Free Breaking Her (Love is War #2) by R. K. Lilley Page A

number one wasn't tall enough and reject number two looked too wholesome.
    I didn't like wholesome, never had.   I craved sinister categorically.        
    "Don't speak too soon," Farrah said, eyes aimed at the door.   "I'll let you have him if you want him, but damn, I sure don't want to."  
    I turned to see.   And smiled.  
    It was my lucky day.  
    Either he was actually looking for me or it was a hell of a coincidence but, Dante's half-brother, Bastian, had just walked in the door.  
    He was standing there, scanning the room, and it didn't take him long to zero in on me.  
    He grinned.  
    I tilted my head and grinned back, then pointed my chin at the bar, heading there with a bouncing little strut.
    He beat me to it, and watched me approach, his eyes all over me.  
    I was glad I'd turned myself out well.  
    My minuscule nude dress was basically man catnip.   It hit all the right buttons: deep cleavage that left very little of my abundant breasts to the imagination, short skirt that showed off my sky-high legs.   The whole thing was fitted to show off my flat tummy and hourglass figure.  
    Pink platform stilettos and sexy bedroom hair didn't hurt my situation, and my makeup had been on point before I'd gotten sloppy drunk.   Who could say now?   Who could care?  
    Not me.   I felt sexy as hell either way.
    "Hello, stranger," I said when I got within earshot of Bastian.   "You look good enough to eat."    
    And he did.   Three-piece suit, dark, messy hair, five o'clock shadow, a handsome as hell Durant face, and a devilish smile.  
    Yeah, he'd do.    
    "Look who's talking," he retorted, eyes on my catnip dress.   "My God, woman, you are trouble, aren't you?"  
    I went to hug him, because drunk, and breathed into his ear.   "You have no idea."
    "Unfortunately, I don't."   He sounded truly regretful about that as he put his hands on my hips and set me back just the slightest bit.   "I'm sure you've guessed, but I came here to talk to you."  
    "How did you know I'd be here?" I asked him, cocking my head to the side.  
    His mouth twisted ruefully, and when he did that he reminded me so much of Dante that I wanted to smash something over his head.   And cry.   And run away.   And kiss him.    
    "Facebook.   You and your friends love to share your locations, and, you know, I live here."  
    I scrunched my nose up.   "Facebook stalking me, are you?"  
    He was unapologetic.   "Yes.   It's a helpful tool.   Actually, I was going to fly down to see you soon, but this worked out much better.   Well, it did if you're up for a serious talk that I'd like you to remember in the morning."
    "I'm not up for a serious anything," I told him and, because drunk, I pressed my mouth to his.  
    He made a little noise in this throat, a hungry one, and I licked his lips, brushing my breasts against him.  
    He set me away, but he was breathing hard.  
    "You taste good," I told him.  
    He smiled but not like he was happy.   "Do I taste like revenge?"  
    "Exactly like that.   Yum."    
    "Trust me, you beautiful, edible, dangerous creature, I would love to take you up on that, but it's a line we can't cross."  
    "There's no line I won't cross," I said, meaning it.   I was feeling self-destructive to a dangerous, limitless degree.   "God, do you know what he did to me the last time I saw him?"  
    "I heard a bit about it," Bastian said solemnly.  
    That surprised me.   "What did you hear?   And from whom?"  
    He sighed.   "From Dante.   I'm sure you won't be surprised to hear that he's in rough shape."  
    That bit of unfair bullshit only made me more determined.   I moved closer and he let me.   I rubbed up against him, my lips in kissing distance of his again, teasing him.   "Let's make it rougher for him, huh?"
    " Jesus ," he said, and it reminded me so much of Dante that I wrenched away.  
    I leaned against the bar, flagging down the busy bartender.  
    He didn't make me wait, in fact