I thought I had great taste in men. A good judge of character, I consistently steered clear of relationships that were destined for heartache and drama, and I was proud of my long history of amicable breakups with stable, decent blokes.

I liked nice men.

Now, sprinting through the crowded, rainy New York streets, a circular series of thoughts kept buzzing through my racing mind.

I like nice men.

Elias Foster is not a nice man.

So why did I let him…?

I couldn’t even bring myself to think about what had just happened outside the Bronze Arrow. It was too ridiculous.

After all, I liked nice men.

And Elias Foster was not a nice man.

So why…?

A drunk bicycle messenger zipped past me on the sidewalk, slurring out a shout as he clipped my arm. I flattened myself against the grimy brick wall of the building beside me, clutching my stinging elbow. I caught my reflection in the dark window of a parked car—I examined the image for a long moment.

I had been in such a rush to leave the bar that I’d left my coat and my umbrella there. I was soaked through, my black button-up shirt plastered to my chest and shoulders. Rain dripped from my blond hair, the longer strands dragged down onto my forehead from the weight of the water. My cornflower-blue eyes were wide—panicked.

I looked every bit like a man running for his life.

Screwing my eyes shut, I took a deep breath and peeled myself off the wall. I forced myself to walk at a less frenzied pace through the streets and alleyways that led to my apartment building. The freezing rain was better than a slap to the face—by the time I stepped through the front door of the complex, I felt more in control of myself than I had in the last few days.

What had happened, happened. But it didn’t matter. It didn’t mean anything. Hell, Elias might have been drunk. Who knew if he’d even remember anything about it tomorrow?

Casting a rueful glance at the “OUT OF ORDER” sign on the lift, I trudged up the emergency stairwell to the sixth floor, doing my best not to inhale the smell of stale weed and urine.

My studio flat sat at the far end of the corridor. Besides the usual EDM tracks blaring from 617, the hallway was quiet, everyone either out on the town, or trying to catch what sleep they could in the sleepless city. I wrestled my small collection of keys out of my pocket and unlocked my front door, sighing as I stepped inside the dark apartment.

Home at last.

Throwing the keys on the entryway table, I began unbuttoning my sopping wet shirt with one hand while I checked the time on my cell phone with the other. Quarter till two—the bar would be closing soon. Hopefully I hadn’t put Sara out too much by leaving early.

After kicking off my trainers, I meandered into the room without bothering to turn on the light. I focused my eyes on the glowing screen in my hand, a thought half-formed about texting my fellow bartender an apology and a thank you for covering for me.

The table lamp to my left clicked on, sending a sudden wave of unexpected light over the space and the phone leaping from my hand.

I flailed about, cursing as I struggled to catch the airborne device. Adrenaline flooded my brain, and I became aware of a figure sitting across from me, their hand still lifted to the lamp’s switch.

The phone hit the floor with a crack, just missing the edge of the threadbare carpet. But I didn’t care anymore. Not once I caught sight of that wave of dark, cherry-red hair and Elias Foster locked his eyes on mine.

My chest heaved, and my mind reeled—I’d forgotten I was dealing with a criminal who would have no problem grabbing my address from the payroll, and even less of a problem with picking my locks.

A criminal. Not a nice man.

Elias Foster was six feet tall, and he looked every inch of it, folded into the ratty little armchair I had rescued from someone else's studio. He looked wrong, sitting in my cramped apartment in his Tom Ford suit, his several-thousand-dollar Rolex poking out from under the sleeve of his open Burberry winter coat. It was all wrong. Hell, if I stripped him and sold what he had on him, I could make rent for the next year.

I flushed and closed my eyes. Best not to think about stripping him under the circumstances.

“Alex…”

I opened my eyes at the sound of my name, my given name, in his mouth. When he saw he had my attention, Elias dropped his hand from the lamp’s switch, his gaze still fixed on me. “I didn’t say you could leave.”

A flare of righteous indignation sparked in my belly. I pushed my sopping wet hair out of my face, not bothering to hide my glare as I snarled, “I don’t remember asking for your permission.” Forcing in a shaky, deep breath, I gestured in a vague way toward the room that we currently occupied. “This, on the other hand, is my place. And I didn’t invite you here.”

There was a flicker of something in his eyes. Elias rose to his feet with all the grace of a trained fighter. I was half-certain that I was about to get punched in the face, but then he did something that I didn’t expect.

Elias smiled. It was a small, shy smile that sent a shock of pleasure right down my spine. He looked away from me and to the top of his shoes, shuffling a little as he tried to make up his mind about something. Warmth pooled pleasantly in the pit of my stomach as I waited.

Slinging one hand in his pocket, he shifted his weight onto his back foot. “It’s a… It’s a nice place.”

Blinking, I took a step back, as surprised by his compliment as I had been by his appearance. “Thanks.”

For a long moment, neither of us spoke. Neither of us moved. There was no sound in my tiny apartment but the sound of our breathing. It was deafening.

At last, Elias gave a quiet laugh and started walking in my direction. I tensed, waiting to see what he did.

Elias moved past me, close enough that the sleeve of his jacket brushed against my arm. “You don’t get many visitors here, do you?” he said, looking at me from under his brow and smirking as he headed for the small kitchenette.

With my lips twisting into an annoyed grimace, I turned, following his progress into the kitchen with my eyes as I demanded, “What makes you say that?”

Shrugging, he pulled open a drawer and nodded to the contents. “Silverware.” Snapping the drawer shut, he reached up and opened a cupboard door and repeated the gesture before swinging it shut. “Cups. You have enough for one person, but not much more than that.”

I scoffed, crossing my arms over my chest. “Did you go through my underwear drawer while you were waiting, too?”

He leaned his palms against the cheap countertop, looking at me through the small passthrough window. He lifted a brow, but his smile was gone. Seeing that no answer was forthcoming, I rolled my eyes, throwing my hands into the air. “Look, I…I like to keep to myself.”

He lowered his upper body further, resting his forearms on the counter. Tilting his head to one side, he pondered aloud, “And why is that, Alex?”

“None of your damn business,” I snapped, hands falling to my sides, clenching into fists. “And don’t call me Alex.”

His expression hardened, the muscles in his jaw rippling as he clenched his teeth. His soft green eyes went flat, and it took a considerable effort on my part not to step back into a more defensive posture. Standing up slowly, Elias stalked out of the kitchen, shoulders tense.

Stopping a few inches in front of me, he looked down his nose into my face. “My employees know better than to talk that way to me,” he growled, so close that I could smell the cologne on him—an expensive and subtle blend of spices that wound their way around my heart and squeezed.

I stared up into his mossy eyes, meeting his challenging glare. “You follow many of your employees home?”

His stony expression didn’t even flicker as he lifted his hand to my face, sliding his palm along my cheek before burying his fingers in the hair at the back of my head. “I wasn’t finished.”

My eyes darted to his lips, and I hated myself for it. “I don’t—”

That was as much protest as I was able to muster before he was kissing me again. His lips against mine were like fire against ice, and it took all my self-control not to moan aloud as he pressed his other hand gently against my cheek, resting his thumb a few millimeters from the corner of my mouth. When he opened his mouth to take the kiss deeper, there was nothing I could do to stop myself from mirroring his actions, allowing his tongue to slip inside me and explore to his heart's content. He tasted like expensive tobacco and triple-distilled whiskey, a smooth and bitter mixture that left me aching for another mouthful.

Unlike last time, however, I managed to stop myself from grabbing hold of him, from pulling him close, even though that was what every inch of me wanted to do. I couldn’t.

I liked nice men, after all.

I couldn’t give in to…whatever this was.

Perhaps sensing my reserve, Elias pulled back, slowly at first, then with a lurch, as if moving quickly was the only way he could get himself to stop. Opening my eyes, I was entirely unprepared for the sight in front of me.

Standing inches away, Elias Foster, ranking member of the Colo crime family, was looking at me from under his brow, his breathing heavy, the pupils of his green eyes blown wide with lust. His face flushed, he looked away when my gaze met his, and I realized with a start that he was embarrassed.

“Alex.” He breathed out my name like it was a curse then swallowed hard. “Look, if you don’t want to—”

“Oh, fuck you,” I spat with a shudder, digging my fingers into the collar of his coat and jerking him against me.

I kissed him, kissed him hard, kissed him with an open mouth, my tongue already flicking at his bottom lip, ready to taste, ready to suck, ready to do whatever it was he wanted me to do. We stumbled backward a step, evidence that my maneuver had truly been unexpected. To his credit, Elias recovered quickly, wrapping me up in his arms, seemingly uncaring that he was squeezing water out of my dripping clothes and onto his own pristine garments.

Moaning with abandonment as he pulled me close, I slid my hands up his shoulders and neck and buried them in his thick red hair, reveling in the feel of him. My already aching member grew even harder when he followed my lead, one of his arms snaking up my back between my shoulders, his fingers intertwining in my blond locks and tugging hard.

I broke the kiss with a gasp that turned into a groan when Elias took advantage of my tilted-back head to attack the underside of my jaw and throat, his impossibly warm tongue leaving streaks across my skin, marking pathways for his lips, then his teeth, to traverse.

“Fuck, fuck, fuuuck.” I elongated the vowel on the last iteration of the curse as his other hand found its way to my ass, cupping and squeezing with a possessiveness that made my toes curl. I ground my hips into his, gritting my teeth as our cocks brushed together and I realized he was as hard as I was. Impatient to feel him, I forced my hands under the shoulders of his expensive coat and began pushing the sleeves down his arms as best as I could.

Elias broke off devouring my neck for just a moment, bringing his mouth back up to my lips as he released me with one arm, then the other to shake himself free of the coat, clearly loath to let go of me. Sensing that the opportunity to undress him would be brief, I immediately set to work undoing the pearl buttons on his white dress shirt, my fingers fumbling with the smooth beads as I grunted in frustration.