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Authors: Nikki Winter

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BOOK: The Beauty and the Brawler
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He could sit on the stoop with kids just on the outskirts of town in nothing but an old T-shirt and well-worn jeans or walk into an event full of Ivy-League business owners, doctors, and lawyers and have the best-cut suit in the room. Simply put, he was multi-faceted with the ability to blend like a chameleon yet still stand out.

There was something about Luciano that radiated an underlying sense of danger. Being in the same room with him had always been like taunting a caged tiger. She was constantly mindful of the leashed power just beneath the surface of that watchful gaze.

          He wasn’t just dangerous during his matches, but he was dangerous to Samara’s sense of self-preservation. The second their palms met in a handshake she knew everything in her small world would change. From the smirk he gave her, Luciano knew too.

          After that, he spent every dinner, lunch, or small opportunity he had letting her know how much she wouldn’t regret it if she just gave in to what they both so obviously wanted. The night of Nyssa’s party, Samara had given in. Of course it was after a few shots and a pep-talk from her wonderful sibling that consisted of, “For the love of all that is holy, do something spontaneous aside from changing the website where you buy your bras and
fuck. Him.”
That was ended with a lovely slap on the ass and a push forward...right into Luciano’s arms.

          They’d bantered. They’d danced around it. She’d insulted him, numerous
times. As a matter of fact, she did it every time she saw him, but as any boxer would do, he rolled with the punches, obviously knowing her façade of disdain was just that—a façade.

When she ran into him at the party, he’d flashed his signature predatory grin, and it had gone from there.

 

***

“You’re always hiding from me, Sammie. Why is that?”

          Samara sucked in a deep breath as that familiar, low, delicious voice reached her ears. A familiar, low, delicious voice that she hated. A familiar, low, delicious voice that made her want to stab its owner in the face.

          She didn’t blink, didn’t even acknowledge said owner. She also didn’t take her eyes off the party going on around her. He could stand there until his balls sagged and his liver gave out. Giving him the satisfaction of noticing that he breathed her air wasn’t even an option. Samara’s lips curved as she watched her sister find a tabletop to stand on and shake her ass. If there was one talent Nyssa had...

          “She can get down on her own, or I foresee Sansone
helping
her down.” Luciano pointed out.

          Biting the inside of her cheek, she simply lifted her glass to take a sip of the drink in her hand, still ignoring the giant, good-smelling bastard next to her. Samara didn’t need to be informed of what would take place in a few seconds. She was well aware that Sansone was well past his tolerance for the night. Which was why she hadn’t breathed a word in the last hour about her older sister’s antics.

          Nyssa’s birthday parties were always a big production, and Sansone was always in the background, watching. Funny, after six years, it seemed like the only one who didn’t notice he was always watching was Nyssa.

          “So…” That same voice kept talking, kept trying to draw her in. “You’re just gonna keep acting as though I’m not right here.”

          Nothing. She didn’t even glance in his direction.

          “I’ll be taking that as a yes.”

          Her gaze never wavered from the crowd. At least not until six feet, six inches of brick-hard Italian blocked her line of sight. One huge hand reached out and gripped her glass. “And we’re done with this game now.” Luciano took a sip from said glass then sputtered. “Jesus H! The fuck are you drinking? Battery acid with a dash of gasoline?”

          Forced to finally speak, she answered, “No, it’s a rare poison that assholes aren’t immune to.” Samara raked her gaze over him. Of course it wasn’t. Seemed like a glass or three of absinthe was the only thing that could make her tolerate a party capacity of over sixty. “Your cock should be exploding in about five minutes or so.”

          Luciano simply smirked, amber eyes sparkling at her from beneath dark brows. “Well, if I’m gonna lose it, I might as well use it.” Those brows waggled. “Got five minutes to spare?”

          Her grin was saccharine sweet. “Somehow, I doubt you’d be able to last that long.”

          He pouted. “Why are you so mean to me?”

          “Might have something to do with you being a narcissistic dickhead who’s determined to get into my panties just so you can put me on the end of your list of conquests.”

          Luciano’s eyes widened as he pressed a hand to his chest. “Now Sammie, that’s not true. You’d go right at the top... like at number six...”

          She started past him.

          Laughing, he caught her and pulled her back into his chest, nose running along the length of her throat. “You have to know what I just said is bullshit. I could have thousands of conquests, and none of them would ever come close to you.”

Samara shrugged. “I don’t care, humongosaur.” Lies! Oh, she cared. Way more than she wanted to admit.

His hand spanned her tummy, his thumb rubbing in slow circles that sent a shiver racing down her spine. “Oh, you care. You just like to play as though you don’t, but I’m onto you, Sammie. I can smell you before you even enter a room and pick your voice out in a crowd. It’s the only one with the ability to send my dick rock hard within the span of a millisecond.” He let go of her then, tossing over his shoulder as he walked away, “I guess at some point you’ll take care of the problem you have such a habit of creating.”

***

          Samara sucked in a deep breath as she mentally stepped out of her reverie. She’d been right to assume sleeping with him would change her life.

          Standing on wobbly legs, she headed for her phone and dialed the one number she needed to call more than anything at the moment. “Dr. Balcomb, this is Samara Blackwell. I need to make an appointment for Saturday morning...”

Chapter Two

 

         
Luciano softened his singing of the
Fresh Prince
theme to a nice mellow humming as he quietly walked through the hallway of a very nice, very well decorated waterfront condo on the upper east side of his hometown.

Granted, said condo didn’t belong to him, but that was just semantics. The way he saw it, he was here so much that he might as well call it home. Although, the locks kept changing, and it irked him to keep having to pick them every couple of weeks, but once again,
semantics.

Luciano reached the master bedroom and twisted the knob before throwing it open and jumping through the threshold with enough force to cause the floor to shake as he bellowed out, his favorite line.

He watched with glee as the previously peacefully sleeping form of his best friend and adoptive brother jumped up as if shot, got tangled in his own sheets and rolled from the bed. Sansone Sultana hopped up from the floor. “Jesus H!”

“Gah!” Luciano covered his eyes. “I’m blind!”

“Luc?” Sansone roared. “How the fuck did you even get in here?

“The same way I
always
get in.” He motioned to his sibling’s form. “When did you become a nudist?”

“My home, my naked. Don’t like it? Stop strolling in here like we’re sharing the mortgage every month.”

“You don’t even
have
a mortgage.”

“That’s not the point, you giant asshole!”

“Look, you get that clothed.” Luciano waved a hand towards the door, careful to keep his eyes closed. “And I’ll make breakfast while getting right with Jesus.”

Sansone snorted. “Wouldn’t your reigning master, Satan, take issue with that?”

Flipping his brother the bird as he walked out, Luciano replied, “At least
my
master knows I’m alive. When’s the last time Nyssa took time out of her day to actually acknowledge the fact you breathe her air?”

“Low blow, Luc! Low fucking blow!”

Chuckling, he went back the way he came, finding the kitchen and making himself at home. Still humming a song that would never
get old to him, Luciano started taking down breakfast supplies, knowing that once Sansone got himself together, there would be a lot of violence going on this morning. It wasn’t the fact that he managed to slip through his brother’s security system the same way water did paper, it was the mention of Nyssa Blackwell—the one woman his suave, polished sibling couldn’t seem to get his hands on.

In the six years Sansone had been working with his sports management partner, he still hadn’t breached that ring of friendship that Nyssa had him confined in. It made Luciano’s brother edgy and grumpy and so goddamn easy to screw with.

He loved it! But,
along with Nyssa came a quaint little surprise he hadn’t been expecting in the least bit—her gorgeous, mean, lush-lipped little sister who had the sexiest voice he’d ever had the pleasure of hearing.

The first time he’d heard Sammie, the Voice of Choice,
he’d been nursing a hangover in a hotel room in upper Manhattan thanks to a victory celebration that consisted of lots of drinks, lots of women, and lots of dicking around. Obviously someone hated him enough to set an alarm for him the next morning so he would wake up early enough to catch a flight out to Sacramento. And by God above, the smooth, whiskey-rough rasp with just a bit of upstate thrown in the mix got his sluggish attention faster than a well-known porn star serving ice cream in a boys’ juvenile detention home.

There was something about the leisurely way she drawled every sentence—a wickedness to every word, every syllable that rolled off her tongue. Her laugh was just as sexy, if not sexier, than the way she spoke, and he found himself more than a bit intrigued, drawn in by that dry, sarcastic, candid humor. But she didn’t just get by on that voice alone—Samara was also knowledgeable, and there was nothing more desirable to Luciano than a woman who could make his dick rise with a simple question then blow his mind when digging into the politics of the sports world.

Just when he didn’t think his obsession could get any deeper, Sansone took up a partnership with a gorgeous barracuda in stilettos, and Luciano found out said barracuda was the older sister of said obsession. It was by accident, really. He’d been leaving Sansone’s new office after threatening to cut his brother/agent’s balls off if all the goddamn badgering about endorsements and investments didn’t stop when he heard
her.

Granted, she’d been in a screaming match with her sister over God only knows what, but
it hadn’t mattered because all he’d been able to do was stop and stare and thank the good Lord above for his timely, efficient blessings. Now, being that Nyssa herself was, erm...
pleasing to the eye,
he shouldn’t have been surprised when coming face to face with the woman who shared her DNA. Somehow, it was still a gut punch the moment those wide, sparkling, hazel irises met his own. Extremely statuesque with what could only be described as a sinful mouth
,
Samara had a face and body that the best plastic surgeons in the nation couldn’t imitate. From that second on, Luciano spent every waking moment determined to convince her he should have exclusive rights to that mouth.

Not many women got his attention for long. They’d come and gone so much that they’d begun to blur into one continuous memory. Each one beautiful or unique in her own way, but there was something different
about Samara, something that made him chase her—a task he wasn’t accustomed to. He’d waited six long years before she finally gave in—pursuing, waiting, biding his time. And when she finally did...

          “I don’t smell food,” Sansone pointed out in a tone that suggested bellowing was about to follow. “Why don’t I smell food?” Arms folded, he stood in the doorway of the kitchen, glaring like a mentally unstable, angry circus bear.

BOOK: The Beauty and the Brawler
4.77Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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