Title: Speak Easy Duet
Author: Melanie Harlow
Genre: Historical Romance
It starts with Speak Easy…
Enzo DiFiore is not a nice guy.
He’s a liar. A cheat. A criminal.
His family kidnapped my father and wants ten grand in ransom from me—next week.
But I can’t keep my hands off him.
Joey Lupo is a criminal too—and just because he’s helping me get the money doesn’t mean I should forgive him for all the dirty tricks he played on me in the past.
But I can’t keep my mind off him.
Me? I’m just a bootlegger with a weakness for whiskey, danger, and a man in a three-piece suit.
But deciding whom to trust isn’t easy in a world where everyone wants something—be it booze, money, power, or sex—and no one cares what it takes to get it.
It continues with Speak Low…
I thought I could leave danger behind.
I thought I did the right thing, betraying one man for another.
I thought I knew what I wanted.
I was wrong.
Now I’m desperate to fix my mistakes before it’s too late and I lose the one thing, the one person, that truly matters to me.
The guard seated at the entrance nodded at Enzo and pressed a button, which unlocked the inner door. To my surprise, after opening it, Enzo followed me into the tiny vestibule. Then he let the door close, leaving us in the pitch-dark.
Adrenaline shot through me as I waited for him to open the door to the stairwell. Instead, I heard the slam of a deadbolt.
“You don’t really want to leave, do you?” His voice was low and lilting.
He’s teasing me. “Yes. I do.”
“Liar.” He moved closer.
Every inch of my skin pricked with heat. “Look who’s calling who names. I can think of a few to call you, you know.”
His body met mine and he pressed my back into the brick wall. “So do it.”
I dropped my evening bag to the floor. “Thief.”
He took one wrist and pinned it above my head.
“Cheat,” I snarled.
He pinned the other across the first.
“Bastard.” The word lashed from my lips just before he kissed me, and I could have sworn it made him smile.
Out of my mind with desire, I kissed him hungrily, straining against him, desperate to have my arms free. But he held my wrists tight, torturing me with deep thrusts of his tongue between my lips.
“Let me go,” I rasped when he dragged his mouth across my cheek and down my neck.
“Why would I do that?”
“Because I want to touch you.”
He paused for a second before letting my right arm go. The left he kept pinned above my head.
Breathing hard, I swept my right hand up the inside of his leg and smiled—he was hard. I stroked him like I had in the stairwell, my pulse kicking up as he brought his mouth back to mine.
Determined to have the real thing, I opened his coat, pulled his shirt from his trousers, and slipped enough buttons through their holes to slide my hand down against tight, hot skin. Wrapping my hand around his cock, I kept my grasp loose at first, allowing him to slip easily through my fingers. When I felt his breath coming harder and faster on my lips, I tightened my grip, further aroused by his moan of pleasure. His hold on my wrist weakened, and he braced himself against the wall. I’m doing this. I’m bringing him to this. The surge of power was intoxicating.
About the Author:
Melanie Harlow likes her martinis dry, her lipstick red, and her history with the naughty bits left in. She lifts her glass to readers and writers from her home near Detroit, MI.
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