Excerpt from Wolves of South..

He gripped her throat. Not tight enough to kill, just tight enough to make her wonder if she'd survive another orgasm. That was Carlo. All sleek lines and hard, pointed angles. He was immaculate, Maya thought, a polished blade of a man. He'd unsheathed his hand from his slacks as if he was handing her a knife. She shook it, carefully wrapping her palm around his and checking her life line for a thread of blood when she'd pulled it back. His suit the color of ash after a blaze. He tapped his chest breast pocket and Maya pictured the wildfire he had for a heart. She wouldn't sell herself a fantasy. She trusted him to burn. Burn the world down around him, with her and everyone else in it.