Beauty and the Barracuda Read Free

granite kingdom. She made her way to the shower by memory and made sure the temperature was hot enough to melt away early morning shame and despondency. Shedding Sansone’s T-shirt, she climbed in beneath the waterfall showerhead and leaned against the tile, standing perfectly still until the sluggish sensation weighing her down slowly faded. She slapped her hand against shelves until she caught a bar of soap.
    Ten minutes later and she had a towel in her hand. Five minutes later and she was slipping back into her dress sans underwear—which she’d tucked into her clutch. Two minutes later and she had her shoes hanging from a finger and was halfway down the stairs when she heard, “And where are we off to so quickly, Ms. Lohan?”
    The quiet, matter-of-fact tone was all she needed to hear to know that she’d done some intense shit last night. Wincing, Nyssa cast a glance over one bare shoulder and found the reason why she’d drowned herself in every alcoholic beverage that she could just hours ago standing a few feet behind her.
    “Someone’s doing the walk of shame early,” Sansone teased, coming down the stairs barefoot, plaid pajama bottoms hanging loosely on his lean hips, his shirtless state revealing an expanse of smooth, olive-toned skin that stretched over delineated muscles and was inked from his collarbone all the way down his right side in a black and white combination of artwork. “Too late, sweetness. You shook your tits in my face and I officially know what you look like in a G-string.”
    She might as well just roll herself the rest of the way down.
    Sansone got closer and leaned over her cleavage, leering before he sang, “I’ve got a lovely bunch of coconuts…”
    Nyssa turned, fully intending to flee before she got the urge to claw his face, but strong hands caught her about the waist and lifted her. “Oh, no, Madam Melons, you and I are going to have breakfast together and talk about all your dirty, dirty ways.”
    “Put. Me. Down.”
    He hooked her legs over his forearm and casually strolled the rest of the way down the stairs and toward the kitchen. “I would love to, Nyssa, but if you leave, how can I mock you?”
    She dug her nails into his shoulder and gave a sharp smile when he grimaced. “Sunny, I’m going to hurt you.”
    “Put the shoes on first, sweetness,” he retorted, pushing through the swinging doors of the kitchen. “I’m into that.”
    Sansone deposited her on a bar stool at the island and waved a finger under her nose. “No moving.”
    “If you force feed me, I will redecorate in here.”
    He carelessly shrugged and swung open the double doors to his fridge. “Do what you like. Just know that it leaves you vulnerable because I’ll clean you up before I give a single fuck about what’s sprayed across my floor.”
    She bit the inside of her cheek and sat back, determined not to give into the urge to fight. Instead, Nyssa entertained herself with watching him move effortlessly around the space before he popped the proper balance of fruits and veggies into a blender and spun it while humming. It was the humming that bothered her more than anything. If Sansone had a horrible voice she could tell him to clam it, but his brutal Philly accent managed to reform into something disturbingly off-putting each time a note left his mouth. Unassuming bastard.
    “Sooo…” he drawled, setting a glass full of his completed concoction down in front of her and leaning across the counter. “Remember anything interesting about last night?”
    She gripped the glass and took a swallow, ignoring the way he had one distinct Clark Kent curl falling across his brow. “Nope.”
    “You sure you don’t remember anything?”
    Another swallow. “Nope.”
    “ Nothing ?”
    One more. “ Nope .”
    “Heh.”
    Nyssa looked up just to find his gaze bearing down on her with enough force to make her feel naked. Her stare went from his thick brows, past his roman nose and toward his