Madison Square Murders (Memento Mori, #1)

by C.S. Poe

Doyle’s cologne penetrated Larkin’s personal bubble like an arrow of masculinity—woodsy, spicy, heady, dangerous. It left him reeling, as if he’d been punched in the head. KO’d by neroli and base notes of sandalwood and cardamon.

Why of courseee

“Sudoku,” Larkin stated. “Karaoke.” Doyle looked sideways. “Sorry, I thought we were calling out random Japanese loan words.” He smiled with his entire face again. “You want to roll your eyes so bad.” “No, I don’t.”

Silly boys

“You’re cute,” Doyle stated. “In a stick-up-the-ass, sees the world in black-and-white with a severely disadvantaged sense of humor sort of way.” “That’s inappropriate.”

Hehe

Doyle had unknowingly touched on his love language. Remembrance. And that mattered.

“I’m surprised you’re single.” Doyle met his look. “It’s a shame you aren’t.”