Number of Pages: 464 pages
Publisher: Berkley
Language: English
ISBN: 0593638786
Deception cuts deep in the next propulsive novel in #1 New York Times bestselling author Christine Feehan’s Torpedo Ink motorcycle club series.
The stranger frequenting Azelie Vargas’s local coffee shop is a sight to behold. He’s tall, dark, muscular, and a complete distraction. She’s worried one look from his striking silver eyes will have her acting a fool. But it’s not a look that sets Azelie aflame—it’s the way he boldly tells her every dark, dirty thing he’d like to do to her. She should be scandalized. Instead, all she wants to do is say yes.
Andrii “Maestro” Federoff is in San Francisco on club business. Torpedo Ink needs information to bust up a human trafficking ring, and Maestro has found his mark. After weeks of stealthy observation, he’s not sure if Azelie is involved directly, or if she’s just working for some bad people. What he does know is that he needs to get close to her fast, and soon he can’t get enough.
What began as a setup quickly turns real. But no matter how hot they burn, Maestro’s betrayal could leave their hearts smoldering in the ashes.…
Excerpted from Betrayal
Road by Christine Feehan Copyright © 2024 by Christine Feehan.
Excerpted by permission of Berkley. All rights reserved. No part of this
excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the
publisher.
The moment Andrii entered the shop, she was acutely aware of
him in the room. She didn't have to look up to know he was there. She knew
exactly where he was every minute. He had such a presence. She sat at her usual
table, a small one for two people only, toward the back of the shop. She had a
good view of the windows and could see two streets, as the coffee shop was on a
corner. Instead of looking at the views-or at Andrii-she brought up the book
she was currently reading. She hoped the novel would keep the butterflies from
fluttering in her stomach.
With one finger, Azelie pushed back the glasses
threatening to slide from her nose. The thick black frames annoyed her when
they insisted on falling right when she was reading something exciting. She loved
books and the adventures they could take her on. It wasn't like she was ever
going to be leading a wild and crazy life, so reading about exotic places and
heroes and heroines appealed to her-especially ones that were monogamous. And
happy endings were always important, no matter if there was murder, mystery or
mayhem.
It was impossible to shut out the giggles of the
merry widows. For no reason at all, color swept up her neck into her face. She
was certain the women were gesturing wildly toward her. Sighing, she glanced up
over the top of her glasses, blinking rapidly several times to bring her
surroundings into focus. Her gaze collided with a pair of eyes more liquid
silver than gray and very intense. His lashes, very black and thick, didn't
take away from his chiseled features. The fact that he wore his black hair
longer, and it was streaked with fine threads of silver, only enhanced the
entirely masculine vibe he had going. As far as she could tell, there wasn't an
ounce of fat anywhere on him.
Her stomach clenched. Her sex clenched. Her
entire body wanted to seize. He was intimidating just because he was so
gorgeous.
"Would you mind if I join you? As you can
see, the shop is filling up quickly."
She blinked up at him again, trying to catch her
breath. Just looking at him made everything she had want to run. She had to
look away, afraid she'd make an utter fool of herself if she tried to speak.
She looked around the coffee shop. It was nearly empty.
"Zelie."
His voice was smooth. Like the brush of velvet
against her skin. She'd never heard a voice like his before. Not ever. He had
the kind of voice that made her shiver in anticipation of . . . what? Hot blood
rushed through her veins and under her skin, coloring her face a bright red.
There was no controlling that wild blush any more than there was controlling
the flutter in her sex. And Zelie? No one called her Zelie. It was always
Azelie. But she liked the way he said Zelie. Still . . .
"How did you know my name?" To her
horror, her voice came out small, not at all like she wanted to sound. A
whisper. As if she were inviting him to be intimate with her. She never sounded
like that. She might avoid men, but when she spoke to them, she was decisive.
The table was small, and he moved the chair
close to her-too close. His thigh brushed along hers. Warm. No, hot. She was
suddenly very aware of herself as a woman, every nerve ending springing to
life. He was definitely a man.
"The barista calls your name when your
order is ready," he said simply. "I'm Andrii Federoff. I couldn't
help but notice the beautiful woman lost in her own world."
No one called her beautiful. She wasn't
beautiful. She was . . . ordinary. Mousy even. There wasn't a single thing
remarkable about her. Not that she was complaining. The fact that no one
noticed her helped her to disappear into the woodwork, where she could observe
those around her without having to participate.
"Azelie Vargas," she managed to get
out without making more of a fool of herself. She couldn't drink her coffee;
her hands were shaking too bad. She threaded her fingers together tightly in
her lap, wondering why a man as gorgeous as Andrii would choose to sit with
her.
About the Author
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Credit for Christine’s author photo: Michael Greene
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