Carnal (adjective):
1) Relating to the pleasures of the body
2) Given to sensual indulgence
3) The man who kidnapped me
Carnal Urges, an all-new standalone mafia romance from J.T. Geissinger is available now!
The devil has blue eyes, an Irish accent, and a hatred for me that runs deep.
He blames me for starting a war. Consorting with his enemies. Getting his men killed. Though I’m innocent on all charges, he wants his pound of flesh. With an eye on revenge, he makes me his captive.
But as we’ll both soon discover, there are more powerful urges than that for revenge.
When the devil meets his match but she’s his sworn enemy, that’s when the real war begins.
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Excerpt
We drive. He takes phone calls, one after another, speaking in Gaelic through each one. After maybe a dozen, he hangs up and turns to me.
“Don’t try to run. It’s safer for you with me than anywhere else right now.”
“Trust me, my feet hurt too much to…What do you mean, it’s safer with you?”
“Exactly what I said.”
We gaze at each other as the limo speeds through the night. Wherever we’re going, we’re going there fast. “So all that stuff you threatened me with on the plane—”
He interrupts, “What kind of guns have you handled?”
When I blink, he growls, “Answer the fucking question, please.”
Please. Astonished, I open my mouth, then close it again. My second attempt is successful. “. 357 Desert Eagle. Glock G19. AK-47.”
His brows lift. He’s surprised by the AK.
“Stavros had rifles lying all over the place. He liked to shoot at fish in the lake.”
“Of course he did. Fucking Russians.” He shakes his head in disgust, then leans down and pulls a small black pistol from a holder around his ankle.
He hands it to me.
“If we’re separated, use it on anyone who approaches you, even if they seem friendly. Even if it’s a little old lady, shoot that bitch between the eyes.”
I stare at him with my mouth hanging open and my eyes wide.
He sends me a mirthless smile. “At last. Silence.”
I can’t form words. This psychotic blue-eyed gangster has rendered me speechless.
When I finally manage to regain control of my tongue, I say, “How do you know I’m not going to shoot you?”
“Are you?”
I consider it. “Maybe.”
“Decide. We don’t have much time.”
“You’re insane, is that it?”
“Believe me, lass, I sometimes wonder.”
Pulling a beefy silver semi-automatic handgun from his waistband at the small of his back, he continues. “Things are going to get bad. We’re going to take fire. The car is armored, but if the tires are compromised, we have about eighty kilometers before they die.”
He stops and looks at me. “That’s roughly fifty miles.”
I see. He doesn’t think I’m brain damaged, he thinks I’m just plain stupid.
“I don’t give a shit about the tires. Rewind to the part about things getting bad and start over. What the hell is going on?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“If you can hand me a loaded gun and tell me to shoot an old lady between the eyes, you can tell me what’s happening. We’re past the honeymoon stage. Besides, I can handle it, no matter how bad it is. Spill.”
I could swear that flash in his eyes is admiration, but it’s probably just an urge to wrap his hands around my neck and choke me.
And not in the good way.
“War is what’s happening, Tinker Bell,”he says ominously. “War and all the bloody business that goes along with it.”
“Oh, swell. You’re being cryptic. I just love an incomprehensible Irishman. They’re my absolute favorite.”
“Careful. You’ll exhaust yourself using your entire vocabulary all at once.”
“Can you tell from my tone how much I want to smash the butt of this gun into your face?”
“Can you tell from my face how much I want to smash the palm of my hand into your butt?
”“That was stupid.”
“Says the girl who jumped from a speeding car.”
“I would’ve jumped from a skyscraper if it meant I wouldn’t have to be near you.”
“If I’d known that, I would’ve taken you straight to the top of the Hancock Tower.”
I roll my eyes. “Just tell me the truth. I swear I won’t burst into tears. The last time that happened was before I’d even gotten my first period.”
He pauses, his gaze assessing. “Tell me how it’s possible that you’re not scared of me, or of this situation, or of anything else as far as I can see, and I’ll tell you what’s happening.”
I give it serious thought for a moment. “Honestly? I’m just badass like that.”
After a short, disbelieving silence, Declan starts to laugh.
It’s a deep, rich, sexy sound, beautifully masculine. I hate myself for liking it. And for noticing what nice white teeth he has. And how strong his jaw is. And is that a dimple in his cheek?
He stops laughing abruptly, looking as disturbed by the unexpected outburst as I am. Guess he wasn’t expecting that, either.
“Got that out of your system?”
Glowering, he says, “Aye.”
“Good. So who’s going to be shooting at us?”
“MS-13.”
More gangsters. I’m in up to my eyeballs. “Because…?”
“They don’t like me.”
I stare at him with my lower lip pinched between my teeth.
He says drily, “Thank you for showing restraint. It must be incredibly difficult.”
“You have no idea.”
“There’s another reason they’re after me.”
When he only sits there gazing at me in inscrutable silence, I prompt, “Anytime you feel like enlightening me, I’m all ears.”
“You.”
About J.T. Geissinger
J.T. Geissinger is a #1 internationally bestselling author of emotionally charged romance and women’s fiction. Ranging from funny, feisty romcoms to intense, edgy suspense, her books have sold millions of copies and been translated into several languages, including German, Hebrew, French, Czech, and Japanese. The film & TV rights to her Night Prowler series have been optioned by the BAFTA-winning studio that created VFX for movies such as Avatar, X-Men, and The Avengers.
She is a three-time finalist in both contemporary and paranormal romance for the RITA® Award, the highest distinction in romance fiction from the Romance Writers of America®. She is also a recipient of the Prism Award for Best First Book and the Golden Quill Award for Best Paranormal/Urban Fantasy.
She’s a Southern California native currently living in Nevada with her husband and rescue kitty, Zoe.
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