Cruel Paradise (Beautifully Cruel, #2)

by J.T. Geissinger

He isn’t fire. He’s a fucking volcano. Big, dark haired, and utterly masculine, he’s got a jaw covered in scruff and a wide, sensuous mouth. His black Armani suit is molded to his frame, showcasing bulging biceps and thick thighs.

Your ego needs its own zip code.” He chuckles softly. “That’s not the only part of me that needs its own zip code, lass.” I crinkle my nose. “You’re crude.” “Don’t believe me? I’ll be happy to show you.”

“How can I tell her that I formed an independent group of a dozen like-minded associates who specialize in espionage, intelligence, geopolitics, guerilla warfare, and advanced spycraft to thwart global terrorism? And that we call ourselves the Thirteen because we couldn’t agree on a better name, so now we sound like a boy band?