Dead Gorgeous
an excerpt

Jacey raked the hair out of her eyes and straightened her skirt. One of her thigh highs had slipped down to knee level, and he turned away from the sight, so damned angry he wanted to put a fist through the wall.
She waited until they were in his room before saying, “I got some news--”
Which didn’t freaking matter, because he couldn’t hear. He was past hearing. He was way out of the zone and out the other side.
“Get out,” he growled, tearing at his tie.
She stopped dead and stared at him, her mouth parted. “What?”
“Get out of my room,” he told her, “and come back in the morning.”
“I thought--“
“No,” he said. “You didn’t. No more thinking, okay? I need my space. Get the hell out of my room.”
She didn’t move fast enough and his rage boiled over, hot and messy and out of control.
“Get out of my room now, or I’ll fucking throw you out.”
“Get your head out of your ass, Dalfrey. I need to talk to you.”
“Text me.” He twisted a hand in her shirt and picked her up, feet dangling.
“Put me down!” she shrieked, trying to bite him.
He threw the door open and tried to throw her out, but she held on to him and came right back in.
‘What is your problem?”
“You,” he growled, low and desperate. “You are my problem.”
He caught her under her arms and threw her on the bed, following her down with his larger body. Her eyes were wide and scared, but it was all just a lie. She’d sleep with anyone, so why not him?
He caught her chin and held her so he could look into her eyes. “How much?” he asked her. “How much to fuck me until I can’t see straight?”
The blood drained from her face and left her numb. Just the feel of his body was enough of a sensory overload. As gorgeous as Rafe was, he did nothing to her equilibrium, and she hated herself that she could be so shallow to want Connor Dalfrey. Wanting him was the equivalent of wanting a wind-up Ken doll.
His brilliant green eyes were cold and hard, like cabochon emeralds and his mouth was a thin slash. He held her beneath him like he wanted to sledgehammer her into the mattress, nothing soft or sweet about him.
“Tell me,” he said, eyeing her like a slab of meat. “How much for tonight, Jacey?”
God. He wanted to buy her.
She convulsed in anger, shoving at him, but he was too big and he held her easily, one hand locked around both of hers.
“I’m not for sale!”
“Liar,” he breathed.
He shoved a thigh between both of hers and pressed himself up against her. There was nothing between them but a thin layer of silk and garbadine.
Jacey sucked in a shallow breath, eyes wide. “Get off me.”
“How ‘bout I just get off?” he questioned, the accent in his voice slipping down her spine like honey.
She shivered, knowing where this was leading, and for some reason not giving enough of a damn to hit him where it’d hurt. A tiny little tendril of desire unfurled in her belly.
He was all heat and muscle, and in the close, cramped little room she started to tremble. She was actually shaking when he reached down between them and pushed her skirt out of the way.
And pushed her out of the way.
He rolled over on his back, still fully dressed, while she was lying on his back with her skirt shoved up a round her waist and her panties yanked to one side.
“I don’t know what the hell I was thinking,” he said quietly. “I apologize.”
She could barely catch her breath.
He turned over on his side, away from her. “Get out of here, Jacey. While you still can.”