The sequel is a crime thriller focused on the legal highs drugs trade and political corruption, based in pre-Olympic London, and I need critique partners to help me both live up to an improve on this review.
"'M gon' rock your world, baby."
Amiti, who was so not his baby, shuddered, as he groped ineffectually at her. Yeah right, 'cos you're such a catch. Fortunately, the slobbering wreck was too drunk to notice.
She shrugged him off and slipped her tiny evening purse from her shoulder, opening it and fishing for her keys. She tensed as his arm slipped around her waist and down to the top of her trousers. Not even trying to hide a sigh, she slapped it away. The keys in her hand scratched his skin, leaving him with an angry red weal.
Pushing him up against the porch wall dividing her front door from the upstairs neighbours' she shrugged the strap back onto her shoulder, and unlocked the door. She stepped inside, and turned towards him.
He was looking at her with what, had he been sober, might have been suspicion. As it was, evidently the best he could muster was a thwarted pout.
Damn, play the game girl, you ain't got what you need yet.
Stepping back outside without turning on the light, she held her hand out to him, and forced a smile.
"Well, what you waiting for then, honey?"
He grabbed her hand and pulled her towards him.
She overbalanced and landed with her hand on his chest, both of them leaning against the wall. Her legs straddled one of his, and his arm snaked behind her, pulling her in.
His head came down towards hers, his mouth open, but not inviting. His generous, normally sensual lips were slack, and a dribble of saliva dangled from the corner. She swallowed, her throat tight, and closed her eyes, moving in.
This had damned well better be worth it, Gino Cavallo.
She pulled her head back trying to mitigate the damage as his tongue plunged into her mouth. His hand tensed at the nape of her neck, gripping her hair. His breath was a rank mixture of whiskey, beer, breath mints and what is that? Salted fish?
"Mm-mm," he pulled his head back, but kept his hold on her hair, "wha'd'ya say we take this inside?"
How about you take it home instead?
But of course, then he would be taking the story home with him, and if she didn't get her act together and quick, she wasn't going to get another shot at this particular ex-footballer. And who knew when the next one would be along? Probably not this side of the Olympics.
"I thought you'd never ask."