The End of Tomorrow Read Online Free Page A

bag.
    Glancing around, I wasn't certain what my options were. The man holding my bag was the man who also, coincidentally, held my heart captive. He was the ultimate package and not in the way you would expect or want. He was the sort of man who could make you want him—make you choose him over considerably smarter choices.
    Everything about him was too much.
    His intense kind of love was the type you dreamt of and avoided at the same time. It burned too hot for you to survive it, but it was the passion women dreamt of when they were lying next to a perfectly decent guy.
    Then there was the mystery surrounding him, like an appetizer—something to whet your palate and get the games started in your head. Just when you thought you had him figured out, he did something incredibly evil or saintly or sweet. It was beguiling in every way. He took opposite stances on discussions regular people wouldn't ever consider thinking about.
    He was a very bad man in all the right ways. A bad man my vagina happened to have a fondness of.
    Before my eyes drifted farther than his hands on my bag, he turned and walked from the airport. That was his way of telling me I had to come with him.
    He was the secretive double agent no one knew about and the international millionaire bad boy that every woman in the world wanted to love. But to me, secretly and on a level of down low I didn't even understand, he was the man who had been in love with me for years, watching from the shadows and protecting me.
    I paused before I followed him. My vagina tried to convince me to go with it, while my heart desperately wanted to turn and go the other way.
    Being around him was nearly impossible. He was the choice I was never going to make. I was a mom, a daughter, and an agent—and completely in that order. Those didn't match his cover—international arms dealer who dabbled in human trafficking and drugs.
    It wouldn't have been so bad, had he not loved his cover like a real job, but he did.
    Every step my ballet flats tapped across the airport, and then through the parking lot, went in the wrong direction in my opinion.
    When I got to the black SUV with the tinted windows and the door wide open, I contemplated running in the other direction. Being alone in a vehicle with him was never a simple car ride.
    Taking a deep, dissatisfying breath, I climbed inside and let the driver close the door. I didn't turn my head to look into Servario’s hazel-green eyes. I knew what lurked in there. He had a history of speaking with a stare.
In my peripheral I could see his dark hair was a little long for him. Normally, he kept it short, but it was playing with his ear, resting there with promises of feathery tickles against my thighs as he whispered the sweetest words I would ever hear.
    His skin was paler than normal. Usually he was tanned and his skin was aged a little from the sun. Being Italian-Serbian made him a candidate for a year-round summer glow. He wore pale-gray slacks, like he had the first time we met. The way they fit him, you knew they were custom-made by the very best Italian tailor.
    His shoes were deep-burgundy Italian leather, shiny to the point I could see the back of the seat in the reflection. He wore a steel-colored dress shirt, opened at the top so you got a glimpse of the places your fingers naturally wished to explore.
    The man was sex.
    He breathed sex.
    Lived for sex.
    Made you obsess about the type of sex you would have with him.
    And you knew it was going to be nasty sex.
    The heat radiating from his body next to mine made me uncomfortable in a variety of ways. The main one was the way my thighs clenched together and my vagina begged me to just strip down and let him force me into positions I wasn't comfortable with.
    “Hello, Evie,” he finally spoke, softly but with confidence, even if it was a whispered greeting.
    “Hello, Servario.” I nodded, forcing my eyes to focus on the back of the seat in front of me.
    “What are you wearing?”