Taken (Dark Desires 1)

Drew collapsed beside me, letting out a deep breath. “Wow,” he said.

“Wow indeed,” I replied. “Though it seems like a vast understatement.”

We both stared off into space for a moment, revelling in that post-sex glow. But then he turned and kissed me. Deeply. Passionately. There was a lot behind that kiss – a lot more than just sex. It was a kiss with real feeling. And real meaning.

“Thank you, Amelia,” he said.

“For what?” I laughed. “I should be the one thanking you.”

“Not for the sex – although I should, it was pretty amazing,” he said and laughed. “But for coming back. For not running away from me.”

“Oh,” was all I could think to say in that moment – as ridiculous as it sounded.

I really had no words to say to that. I was happy that I came back too. This wasn't just for him; it was for me as well. I was getting chilly, so I pulled the covers up and nestled myself down deep into them. His bed was so cozy, so soft, and so wonderfully warm. I could probably die right then and there – after mind-blowing sex and in the most comfortable bed I'd ever been in – and have been perfectly happy.

“Promise me one thing, please?”

“What's that?”

“Promise me you won't sneak out in the middle of the night again,” he said. “Because I'd really like to make you breakfast this time.”

“That sounds nice,” I said. “Really nice.”

And Drew pulled me close, my head resting on his bare chest, and I thought to myself – I could really get used to this.

BOOK 3: CRUSH

“Belle!”

My head snapped up and I saw my roommate and best friend, Alexa, bounding across the kitchen. She grinned at me as she dumped a handful of pasta into a pot full of boiling water on the stove.

“Hey,” I said with a grin. Setting my backpack down on a chair, I did a lazy twirl across the hardwood floor. It felt good to be home – especially considering today had been my last week of classes before finals. I’d worked my ass off this week, and I really needed a break.

“I’m making dinner,” Alexa said dryly. She grabbed a jar of marinara sauce and started unscrewing the lid. “This looks good, right?”

I snickered. “You’re not supposed to put that in until the pasta’s done,” I said as kindly as I could. Alexa had never really been prone to making good meals. In the two-and-a-half years that we’d been living together, I’d done the vast majority of the cooking. But I didn’t mind – that was one of the things that made me and Alexa work so well as roommates. Sure, we were good friends. But we also knew our strengths: I was a better cook, and Alexa wasn’t bad at cleaning…and gossip.

“Thanks, sous chef,” Alexa teased. She set the sauce down on the counter and sighed dramatically. Her big blue eyes widened as she slapped her hand against her forehead. “I had the worst day,” she added.

I frowned, knowing a story was coming. “Oh, yeah? Tell me about it,” I replied. Moving my bag from the chair to the floor, I slid down in the chair, making sure to keep one eye on the stove. Alexa’s dramatics were nothing new, and I knew from experience that it was a good idea to keep track of time. Knowing my best friend as well as I did, I knew her story could take hours.

“Well, I ran into Jared,” Alexa said. She paused for dramatic effect.

“And?” I rolled my eyes. “What happened?”

“Only the worst thing ever.” Alexa pranced from one end of the kitchen to the other, swinging her graceful arms through the air like she was practicing dance.

I giggled. “He ignored you?”

Alexa’s nostrils flared. “Worse,” she complained. “He made this huge thing about how we hadn’t talked in forever! And he tried to hug me!”

I snickered. “Heaven forfend, a man try to touch you.”

Alexa smirked. “Well, I could tell he missed me.” Irritation spread over her features and she flopped down into another kitchen chair. “But that’s not the point.”

I stood up and walked over to the stove, poking at the pasta with a wooden spoon. It was still a touch too stiff for my liking, so I set a lid down on the pot and watched the cloudy water swirling around. Cooking had always been soothing for me, even though I hadn’t done much of it growing up. We’d always had a maid, and a cook, and usually a sommelier…although my stepdad, Mitchell, had been talking for years about how he wanted to learn more about wine himself.

Even though it sounds like I grew up really rich, the truth is a little more complicated than that. When I was twelve, my mother Anne married Mitchell Rhodes – real estate mogul and consulting pro. He’d made billions from New York City real estate over the past few decades, and he lived like a king. Before Mom met Mitchell, our life was pretty boring. We’d lived in Buffalo, in a little apartment with bad insulation and no heat in the long winters. Mom had fallen for Mitchell when she’d met him in New York, on a trip with her girlfriends. He’d swept her off her feet, and they’d married within the year.