I pleasure women for money. I use sex to make my living, where before I used violence. But then I meet her. Isla.
The first moment I see her, I know she’ll be trouble. She wants me and I want her, but we are far too different for it to be more than a fling. So I tell her: “We meet this thing between us head on, and then we move on.”
Until it isn’t.
He scares me. He challenges me. And he makes me dizzy with desire. But Ethan Foston will be my downfall if I let him. He’s burrowed his way under my skin and so I agree to his terms, one night. A fling. Nothing more. But there are people out to get both of us, and the more we try to keep our distance, the more entangled we become.
We had a deal: head on, then move on.
But moving on is hard to do when you’re falling in love.
**Warning – Head On contains adult themes. Not intended for readers under the age of eighteen. Trigger warning for violence and consensual non-consent. This is not a dark romance, but it is romantic suspense and therefore it does contain adult and dark-ish themes in places.**
I lean in close to her, unable to resist, and take a deep breath. She smells of roses. Like her surname. I mean who is called Isla Rose and actually smells of roses? She’s ridiculous.
“You smell of roses.” It comes out like an accusation.
She juts her chin at me. “I like it. I know some people think it’s old fashioned, but my mum used rose perfume and now I do, too. I like to smell like her.”
“Rose by name, rose by nature, eh?” And I tell myself to shut up.
“I know what you think of me? Naïve, stupid. A boring, silly virgin.”
“Stop.” I take her chin in my hand, and it’s tiny. “I don’t think you’re stupid, or silly. Naïve? Maybe a little, but that’s no bad thing.”
“It isn’t?” She sounds genuinely curious.
Christ, she doesn’t know the half of it. This world is so jaded. Full of bitter, bored people who know it all. She’s nothing like them. Simply being in her presence makes me feel younger, less used up and worn out. And those are the reasons I need to walk away from her right now. I’m thirty-two and she’s only twenty-one. She’s a virgin and I’m a whore. Literally. I’ve killed with my bare hands, and she’s one of the gentlest souls I’ve ever met.
But I can’t do it. I’m a selfish bastard, and for one moment, I want to lose myself in something better than me. I keep hold of her chin, and lower my face.
The moment my lips meet hers my world changes. I breathe her in and taste her and I’m lost. And she whimpers against me.
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