That Killer Smile + Giveaway
Title: That
Killer Smile
Author: Juliet
Lyons
Series: Bite
Nights, #3
ISBN: 9781492645375
Pub Date: February
6, 2018
THERE WILL BE
HEAT...
Vampire Catherine Adair gave up trying to find her perfect match ages
ago. But that didn’t stop her from founding London’s super successful vampire
dating site. When a smoldering vampire overlord from her past launches an
interspecies speed-dating service, Catherine vows to crush the competition….
WHEN THESE TWO
COMPETE
Ronin’s new venture is purely about getting Catherine’s attention. He
hasn’t stopped thinking about her ever since the night she gave him the cold
shoulder. Nobody gets away from Ronin McDermott that easily...
JULIET LYONS is a
paranormal romance author from the UK. She holds a degree in Spanish and Latin
American studies and works part-time in a local primary school where she spends
far too much time discussing Harry Potter. Since joining global storytelling
site Wattpad in 2014, her work has received millions of hits online and gained
a legion of fans from all over the world. When she is not writing, Juliet
enjoys reading and spending time with her family.
Find Juliet Online:
Twitter: @WriterJLyons
For a few seconds, I’m lost for words. But as I stare between the
bag on the floor and Ronin’s chiseled face, it all becomes clear.
“This is about you wanting me to owe you, isn’t it?” I hiss, fixing
my gaze on his left ear. It’s a trick I learned from the last time we met. If I
don’t look directly into his eyes, there’s less chance of being drawn into
their swirling, blue depths.
He smiles, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable, do you know
that?”
“Pfffft,”
I erupt. “I’m
unbelievable? I’m not the one trying to tank my business by spreading rumors
and launching a dating service. I’m not the one going out of his way to ensure
our paths keep crossing in the worst possible ways.”
He frowns, displaying the first sign of irritation since I crashed
into the room. “I’ve already told you, mo
chridhe, it wasn’t me who started those rumors. And as for the
speed dating, well, it was a free country last time I checked. I’m offering you
the cash because the fella was injured in my club. Which means technically he’s
my responsibility. If you don’t take the money now, I’ll have someone deliver
it to his lawyer’s office later. I have their address now, after all.”
He waves the letter in the air like a victory flag.
“I’ll call them up,” I blurt out, voice quavering. “I’ll tell them
you’re a madman and not to accept it. I’ll say it’s not your money at all, that
you conned the life savings from some poor old man with dementia.”
Ronin arches a brow, tucking the letter into an inside pocket of his
jacket. “That’s some novel you’re writing there, Catherine, but I doubt they
would argue if I write them a Coutts check, do you?”
I’m all out of ammunition. “I loathe you.”
For a split second, his cocksureness wavers, the steely-blue eyes
darkening. But only for a moment. “The problem isn’t me, Catherine,” he says,
edging closer. “The problem is you.”
I straighten up. “That’s the most irritating thing about you,
Ronin—you always think you know better than everybody else. I’m not sure
whether it’s because you’ve been around longer than the rest of us or because
you’re just a massive asshole. Either way, you don’t know the first thing about
me.”
He flashes a cocky grin, raking his gaze over me as if he has X-ray
vision. “You don’t loathe me, mo
chridhe. You just can’t get over the fact you’re an uptight
puritan who loved the kind of sex I gave you that night we spent together.”
I let out a high-pitched laugh. “That’s right, Ronin. Let’s not
forget for one second that the world revolves around you and your penis.
Actually, I’m surprised you’re even bothering to get dressed these days. I
would have thought you’d have developed a penchant for silky, red pajamas and
slippers by now.” I motion to the cigar on the carpet. “Looks like you’ve
nailed the smoking part, and God knows the Playboy bunnies must be hiding
around here somewhere.”
He scoffs. “Jealous?”
“Please, you’re not that good in bed.”
Except he is—or was. Better than good. But I can’t think about that
right now. Or ever again, actually.
“Paulo was right about you,” he murmurs. “You are a mad bitch.”
I close the distance between us in a single stride and smack him
across the cheek. It’s like hitting stone. He doesn’t so much as flinch. For
some bizarre reason, this ignites a hot stab of lust in the pit of my stomach.
His scent—a masculine blend of whiskey, leather, and woodsmoke—infiltrates my
senses. I’m transported back to that night some years ago when we went at it
like two wildcats in his bed.
I never wanted to come up for air.
I’m standing too close to use the ear trick. His eyes drag me in,
two penetrating blue flames, dark with anger. I gulp, allowing my gaze to
wander over his chiseled-from-rock cheekbones, rosy Celtic skin, copper hair
slicked back from a noble forehead. He may be an asshole, but there is no
denying his beauty.
For what feels like an eternity, neither of us move. We remain
locked onto each other, energy—good and bad—swirling between us like thick fog.
Quite without thinking, I hiss, “Fucker.” After spending my human
life afraid to speak, I never managed to rewire the connection between my brain
and mouth.
His blue eyes flash. At once, his lips are on mine and his arms are
around my waist. Instead of struggling, I mold myself into the hard contours of
his body, my tongue sliding over his, my hands pulling him closer, and I hate
myself—Lord, how I despise myself—for how good it feels. It’s as though he
brings a magnifying glass up to all the base urges I long to forget, including
this—an utterly ridiculous sexual attraction to a demon playboy who’s murdered
God knows how many during his thousands of years on earth.
I don’t pull away. I can’t. He absorbs me like a drug. Before I can
help myself, my fingers are tangled in his thick, red hair and I’m allowing his
hands to cup my ass, grinding against the hard rope of an erection bulging
beneath his trousers. We devour each other, eyes and
mouths open, until I’m no longer sure where he begins and I end.
But then he takes his mouth from mine, trailing kisses from jawline
to neck. Along with the rasp of stubble, I feel a scrape of fangs, sharp as
knives, glide across my skin. I shove him away, panting slightly, averting my
eyes to the lacquered walnut desk in the center of the room. If I don’t stop
this now, I’ll end up sprawled across that table just like all the other women
he’s had in here. The worst part is, I’d enjoy it.
“Consider the debt paid,” I say.
Cat
My first thought when I see the smashed lock is, How on earth did a burglar make it past Mrs.
Colangelo?
I shove the door open and step inside. There, sitting—no lounging—in my Laura
Ashley recliner and stroking Wentworth, is Ronin fuck weasel McDermott.
My eyes bulge as I absorb the preposterous scene of him sitting with
my pet in his lap. He looks like an infuriatingly hot James Bond villain.
“Evening, Catherine,” he says with a nod of his head.
I glare into his intense blue eyes, fists clenching. “What the
actual fuck are you doing in my apartment?”
He cocks a brow before rising from the chair, taking Wentworth with
him. The latter stays snuggled under his arm, as docile as a newborn lamb.
Pointing at Wentworth, I hiss, “Did you glamour my cat?”
A cloud of confusion passes across his handsome features. “Why on
God’s earth would I glamour a cat?”
Without missing a beat, I snap, “That’s what you do to get people to
like you.”
He feigns an injured look before setting Wentworth down on the
carpet. Then he reaches into his shirt pocket and pulls out a tiny object. It
twinkles beneath the light. “You dropped this earring in my office. It must
have fallen out when you kissed me.”
I snort in derision. “Ha! Yeah, I kissed you. Good one. And you came all the way here,
broke in to my
apartment just to return it to me?”
“I’ll get the lock fixed,” he says, placing the earring on the
coffee table. “And I didn’t break in as such. One of your neighbors let me up.”
I shake my head. “Let me guess, an Italian lady in a robe?”
He smiles and I try not to notice how it softens the hard lines of
his strong features, how his cool-blue eyes are suffused with warmth.
“There’s a chance she believes lover boy next door is bisexual.”
“What the hell did you tell her?” I ask, folding arms across my
chest. The mention of Peter comes as a shock. Being in the same room as Ronin
McDermott, I’ve already forgotten he exists.
“Nothing she didn’t secretly long to hear. So who is this guy
anyway? Should I be jealous?”
My stomach flips, my mind skipping back to that moment in his office
when I left him with a hard-on in the presence of Playboy bunnies. “Jealous?” I
try to inject venom into my voice, but my heart isn’t in it. “Tell me, did you
enjoy yourself with those girls the other afternoon?”
His brows knit. He looks genuinely flummoxed. “What girls?”
I toss my bag onto the sofa. “Meant that much to you, did they?”
He stays frozen to the spot, brows drawn. “Do you really think I
care about other girls?”
His voice is low, as cracked as splintered glass. Suddenly, it seems
as if all the oxygen has been sucked from the room. As I meet his burning gaze,
it’s like the last couple of days—work, my date with Peter—never happened. I’m
back in his office right before his lips landed on mine.
Except this time neither of us budge.
“You’re a sickness,” he says at last in that same fractured tone.
“Don’t you see? A sickness in my veins.”
My brain sifts through responses at a hundred miles per hour, but my
vocal chords remain frozen in my throat. I watch him like he’s a tiger, waiting
for him to strike.
But he doesn’t pounce. He sighs instead, his jaw tightly clenched.
“I’ve never wanted to upset you, Catherine. I’m sorry for what I did that
night—biting you and giving you my venom. I shouldn’t have lost control like
that.”
“No, you shouldn’t have,” I snap.
“I’ll be honest,” he continues. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t
start the speed-dating nights to get your attention. But I had no intention of
ruining your business. In a way, it’s a compliment.”
My jaw drops in disbelief. “A compliment? Are you completely
unhinged? Do you really have your head shoved so far up your ass that you don’t
get why I can’t stand you?”
He shakes his head, holding out his hands, palms up. There’s
desperation in his voice I’ve never heard from him before. “I’ve never once
tried to play the ancient card with you. I never will, no matter how badly you
piss me off.”
I stare at him, half believing he doesn’t have a clue, half-angry
this is just another of his manipulative games.
“This isn’t about details. It’s about the
bigger picture. One you’ve never bothered to try and get your arrogant head
around. Who am I, Ronin?” The happiness the evening brought is leaking out
of me faster than air from a burst balloon. To my horror, a sob escapes my
throat. “What am I?”
“Is this one of those bizarre feminist questions?”
“For fucks sake, what
am I? Answer me.”
His eyes flash in anger, but he doesn’t flinch. “A woman. A vampire.
A neurotic shrew half the time.”
“A vampire,” I repeat, ignoring the last bit.
He looks utterly and completely blank.
“You have no idea. Do you?”
When he doesn’t answer, I open the busted door as wide as it will go
and wave an arm toward it. “Goodbye, Ronin.”
If he wasn’t such a misogynistic playboy, I might experience a pang
of guilt as I watch him skulk past me, defeated.
Outside he pauses, spinning around to face me. “I rang you,” he
says. “Every day for a month after we slept together.”
“I know,” I whisper, staring at my Dolce & Gabbana boots. “I
changed my telephone number on day three.”
He emits a short, hollow laugh, and when I look up, the hallway is
completely empty. I hear the slam of a door as he exits the building onto the
street.
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