CASSIAN
The moment I stepped into the private lobby, the one smell I knew shouldn't fill the air anymore, fucking greeted my nostrils like it was natural.
Holy motherfucking fuck!
Even the wind knew I just wanted to have my fingers lost in her hair right now.
But none of that was going to happen.
The alliance with Alejandro Alvarez had been signed; the wedding was in February.
But my eyes already knew better.
I spotted her: black tank top over blue denim, red hair cascading slightly above the curve of that perfect ass.
Blood and heat rushed to my groin ferociously.
I gritted my teeth in annoyance.
God help me.
Ayla looked over her shoulder, as if she could feel my stare.
Fuck, she was pretty—even with that scowl on her face—stormy-hazel eyes that seemed to glare at me, sweet full lips I was sure tasted like Burt's Bees' organic lip balm, and a body no other fucking woman in the world had.
She crossed her arms. "Back from one of your killing escapades?"
