The Atlas Six (The Atlas, #1)

by Olivie Blake

All men can love a forbidden thing, generally speaking, and in most cases knowledge is precisely that; lost knowledge even more so.

Really, there was nothing more dangerous than a woman who knew her own worth.

It was Parisa’s business, seeing things she wasn’t supposed to see.

“Because the problem with knowledge, Miss Rhodes, is its inexhaustible craving. The more of it you have, the less you feel you know,” said Atlas. “Thus, men often go mad in search of it.”

It was such a confounding reality that Parisa was beautiful even when she was being mean—especially then, in fact.

Maybe after a lifetime of being useless, Tristan simply wanted to be used.

This was a torment she would seek again and again. The trauma of him was exquisite, the vice of his intimacy combative and honeyed.

“A flaw of humanity,” said Parisa, shrugging as they walked. “The compulsion to be unique, which is at war with the desire to belong to a single identifiable sameness.”

“You’ll have to tell me what you want, Rhodes,” Tristan said, waiting, and if his voice was gravelly with something, it might have been the absinthe. Or it might have been the fact that he was looking at her like he had already undressed her, already kissed her, already peeled her underwear from her hips with his teeth. Like he was already glancing up at her from the foot of her bed, his broad shoulders securely locked between her thighs.

Callum said, “but you’re not just ordinarily beautiful, are you? You’re the kind of beauty that drives men to warfare. To madness.”

“Isn’t it? The day you are not a fire,” he said, “is the day the earth will fall still for me.”