Fallen Foe (Cruel Castaways, #2)

by L.J. Shen

My eyes are still focused on her lips. Pink, narrow, and luscious. She is impossibly sweet. That combination between virtue and rage is downright sinful. They don’t make ’em like this anymore. Especially in Manhattan. My mind may be slow, but my senses are sharp, and I know an opportunity when I see one. My lips crash against hers clumsily. I cup the back of her head and draw her to myself. Arya’s warning is a distant memory. So is Calypso Hall, and the fact that we are both in love with other people, and that those people are dead. Reality ceases to exist, and the only thing I’m focused on is the person in front of me. She is soft and sugary and different. So different I cannot close my eyes and imagine she is Grace, like I want to. There’s not a hint of alcohol on her breath. No bitter bite of an overpowering perfume. She is all toffee apples and lazy Tennessee summer nights. She is church bells and sweet tea and Moon Pies. The very thing I frown upon. Our tongues dance together. She fists the lapels of my tuxedo like I might run away. I’m not going anywhere. I want to pick her up and take her to my apartment and fuck her senseless. I want that girl who ate a peach like she was a forbidden Lolita under the Italian Riviera’s sun, oozing reckless sexuality.