Rise of the Lost Prince
LOST BOYS BOOK 1
London Saint James
M/F Erotic Romance, Fairy Tale,
Paranormal, Fantasy, Action/Adventure, Gothic
They fight to protect those who would never welcome them into the human world...
Petúr always knew he and his brothers-in-arms were different. Something more. Something not human. Yet, he never expected to find out the truth of their origins, nor fall for a human woman whose father was set to destroy Neverland.
Ever since she was a child, Wyndi dreamed of an angel with eyes of the purest gold, although she never really believed such a man existed until she met the hauntingly beautiful Petúr of the lost boys.
With a prophecy to fulfill, a woman to protect, a portal to find, and evil darklings out for blood, will Petúr be strong enough to rise up and claim what’s rightfully his, or lose everything to a long-time nemesis, Grapple the Dark?
Her long lashes fluttered, causing spiky shadows to stipple the tops of her cheeks. “I forgot my laptop. I need to get it from my office,” she said. “That’s where I was going when I got mugged.”
“Here you go,” said Dash. He’d gathered up the woman’s things and tucked them back into her purse. “I don’t think he got anything.” He handed the tan bag over to her. “I think we interrupted the mugger. Petúr tried to catch him, but he got away.”
“Thank you,” she said, taking her scuffed-up purse.
“It’s a good thing we were walking past this alley,” said Vibe. “We heard you scream and—”
“Yes,” she said in a robotic voice, nodding. “You scared off the mugger.” She was looking at Petúr in that unseeing, vacant way, the pupils in her eyes large and pulsing.
He inclined his head. “Here,” he said. “Let me help you up.” He gave her his hand. She took hold, and he couldn’t stop himself from noticing the petal softness of her skin. After she was steady on her feet, he thought to introduce himself. No need to be uncivilized. “I’m Petúr.” He pointed to his right. “That’s Vibe.” Vibe gave her a two finger salute. Petúr tilted his head to his left. “And that’s Dash.”
“I’m Wyndi,” she said, her voice becoming less animated. “Wyndi Darlingheart.”
“Of Darlingheart Incorporated?” Petúr asked.
She brushed a few strands of hair from her face. “In a roundabout way.”
What did that mean?
“Roundabout?” Dash asked the question he himself was dying to know.
She glanced at Dash and kept her gaze trained on him for a long moment. A too long moment. Something hot and possessive twisted in Petúr’s gut. He wanted to reach out and turn her pointed little chin back in his direction, away from the other warrior.
“Cromwell Darlingheart is my father,” she said.
That piece of information got the muscle in Petúr’s jaw to working and quickly stamped out the unusual possessiveness he’d been experiencing.
“Father?” he asked, needing the confirmation one more time.
She nodded and looked up. Her sky-blue gaze went to his mouth then flitted up to his eyes, locking with him. She gasped.
The woman welded her beautiful eyes shut and muttered, “Nothing.”
Could she be afraid of him? No. He didn’t think it was fear he saw swimming in the depths of those liquid blue pools. More like realization of him, mixed with feminine lust.
His golden gaze meandered over her, catching on her cleavage a moment, before moving on to the shape of her hips. Curvaceous. He cleared his throat. Her long lashes fluttered open. Unable to help himself, he was staring at her spectacular face once again. She worked her bottom lip over with her teeth.
She was an oddly captivating, deliciously sweet smelling, eye sparkling female with a mouth he wanted to taste. Taste? Really? He mulled that over for a moment. Yes. He wanted... No. What he was experiencing was more than mere want. He needed to taste her. All of her, he realized taken aback.
He’d been with numerous women before in a quick, rough coupling just to satisfy his animalistic desires, however he was having thoughts he’d never had. Animalistic, yes, but….
He studied her, the arch of her brows, the way strands of her hair framed her face. How delicate she was compared to him. Wyndi Darlinghart. He allowed her name—the daughter of the rich scum-sucking asshole who’d purchased Neverland, intent on clearing the land, as well as him and the lost boys out of their home—to simmer.
Her sweet cotton candy scent assaulted his nose once more. His dick stirred beneath the leather of his D-ring jeans. Would she melt in his mouth like the candy would? His brow furrowed. What was wrong with him? He took in another deep breath, allowing her bouquet to linger. Maybe the ache would go away if he just tasted those full lips. No. He shook his head in an attempt to shake away the urge.
Seconds ticked by. Damn it. He couldn’t shake off what he was feeling. His eyes narrowed. Of all the women in the world, why did it have to be this woman he seriously wanted to thoroughly enjoy in a slow, lingering manner?
Because fate is a cruel bitch. That’s why.
“She’s a Darlingheart,” he heard Vibe say.
No. Not say, but project inside his head.
“Right,” he mumbled, but when Wyndi’s eyelids fluttered open, and she locked gazes with him once more, all the hardened steel he’d erected around himself, as well his common sense, fell away.
Crazy though it might well be, Petúr found himself, for the first time in his long life, wishing for more. More time with her. He wanted to talk, and touch, and kiss. Shit. He wanted to kiss her so bad he physically hurt.
He broke the eye contact this time, and turned away. Who was he kidding? He might want more than fast, anonymous, no strings attached sex, but he wasn’t a choirboy either. For what he had in mind, there would be strings. Maybe even ropes.
“We’ll walk you to your office,” Petúr said, unwilling to let her out of his sight, as he tried to tell himself the over-protectiveness was necessary, even though darklings never attacked the same person twice.
“Um…” Wyndi muttered.
He watched her out of the corner of his eye. “That’s where you said you were headed, right?”
“Yes.” She straightened her shoulders and took the lead.
Petúr homed in on the sway of those hips as she walked in front of him. Oh yeah. He might want more. More than he’d ever given or received from any other woman, yet he also wanted to strip this little human, go to his knees, and map her feminine folds with his mouth, listening to her call out his name in a breathy entreaty as he tasted her pleasure upon his tongue.
About the Author
London Saint James has lived in many places, but never felt “at home” until she met the real-life man of her dreams and settled down in the beautiful Smoky Mountains of Tennessee. London lives with her husband and their fat cat who thinks he owns them.
As an award-winning, bestselling, multi-published author, London is living her childhood dream. She knew all the scribbling she did, that big imagination of hers, and all those clamoring characters running around in her head would pay off someday.
You can also e-mail London with any questions or comments at London@londonsaintjames.com. She loves to hear from her readers.
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