Cuffed

Hannah: The second I saw him walk through that door, I knew he was trouble. Men like him always are. The dark hair. The smoldering stubble. Those piercing green eyes that might as well be a flame thrower between women's legs. Oh, and the fact that he's in a gentlemen's club.

What am I doing here, you ask? It's my job to be here. No, not that job. My job is to put away bad guys, like the elusive mob hitman I've been tracking for months who's now somewhere in this very club.

Zac: For heaven's sake, I was hosting my brother's bachelor party, is that a crime? (Seriously, asking for a friend.) And sure, technically, it's a gentlemen's club . . . A private, exclusive, highly coveted one where everyone is supposed to be protected and completely anonymous. Oh, and did I mention that it's six-figure stupid expensive?

Whatever. At least there's one silver lining to this cluster of a night . . .Agent Hannah Evans. Even as she slides the cuffs around my wrists, and her fiery eyes meet mine, it's clear we both know the truth:

My name isn't James Smith. My attorney will have me free in under an hour. And that kiss. . . The one I couldn't help stealing . . . Won't be our last.

Contains mature themes.

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Hljóðbók: 31 oktober 2023