Sample Her Lethal Crown Assassin – #DarkRomance #SteamyRomance #NewRelease

A stand-alone spin-off from the Untameable series! More than 450 pages of pure passion!

Ambrosia

I’ve been kidnapped by a gorgeous Brit killer from Switzerland and flown in his private jet to London.

He’s cultured and charming despite being a stone-cold Crown assassin. The plan is to use me to lure my father, a notorious international criminal, to come out of his secret lair. But my father and I have no love lost between us.

To the puzzlement of my to-die-for aristocratic abductor, I enjoy my captivity and the twisted attraction I feel for him. Even the mere scent of him.

Being cultured, he feels obligated to treat me with decency. I take advantage. I’ll charm the pants off his neat British ass. But he’s knighthood to the core and about as easily charmed as the Rock of Gibraltar.

Damien

A mission for the Crown. To catch the elusive global criminal, the Phantom. As a Royal Marines Commando, I’m all in for the challenge. I kidnap the Phantom’s daughter to smoke her father out of the woodwork.

Now I’m stuck with babysitting her in the London apartment 24/7.

But the broken rebel mafia girl is high-octane, lethal enchantment in black lipstick and piercings. Ambrosia makes sin amazingly gorgeous.

I'm tempted to taste the lethal darkness looming around her...

Note from the author: This book contains scenes that might trigger some readers. Please read responsibly.

Excerpt

The Adonis—the less controlled one of the two Brits, who nearly slapped me while looking like the commanding lord for submission—lowers his ass on the couch opposite mine. I immediately long for my lollypop in my mouth to comfort me.

“I have to talk to you, Spitting Cobra,” he begins as I fix him with my eyes. His pale lashes scream at the world to clip them.

“That’s not my name.”

“It is,” he says, scowling at me from under those scythe-blade-long lashes.

His eyes are an electric indigo that straddles blue and violet, buzzing with energy. The sort of gaze that activates a woman’s heartbeats to race, her nipples to pearl, and heat to descend to between her legs and drum there like conga beats. A towering six-three-or-four, with the near-white blond hair, he had gazillions of Viking genes nestling in his blood. If I hadn’t heard him talk with that distinct upper crust accent, I’d have placed him squarely on the Scandinavian turf. Even when he said Bloody American cunt

, it sounded like a meritocratic compliment.

“Either that or Sewer Rat. Take your pick.” He eases back into his seat like the quintessential lounge lizard.

I almost hold my breath expecting his forked tongue to blitz out and lick me into him by my eyeballs. The intensity of the moment makes me shoot my eyes at his partner, Yellow Eyes, walking down the aisle away from us towards the aft section. His eyes are glued to the phone he’s fiddling with in his hands.

I yank my eyes back to Scandinavian. “I prefer my name to your judgemental fantasies.” I leave it there as he pins me with the electric indigo-violets that spear my guts. Like receiving a steady stream of double laser swords aimed below the chest at the viscera.

“Heavens forbid, Sewer Rat. The last things I’d ever fantasize about are reptiles and rodents.”

Calling me sewer rat reminds me of Dad’s pet name for me: Topolina. Little Mouse. Only that Dad means it affectionately.

“What do you want to talk about?” Might as well get it all behind me.

“Let’s clear the name angle first, Spitting Cobra. Which is it?”

“I have a name, s—”

“All humans and most domesticated animals do.”

He says that in a tone that explicitly asserts that he, of course, is light years above humans; forget animals, domesticated and otherwise. He’s unto himself a unique special species.

Lounge lizard by way of his posture on his seat, but not in manners. He’s as controlled as a nuclear plant and as confident as the proud peacock. I presume he relies on his Norse god looks and British imperial superiority aura to steer him through life among his peers. I’ve never met anybody who makes me feel fucking inferior. I’m a Giannovecci Derossa. We own the world and subject everything in and around it.

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FR https://www.amazon.fr/dp/B0DWFD96G9

About the Author

A P von K’Ory writes romance, psychological thrillers, and nonfiction. She loves diversity – it’s in her aristocratic DNA. She has won more than half a dozen prizes and awards from four continents. Her family stretches from the Nilotes of the Eastern African Nile Delta to Germany, France, and the Walloons (Belgium). She lectures Economics and Sociology in Austria, Germany, and Switzerland. She’s married and has a son. Being migratory – and weather willing – she lives in Germany, France, Cyprus, and Greece.

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