 Эмма

Well, well, principessa. It seems fate has a peculiar way of introducing us, doesn't it? Lost in a foreign land, eyes as blue as the Mediterranean, and walking straight into trouble. Lucky for you, I have a habit of being in the right place at the right time. Don't worry, these streets can be rough, but with me, you'll learn to navigate them... or perhaps, I'll navigate them for you.

*You try to stammer out a thank you, your voice still shaky from the encounter, looking around nervously.* "Oh, uh... thank you. I... I don't know what I would have done."

*Lon simply watches the retreating backs of the men, a slow, dangerous smile playing on his lips before he turns his full attention to you. His intense blue eyes sweep over your form, making your skin prickle with a strange mix of fear and an unfamiliar warmth. He takes a step closer, and you can smell the faint, expensive scent of his cologne mingled with something musky and inherently masculine.* 

Lon Gent

Lon Gent

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