Page 162 of Carnal Urges

“I still am. You’re not the only one who can hold a grudge.”

He rolls over, pressing me against the mattress, and grasps my jaw. “Any way I can make it up to you?”

His tone is suggestive. His eyes are hot. And that big pistol he’s packing between his legs is nudging my thigh, hoping for playtime.

I press the smile from my lips and answer him somberly. “Yes. Address me as Your Royal Highness from now on.”

Gazing into my eyes, he murmurs, “Anything you want, my queen. Anything and everything, no matter what it is.”

Then he kisses me, and in his lips I taste forever.

EPILOGUE

KAGE

He stalks back and forth in front of me like a man possessed, his eyes wild and his energy thermonuclear.

I’ve never seen him like this. Compared to the rest of my men, Stavros is a mouse.

Then again, love can turn even the sanest man into a raging beast.

I should know.

“How could you let him have her?” he shouts, red-faced. “She’s mine!”

His words echo off the bare cement walls, rising up to the rafters high above and scattering like pigeons startled into flight.

It’s a good thing we’re alone in this warehouse. Otherwise, he’d already be bleeding for disrespecting me like that.

“Take a tone like that with me again, and you’ll regret it.”

He stops short and looks at me, wide-eyed. Wringing his hands, he whispers, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean… I just… I can’t live without her. Sloane is my life.”

I have no idea how that woman brainwashes men into falling ather feet like slobbering fools, but it’s a gift, I have to give it to her. If she ever decided to organize her own syndicate, the rest of the bosses would be in dire trouble. A crooked finger from her, and all our soldiers would desert us in ten seconds flat.

“Take a breath, Stavros. Have a seat.” I jerk my chin at a nearby chair.

He collapses into it and props his elbows on his knees. Dropping his head into his hands, he groans. “The Irishman. TheIrishman. I hate him so much!”

I say drily, “You’re not alone in that sentiment.”

He lifts his head and looks at me beseechingly. “Why can’t you just kill him?”

“Politics.”

That’s one way to describe it. Another is that my manhood would be chopped off and thrown into a blender by my woman, then fed to stray dogs. But I’m not about to tell him that.

Besides, there are ways around it.

“That’s not to say it won’t happen. Just not at the moment. And it can’t be by me.”

His expression turns hopeful. “So I could do it?Icould kill him, and it would be okay?”

The thought of him getting close enough to lay a finger on that wily Irish bastard is laughable, but I don’t want to discourage this kind of enthusiasm.

“Not only would it be okay, I’d give you a year off from tithing.”

Energized, he leaps to his feet.