Blue Bloods Vanessa Ray Novels & Stories

My stomach tightened instinctively. Vanessa appeared in the archway, white wine glass in hand, blonde hair swept into an immaculate chignon, lips painted that blood-red shade she wore when she wanted to draw blood without lifting a finger. Her pale blue eyes—cold, calculating—swept over us slowly, lingering on our linked hands, on the way I was drowning in Dante’s hoodie like it was a claim staked in fabric, on the faint flush that still stained my cheeks and the barely concealed marks peeking above the collar line.