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Dangerous:Made & Broken (A British Bad Boy Romance)

By:Nora Ash


"I never thought I'd marry a bad boy-let alone a killer."


I fight, I kill, and I fuck. I'm not the marrying type.

But in my line of work, you do what the Family tells you, or you're dead.

I thought an arranged marriage to some bird I didn't know would be bad  enough. Then she walked down the aisle. The only one who knows my  secret-the one person who's ever seen my weakness.

The only woman who wants nothing to do with me.

I should hate her, but when I look at her, I know she was meant to be mine.

And one way or the other, I will make her surrender.


When I ran away eight years ago, I thought I'd escaped the underworld I'd always known.

I made a life for myself. I thought I was free. Then my past came knocking at my door.

Now I'm marrying the son of London's biggest crime family. A man who  hates me as much as I hate him. He's ruthless, brutal, and  dangerous-everything I've always feared.

He's taken away the life I built, he's taken my freedom. And now, I fear he's taken my sanity, too.

How else could I have ended up pregnant with his baby?

Chapter 1


It's not often I struggle to keep my professional facade when I'm with a  patient, but today …  today it was really, really difficult.

"I think this is the first time a bird's asked me to lie down while my clothes are still on."

I did my best to fight back the heat in my cheeks as my patient flopped  down on the couch in my office with all the self-assuredness of a  rockstar.

He looked like one too, with his black leather jacket and hard rows of  muscles pressing against his t-shirt. It was white, and tight enough  that I could see the shadow of several tattoos on his chest.

"Again, I didn't ask you to lie down. The couch is for deeper therapy-not the first evaluation."

He gave me a smirk and casually kicked his boot-clad feet up onto the  armrest of the couch closest to me, lifting his arms above his head so  his shirt stretched taut across his chest. "Is that so, Miss Holler?"

"Yes, that is so." I bit the inside of my cheek to keep my tone neutral  while I stared at his face. His completely perfect face, with its high  cheekbones, light gray eyes, and eyebrows raised in obvious mockery. His  stupidly sensual mouth with its defined cupid's bow and full lower lip  was drawn into an imitation of a smile, but the coolness in his almost  silvery eyes contradicted it. Despite having scheduled an appointment  with me himself, it was obvious that my newest patient saw me as an  opponent to conquer.

I sighed and tried to relax my expression before it betrayed my inner  turmoil. He might be a smart arse-with abs that looked like they were  carved from rock, even through his clothes-but it was my job to help  him. Even if I mostly just wanted to kick his arse off my couch and out  the door for rattling me so thoroughly within five minutes of meeting  him.

"Why are you here?"

The corner of his mouth slipped down for the briefest moment as his gaze  flickered to his boots. A display of uncertainty? Interesting.

Then he looked back up, and his armor of arrogance was back, complete  with that annoying smirk. "Never did do a psychologist before, and when I  came across your name it reminded me of a stern schoolteacher. The  prissy types always did it for me."

I counted silently to ten and wished that the blush I could feel spread  across my face would go the hell away. "I very much doubt that's the  case-"

"Your glasses are pretty hot. I wouldn't mind if you kept them on."

"-so how about you stop acting like a hormonal adolescent and tell me  what's happened to make you seek out therapy?" I was pretty proud of how  unwavering I managed to keep my voice, despite his interruption.

"And what if you're wrong and that is why I'm here?" With a single,  graceful movement, the rockstar look-alike sat up and swiveled around so  he was supporting his elbows on his knees. He leaned forward a little  and focused his unnerving gaze on me, and his smirk hiked up a little at  the corner. "Then what do we do?"

I suppressed a primal shiver at the almost predatory gleam in his eyes.  No doubt he was used to women tossing their panties at him after being  on the receiving end of that look-even I couldn't help the small burst  of desire it made trickle through my abdomen, and I was already  distinctly unimpressed with his bad boy routine.

"Then we have a very disappointing hour ahead of us, Mr. Steel, because  that isn't happening. If that were truly your intent, then your money  would have been better spent on one of the ladies down on the corner.  Even if they charge extra for role playing, I'm sure you could have  gotten it cheaper than what this session will cost you. Now, are you  quite done trying to intimidate me so we can get on with the session?"         



His smirk turned to a slow, full smile. "Mr. Steel now, is it? You can  call me Blaine, love. My mother went out of her way to give me a, ah,  special name, so you may as well use it."

"Do you have some resentment toward your mother?" I'm not gonna lie-I latched on to the mother angle with both hands.

"Nah, she was a good woman." Blaine pushed his fingers through his black, perfectly tousled hair and sighed.

"You say was? When did she die?"

He quirked an eyebrow at me. "Caught on to that one, eh? When I was ten, so about eighteen years ago now."

Finally. I'd found the crack in Blaine Steel's armor. "How did she die?"

Blaine frowned, his idling hand sliding from his hair down to the back of his neck. "Doesn't matter. It's a long time ago."

It was a clear dismissal. Everything from his tone to his suddenly  darkening eyes told me that here lay trouble-which of course meant I  needed to dig deeper. But as I'd pointed out to him before, this was  just the initial consultation, where I was meant to learn more about a  new patient before deciding on how to best proceed.

"Tell me a bit about the rest of your family. Your father. Siblings, if you have any."

He sighed again, as if relieved to leave the subject of his mum's death,  and leaned back, arms spread out over the back of the sofa. "There's  not much to tell. My dad's a strong leader, runs his business with an  iron fist. He eventually remarried, and me and my five brothers joined  the family business when we grew up."

He wasn't telling me even close to the truth. I narrowed my eyes at him  and pushed my glasses up higher on my nose. I'd always been pretty good  at reading body language, which is partly why I chose to study  psychology in the first place, and Blaine was easy to read. Tensed  shoulders, jaw slightly lifted in challenge, and a hard look in his gray  eyes-yeah, he was hiding some major family drama.

"Why are you here, Blaine?" I kept my tone as light and gentle as I  could, knowing that if I pushed too hard, he'd probably shut down, and  I'd get treated to the delightful return of the cocky bastard who'd  first sauntered into my small office.

"Shit, I don't know." He flexed his hands and leaned forward again,  grabbing his knees as if looking for some anchor. The tension vibrating  off him was practically palpable. "My brother went to jail and it was  really fucked up. He didn't do shit, and I found out …  I lost control. I  nearly killed … " He looked up then, and straight into my eyes, and the  torment in his gaze nearly knocked the breath out of my lungs.

It lasted for maybe a fifth of a second.

I could practically see the emotional wall slamming down the moment he  realized he'd let me get even a sneak peak into whatever pain had made  him desperate enough to seek out a therapist. Every part of his body  tensed just a fraction, even as his face slid into a sardonic smile.

"Blaine … "

He let his gaze slide lazily up and down my body. "But then again, sometimes losing control is good. Isn't it, love?"

I gritted my teeth. I had been so close to seeing something real, but  here we were, back to the arrogant bastard from before. It was funny,  really. I'd known him for all of twenty minutes, and I was already sure  that if I'd met him under any other circumstance than as a patient, I  would not have walked away-I would have run. But he was my patient, and  it was my duty to try to help him as best I could.

"You're using sexual innuendos to avoid talking about what's bothering  you. I'm sure it's worked well for you so far, but let's for a minute  assume you came here because something happened that was so bad, you  didn't know what else to do. I know your type-you believe your  masculinity lives in your ability to intimidate others and to never,  ever show any hint of emotion. I get that being here goes against  everything you've been brought up to believe in.

"So I guess the only question left is-was whatever happened to make you  seek out professional help so bad you're willing to surrender all that  attitude for what's left of our session?"

I was treated to what was quite obviously a rare sight-an array of  emotions crossing Blaine Steel's handsome face, morphing from shock,  frustration and finally into anger-until his eyes narrowed ever so  slightly and his expression slid into the now familiar mask of  irreverence. Only this time, there was an unmistakable edge of  irritation behind his stare.