“Miss Costello,” a voice greeted before I’d even gotten the chance to settle onto the leather bench seat. “It’s a pleasure.”
My skin rippled with sinful delight and I unknowingly wet my lower lip with my tongue.
The voice that was speaking from the shadows was warm, but dangerous, this easy tone that belied the true nature underneath. It was darkness made sound, like church bells in the night, a warning to lone travelers to stay away. To run.
I just wasn’t sure if I was supposed to run away … or run toward it.
“Mr. Moran,” I said, feeling my heartbeat pick up in a staccato rhythm that sloshed the blood between my ears and turned the volume up on my pulse to a point where I could barely hear my own thoughts.
I blinked several times, trying to adjust to the low light in the backseat.
Before I’d even gotten the chance to gather my thoughts, a hand was coming to rest on my right leg, the scorching path of a thumbprint chasing its away across the bare skin below the slit in my dress.
Shivers of heat rose up in my skin, obliterating the words in my mouth, freezing my hand in mid-movement as I tried to shove Marcell’s away.
“A pleasure,” he repeated, withdrawing his hand and leaving me an icy ruin.
“I …” I had no idea what to say, sitting there and blinking through the shadows at the most beautiful man I’d ever seen. I mean Bo was handsome, but … the man sitting next to me was pure unadulterated sin. He was lust given life, a demon risen from the depths of hell, as beautiful as he was dangerous.
The words died on my lips.
“Can I get you a drink?” he asked, his eyes as black as the darkness outside the SUV, his hair an indistinguishable shade from the shadows. His smile was liquid agony, melting my insides and calling up every single shred of my DNA that belonged to the Costello family.
Hot. Impulsive. Easy to anger and quick to lust.
It was literally in my blood.
And I’d been ignoring it for eight, almost nine, years.
That was going to come back to bite me in the ass, wasn’t it?