Cravings by Liz Everly Read Free Book Online

have anywhere else to go. Do you? I’m not going to kick you out.”
    The valet opened her door, then his, and took the keys. As Sasha stepped out onto the pavement, her knees wobbled a bit. Was this man for real?
    He grabbed for her hand and led her through security and into the elevator. He brought her hand to his mouth, kissed it.
    â€œDo you want to tell me before or after?”
    â€œBefore . . . or . . . after . . . what?” she asked, breathily.
    â€œBefore or after I take you to bed?” He smoldered, lit with passion. Oh boy did she recognize it. But her? What was she feeling? Something almost unnamable? It has been so long since she felt anything like this. Chef had been gone for two years—and even then, the feeling brewed from a gentle warmth to a hot passion. It had taken years to warm up to him. So unlike this immediate flush of attraction.
    Did she have any breath left in her lungs?
    Sanj opened the door to his suite.
    â€œLet’s have some supper, shall we?” she managed to say.
    â€œAfter,” he said. He leaned into her, kissed her, parting her lips, gently flicking his tongue against hers. She swooned, almost breathless again. The room thrummed with a heated energy.
    Did she have the strength to—“Sanj,” she said, pulling away from him.
    He leaned back again the wall. “So it’s before, then. Tell me whatever it is you need to tell me. It won’t change my mind. Not tonight.”

Chapter 8
    W hat could be so important to her that she’d pull herself away from him? He couldn’t think about anything except getting her naked. Cold crept through him as the heat of her body slipped from his. All except for one very hot spot.
    â€œWhat is it?” he said as he followed her to the couch.
    â€œSanj,” she said. “I think . . . I may know your friends.”
    â€œWhat?” His stomach seized as he sat down beside her.
    â€œThe friend I’m looking for is Maeve Flannery,” she said after taking a deep breath.
    Did he just hear her correctly?
    â€œYour friend Jackson . . . could he be her husband?” she asked.
    Sasha knew Maeve and Jackson? These were the friends she sought? How did she know them? He leafed through his memory and thought of the name Sasha . . . there was a blond model, or prostitute or something, killed in Morocco. But it’s the only Sasha he had ever heard them speak about.
    â€œSanj?”
    â€œExcuse me,” he said, getting up from the couch. “I suddenly feel like I need a drink.” Something to clear his mind. Did the stocked bar have bourbon?
    Who was this woman? What did she want with him? Should he have brought Josh with him? He always said Sanj was gullible. She was basically a stranger. He had let her into his hotel suite. What if she were a spy? An assassin?
    Silence.
    He poured the golden liquid in a glass and downed it, feeling the heat travel down. “I’m sorry, can I get you something?”
    â€œNo, thank you,” she said. “You didn’t answer my question.”
    He poured another drink. “Who are you, Sasha? How do you know my friends?”
    â€œI met them a few years ago. The last time I saw them was in Morocco.”
    He downed another shot. Okay. This must be the same Sasha. But she was killed in a fire. Could she have escaped?
    Sanj recalled her words the first night they met. “She needs to know I’m still alive . . .” Despite the shots of whatever kind of whiskey he’d found, Sanj’s head swam as he tried to make sense of everything.
    â€œI wasn’t with them on that trip,” Sanj said, finally. “But I recall a Sasha Barnes who died in a fire. Maeve was depressed for months about it.”
    Sasha stood and walked toward the bar. “You have to understand. The way things went down that night . . . I saw it as a way to escape, to start again, where he would not find me. But the officials called him