Here are a few exclusive excerpts from Niccolaio Andretti:
#1:
I hate him. From the second I met him, I hated him. I knew he would be trouble for me, for my future, and most importantly, for Mina. Yet, I’m standing in front of him. And worse—I want to be here. I want the world to pause for just one darn second, so I can stay forever in this moment, where a man I’m attracted to is looking at me like he’s attracted to me, too. Is that too much to ask?
#2:
Either way, he’s involved in criminal business, so I shouldn’t be indulging him and his invasive questions. But I do, because for some reason, I can’t stop myself with him.
I reply, “I’m here for John. I’m with John.” I don’t know if I’m trying to convince myself or him. Probably both, because I don’t want to be with John, but I can’t be with someone like him.
There’s a centimeter of space between our bodies, but when he leans forward, he extinguishes it. And that first contact between us has my senses soaring. Waiting. Anticipating. His face slants towards mine, slowly, teasingly. Seconds pass before his lips brush against my jaw, and then he’s trailing a path up the sensitive curve of my neck with the very tip of his nose, his touch so, so light but so, so there.
And when he finally reaches my ear, he opens his mouth, his lips brushing sensually against my delicate skin, and whispers, “You’re not interested in John. I’ll figure out why you’re really here.”
He steps back from me immediately after and walks away. Even though he’s gone, I can still feel him, pressed against me. And his words? I have no idea what they mean, but I do know that it doesn’t bode well for me.
#3:
“How’s your day been?”
I swivel my head to John’s neighbor, and my mouth drops in shock. “Are you for real?”
He shrugs and continues to talk in that low and inexpressive voice of his, “When you left John’s, you looked upset.”
His tone alone is enough to make me want to throw my head back and laugh. How does he do it? How does he manage to say something like that, something borderline on caring, and still sound like he couldn’t care less about a thing?
Instead of laughing, I let out an unattractive snort. “So, now we’re talking about our personal lives?” I pause, before saying in rapid fire, “How much did you make last year? When was the last time you’ve had sex? Do you like it on top or on the bottom? Have you ever done ana—”
“John’s your personal life?”
“Not anymore,” I mutter.
Between us, the attacker groans out in pain. We ignore him, and a few seconds later, he passes out again from the pain. After another minute of silence, we’re almost back to the brownstones. They’re within seeing distance when John’s neighbor speaks again.
There’s a smile in his voice that, per usual, doesn’t quite make it to his face when he says, “I like it on top.”
I roll my eyes, but I can’t help but grin.