The Skull King (Skull 1)

“Who is he?”

“A business associate. Sometimes my husband has me do these deals for him. Says I can be persuasive…”

I looked her up and down, from her perfect tits to her perfect legs. She could get anything she wanted, flaunting her sexiness like that. “I bet.” I pulled out my wallet and left the cash on the table. I also pulled out a business card, a single white card with a black skull on the back. “Call me if you change your mind. I’d be happy to be your next climax.” I scooted to the very edge of the stool, leaned forward, and then scooped my hand into those luscious black strands. I gripped the back of her hair tightly before I pressed my mouth lightly against hers. Plump and soft, her lips tasted like candy. So sweet and addictive, they made me wonder if she tasted that way everywhere, especially between her legs. My mouth treasured the initial contact, the surprise in her lips as they parted slightly.

She kissed me back, invited me to take her mouth. Her kiss was still restrained, like she hadn’t gotten past the shock that I’d kissed her right in the middle of the bar, not giving a damn if the person she was meeting walked through the door and saw us.

My fingers sank deeper into her hair until I cradled the back of her neck. My mouth moved with hers a little faster, with a little more passion. Spontaneously, I gave her my tongue, and she gave me hers. The chemistry between us was so volatile and natural, and I was pissed I wouldn’t be able to enjoy it for the rest of the night. All I would have was the memory of this kiss and my imagination.

She was a great kisser. She kissed me like she hadn’t been kissed in years, like her sexual desires hadn’t been fulfilled in a decade. Her hand moved to my bicep, and she kissed me like she never wanted me to stop, as if she’d been sucked in a black hole and she couldn’t get out.

I wanted to keep this going, but since it led nowhere, it was just torture. It was meant to be a sexy goodbye, but then it turned into a fortune-telling, a tale of what could be if she came home with me. I ended the kiss abruptly then stood up. “I’ll be thinking of you tonight—as I know you’ll be thinking of me.” I walked away from the bar and headed out the door into the warm summer air. The sun had been gone for hours, but the heat from the rays remained behind. I walked to the edge of the window but stopped to turn around, to see if she would save my card or toss it.

She picked up the card and stared at it for a long time, her fingertips resting against her lips like she couldn’t believe that kiss had just happened. She stared at the skull for a long time and probably noticed there was no name written anywhere. It just had my phone number and “The Underground” on it. She opened her clutch and slipped it inside.

I smiled to myself and kept walking.

She would call—eventually.

2

Cassini

I lay back on the lounge chair in the shade while looking over the pool. We were on the top of a hill, so the city of Florence could be seen past the property a few miles into the distance. I read a book on my lap while I relaxed in my swimsuit, enjoying the summer heat while my cold drink perspired.

Every few pages, my mind would start to wander.

Wander to the man I met a few nights ago.

He didn’t have a name, and his business card was even more unusual. The only detail was the sketch of a black skull. It was fossilized bone with a snake protruding out of the eye socket. I googled anything related to skulls online but couldn’t find anything relevant.

I had no idea who this guy was.

But when I noticed him in the bar, I thought he was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen.

With fair skin that reminded me of snow and blue eyes like the Arctic Sea, he was a pretty man on a rugged frame. He was ripped and lean with muscle, all the striations in his forearms noticeable with the slight movements he made. His forearms and neck were corded, a man so tight that even his veins protruded through the skin.

His jawline was his sexiest feature, with a light shadow of hair that hardly covered the strong bones of his features. His t-shirt fit him snugly, fighting the planes of his pecs and the individual grooves of muscle that pressed against his shirt. On top of that, he was tall. When he stood up to join me, I could see he had to be easily over six feet tall.