In her eyes, I’m not a monster at all.
Georgia resides in rural Mississippi with her wonderful husband, Jeff, and their two beautiful daughters. She spent fourteen years as a labor and delivery nurse before she decided to pursue her dream of becoming an author and hasn’t looked back yet.
When she’s not writing, she’s thinking about writing. When she’s being domestic, she’s listening to her iPod and visualizing scenes for her current work in progress. Every story coming from her always has a song to inspire it.
Representation: All questions regarding subsidiary rights for any of my books, inquiries regarding foreign translation and film rights should be directed to Jane Dystel of Dystel & Goderich.