Storms We Cannot Weather

“Evan,” Mercedes said, her own breath coming in gasps. “We can’t do this…this…us, this can never be.” He held her gaze for an impossibly long period of time, and then, slowly, with deliberate precise movements, put a finger to her lips. “Hush,” he said, his voice velvet to her ears. “For one night, it can be.” And then there were no more words, only moans.

Evan and Mercedes come from opposite worlds. London to America, performer to patron, trashy to classy, there are more than enough reasons to keep them apart. She owes her life to his mortal enemy, a blood feud that has existed for…