By Lisa Marie Rice
''I dont are looking to be on my own tonight.''
Caroline Lake can rarely think she might ever say those phrases to somebody she'd by no means met ahead of. while a tall, darkish stranger arrives desirous to lease a room in her appealing empty shell of a mansion, she hesitates. although she is in dire monetary straits, the guy appears dangerous—dangerously attractive. She's crushed by way of the need he sparks in her—hotter than whatever she's ever felt sooner than, making her soreness to adventure his sensuous contact. yet who's this armed and mysterious guy with possibility following in his wake? he isn't who she thinks he's . . .
Jack Prescott has sought after Caroline endlessly. He has spent the prior twelve years dreaming of her, needing her, whereas scuffling with in a few of the worst hellholes on the earth. Now he is again, with twenty million money in blood diamonds and a constant enemy stalking him. yet this time Jack's made up our minds that not anything will cease him from eventually making Caroline his.
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Extra info for Dangerous Lover
When she walked back into the dining room, he was already seated and had poured them both half a glass of wine. He stood immediately as soon as she crossed the threshold. Caroline put down the roast beef and sat, noting that he didn’t sit down until she did. That rule had gone out with the dinosaurs, though apparently Jack Prescott hadn’t heard about it. Jack’s dark gaze took in the table, then shifted to her. “This looks absolutely wonderful. Thank you. I didn’t dream when I landed that I’d be having such an elegant meal tonight.
It took some doing to get him to one. And when I finally dragged him in for tests, we found out he had stomach cancer. I couldn’t leave him while he was sick. The cancer was very advanced. He only lasted a few weeks. ” Caroline rested her chin on her fist as she looked at him. ” He put his fork down, thoughtful. He took his time answering. That was something Caroline liked. She disliked glib quips, ready-made answers. He was clearly struggling to find the right words. It was entirely possible that words weren’t his medium.
It seemed his shoulders took up half the sofa. Her perfectly normal-sized coffee cup looked tiny in his hands. His hands were compelling, unlike any other male hands she’d ever seen. Though they were huge, the skin visibly rough, as if he worked with them a lot outdoors, they were also naturally well shaped, long-fingered, elegant and strong, with a light dusting of black hairs on the backs. The nails were clean but clearly unmanicured, so very unlike Sanders’s hands, which were pale and soft, with perfect, buffed nails.