Interracial Romance, BW/WM
When Joya delivers a box to a homeless shelter, she captures the attention of the center’s wealthy director. Gideon is more man than Joya needs. Though he’s angelic in nature, at times his temper requires a strong bridle. Unknown to Joya, there’s a powerful connection between the two, past and present. Interracial Romance, BW/WM Empress LaBlaQue, empresslablaque.com
When I turned around, my groceries threatened to topple. Then, like magic, the box started to rise right before my eyes. Shards of blonde hair and seriously sexy eyes peered over the box as it rose.
A gasp escaped my lips when I discovered my unexpected assistant. His crooked grin encouraged a hard dimple in his cheek. “I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he chuckled. “You looked like you needed some help.”
Because he wielded total control of the box, I cautiously let go, then fixed my falling beret. My smile became so broad, I felt my jaws aching. “Thank you,” I stammered. “It-it was falling.”
“Yeah.” The brilliance of aquamarine eyes shimmered against the dismal tone of the room. “Royalty should never carry heavy boxes.”
His insightful words fluttered over me. On seeing his gorgeous eyes, my bladder had constricted, feeling full and uncomfortable. Desirable lips made my heart beat wildly. “This food is for…”
“The residents,” he finished with raised eyebrows. “How thoughtful of you.” His voice was profoundly deep, its resonance authoritative and commanding.
In response, my temperature elevated and the room became smoldering hot. “Just doing my civic duty.”
While I pulled my coat apart to create a cool breeze, he ran his eyes over the mother load. “If we had more people doing their civic duty, this world would be a better place.”
A smile sashayed across my face as his words slithered down my tailbone. I pursed my lips, then gently blew out mounting tension. “I never thought of that.” Although I admired the cleanliness of the shelter, my mind was locked on this totally together guy. “This is a really nice shelter.”
“Yeah.” He placed the heavy box on a desk in the corner. “I’m proud of it.”
The bleached-out tiled floor drew my attention. “So, you work here?”
Suddenly, he frowned. “Well, yes.” He tugged at his earlobe and nodded absently. “My dad left me this old building. It was a thrift store, once.” He pointed toward the next room where cots were laid out in neat rows. “I got this wild hair to make a shelter, and—well, the rest is history.”