Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 54283 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 271(@200wpm)___ 217(@250wpm)___ 181(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54283 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 271(@200wpm)___ 217(@250wpm)___ 181(@300wpm)
I spend a few more minutes browsing, picking up several more books to add to my collection, before I turn and head for the front counter. That ridiculous dress isn't going to fit itself. Unfortunately.
I turn the corner, worried about the dress for tomorrow's gala, when I collide with what feels like a solid wall.
"Shit," a man growls, grasping for me.
My books fall from my hands, scattering across the floor as I stumble back, nearly losing my balance.
"I'm so sorry!" Cheeks burning, I drop to my knees to gather the mess of books now scattered across the dusty floor at my feet.
The man kneels to help in his expensive suit. My gaze travels up his muscular arms to broad shoulders and a chiseled jaw. His face is a study in sharp angles and smooth planes, his cheekbones high and defined. Intense amber eyes pin me in place as they lock with mine.
Recognition slams into me like a freight train, turning my blood to ice.
Nazario Leyva. My father's nemesis. He's also one of the most dangerous men in this city.
Why is he here?
Do I even need to ask? I've had a target painted on my back since the day I was born. This wouldn't be the first time one of my father's enemies tried to get to him through me. It happens so fucking often it's honestly exhausting. But this one stings. Campus is supposed to be my safe haven, the one place in this city where my father's world doesn't intrude.
If Nazario is here, his world hasn't just intruded. It's packed up and moved in.
Lovely.
"Let me help you with that, cariño," Nazario murmurs, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through me. He moves with a fascinating predatory grace as he quickly collects my books, scooping them into his large hands. His eyes never deviate from my face.
My mouth goes dry as I stare at him. He's even more devastatingly handsome up close than he is in photos. Dark brows slash above his arresting eyes, giving him a severe, almost regal look. But little spots of gold in the amber soften the steely, unyielding intensity of his eyes, humanizing him.
There's something magnetic about him. I feel the pull deep in my core.
It's a dangerous feeling. He's destroyed more lives than I can count and fought more battles than I can even process.
Our fingers brush as he hands me the stack of books, and electricity arcs between us. It surges through my veins in a liquid rush, sending my heart rate galloping.
I fumble the books, nearly dropping them again, as I rise to my feet.
Jesus. Get it together, Brynna!
"Thank you," I manage, slightly breathless. I tuck an errant strand of hair behind my ear with a shaky hand, trying to pull myself together. I've dealt with men like him before. This one is no different.
It feels like a lie, even as I think it.
His full lips quirk in a half-smile. "The pleasure is all mine, cariño. It's not every day I literally run into such a beautiful woman."
He flirts as if he was born with charm dripping from his tongue… and I don't know what to do with that. Most men don't even try. They wouldn't dare cross my father to attempt it. But this one? Well, I think crossing my father is precisely what he intends.
And yet, despite the warning bells clanging in my head, I feel heat rising to my cheeks as he stands in front of me, cool and confident. My heart pounds a staccato rhythm against my ribs.
I need to get out of here.
I force a polite smile. "I appreciate your help, but I should be going…"
"What's the rush, dulzura?" He cocks his head, studying me intently. "I don't even know your name yet."
Right. As if he doesn't know exactly who I am.
The air crackles with tension as I stare at him, trying to decide how to respond.
"I suppose you found your way into a used bookstore right off campus completely by accident, then, Nazario?" I ask, arching a brow. "Because last I checked, UCLA didn't offer courses on becoming a Colombian drug lord."
Amusement flares in his gaze. "Ah, I see." That half-smile grows to a full-fledged grin. "And do they offer courses on being an Irish mob princess, cariño? Or are you the only one allowed to play by your rules here?"
"So you do know who I am," I mutter, refusing to take his bait. If there are any rules here, he's the one who knows them. I'm flailing in the dark. "Did you follow me here?"
"Follow you? No." His gaze flickers across my face. "Call it a happy coincidence. I was in need of new reading material."
"Right." I lick my suddenly dry lips. The man probably hasn't picked up a book in a decade. "Well, I have somewhere to be." Not technically a lie, though I'm in no rush to get there. "Thanks again."