Sneak peek into the creation of the RUSSO SAGA:
It began with a scene in my head; a woman afraid of flying, a man reaching his hand out to comfort her, a man so charismatic she forgets she’s even on an airplane. Things spiraled from there. HEAT was born, the man turned out to be Nathan Russo and the whole epic SAGA lifted off that tarmac, with Sydney clutching a stranger’s arm for comfort.
***I witnessed him kill a man with his bare hands.
I ran, but I’ll never be free again.
Living in his world, I’d be a puppet, his trophy wife, a mafia princess. I could never walk away.
I didn’t plan on giving my heart to Nathan Russo. It was supposed to be a fling with a hot guy–and that was already way out of my comfort zone. But it happened, because when he’s warm and open, he’s oh so inviting and vulnerable. When he touches me, the heat between us burns bright and electric.
I fell. I fell hard.
Then his other side came out to play, and he pulled my stupid, innocent soul into his world of darkness and pain.
I barely survived, and even though everything that happened wasn’t his fault, he’s the one who hurt me the most, because when the hero turns out to be as evil as the villain, what else can I do but run?***
HEAT - book 1 in the Russo Saga
EXCERPT:
We have breakfast together at a cozy little cafe a block from the hotel, then we head back home, his fingers intertwined with mine. Little jolts of happy trickles up along my arm and sends shocks to my heart again and again.
Nathan guides me to the balcony and pulls the rattan chairs together by the little table, then calls reception to order coffee.
“You’ll love their espresso.”
I sit and pull up my legs, arranging my dress to cover them. “I’d like a cappuccino.”
He steps closer, strokes my cheek, shoulder, brushes over my breast, then down to my knees where he pulls up the dress. “Don’t hide.” He picks up his phone and taps it. “Make that cappuccino instead. Two. And a plate of fruit.” He holds my gaze, a question in his eyes.
I nod and mouth a ‘thank you’ while my heart gallops from his touch, and from the way he looks at me. He’ll devour me. At this moment it feels like whatever he tells me to do, I’ll do it
We sit for hours. I ask him what he’ll do today. Shuffle some papers, he says. I think of his look when he spoke on the phone and wonder how many seconds of paper work there’ll be and how many hours of… something else.
He asks about my work, and I pour my heart out, telling him how tired I am and that I wish I hadn’t taken the new position. I’m surprised by how much comes out. I didn’t fully know it gnawed on me this bad. When he asks what position I’d prefer instead, the double entendre doesn’t pass me by. I snap my mouth closed, then stand. He gestures to the railing, turns me facing forward, puts my hands on it, then pulls down my panties and enters me. My hair in his fist, he pulls my head back as he fucks me mercilessly.
“What position do you want then?” he whispers in my ear.
My head spins too much to form a single thought. I mewl an incoherent answer as I look down on the lively street without really seeing it.
“Why do you take crap? You’re much too good for that. Make your own luck.”
It registers. What he says. A furious fire licks my insides. It’s from arousal and the pending explosion, but it’s also an epiphany. Why do I take crap?
“You’re a strong, capable woman. Stop giving so fucking much. It’s time you take. Be ruthless. There’s a devil inside that sweet facade. Embrace it.”
He thrusts on every word, ravages my sore pussy. I’m a mess and have no idea how he’s so coherent, but he’s saying what I’ve never even dared to think, and it’s as if he’s talking dirty to me. I’ve never been spoken to like that before.
Grabbing my hair even tighter, pulling my head back until I think I’ll break, he fucks me harder and faster.
“Tell me you’ll do as I say.”
I whimper, unable to speak.
“Tell me.”
“I–”
I’m too far gone for thought.
He pulls out, abruptly, then yanks down my skirt, leaving me with shaking legs and heaving breaths, unable to move.
“Do as I tell you, or you’ll regret it.”
His voice comes from afar, and when I manage to turn I see he’s already back in his chair. Stabbing a piece of pineapple on a fork, he then brings it to his mouth while he looks at me with an unreadable gaze.
I don’t know if that was a threat, or meant as encouragement. I truly don’t know, and it scares me. I crave the orgasm he denied me, hopelessly lost in his touch, his scent, his low, sexy voice.
That devil he spoke of... It tells me to fall on my knees before him and beg him to finish what he started. Another little voice inside, a tiny, tiny whisper, tells me he’s more than I can handle.
I stumble back to my chair and sit, my nethers swollen and aching. My hands shake as I reach for the, now cold, cappuccino.
“You’re evil.”
He smiles, and there’s darkness in his eyes, but also regret. “You don’t know a fraction of it.”
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She came here for protection, but that’s the last thing she's going to find.
Welcome to Corium University, where the most dangerous criminals in the world send their offspring. Assassins, mafia leaders, arms dealers and art thieves.
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I knew she would be here.
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I knew the rules. Knew I couldn’t kill her, but I could hurt her. I could make her wish she never came to Corium. She wasn’t made for this place.
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When I sat down at the negotiation table with Don Calogerà, I expected to leave again with full control of his shipping lanes, and as many other concessions as I could wring from him.
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Vittoria may give the appearance of the perfect mafia princess in public, but behind closed doors she is a complete and utter brat. Which suits my own desires perfectly, as there is nothing I enjoy more than painting a woman's backside red before I bring her to heights of ecstasy she's never known.
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