Silent Lies (Perfectly Imperfect, #8)

by Neva Altaj

When one of your senses gets compromised, the body adapts, heightening the ones you have left. I’ve had two decades to adapt and hone various ways of perceiving things. Body language. Facial expressions. The look in a person’s eyes. All those things say so much more than the words people actually speak.

“Drago!” I close my eyes for a second, letting the sound sink in. My name is one of the rare few words which I can fully hear when she speaks.

My little devil who walks the world disguised as an angel.

“I even fucking adore when you threaten to shoot me.”

“Trust me, there isn’t a sexier sight than my wife pointing a gun at me while wearing a gold tutu and fur slippers.”