Novelas y relatos de Dr John Dorian

He added cryptically. “Win her? How?” I asked and Dorian smiled. “Leave that to me. And now, let’s talk about payment. I’m not doing this for free.” I felt a little wary at his words but Ron immediately interjected. “How much do you want? I can pay any price to have Brianne back home.” I looked at Ron in surprise. I thought he hated his wife for making him reject his mate. Why was he so desperate to have her back. Dorian gave a dry laugh at that. “Do I look like I need your money, Alpha?” He said and I took one look at the expensive VIP section and realized that he didn’t.

Old stone, dark wood, a fire already going in the front room when the driver let us in. Dorian was waiting in the doorway. He looked, in the soft evening light, less like the figure who had appeared out of the dark on a Millhaven sidewalk and more like an old man in a cardigan who had clearly spent the afternoon nervous about a dinner, which was a version of him I hadn't expected and found unexpectedly moving. "Julia," he said. Then, looking down: "And this must be Eli." Eli, who had no concept of formality and even less patience for it, looked up at Dorian with his usual frank assessment. "Are you really my great-grandpa?"

"I knew that's why you came in here. You're just being nosy." "Is it being nosy, though?" Leeann teased, leaning forward on the desk. "Yes," Eva laughed. "Anyway, it actually went well. It started off rocky and awkward, though." "How rocky?" "Well... Dorian almost had a heart attack when he found out about Elijah." "You're joking," Leeann gasped, placing a hand over her chest in mock horror. "No joke. His dad had to get him a bottle of water." "Oh my God. What did his dad say?"

Penelope informed,turning off her mini hair dryer before unplugging it from the switch close to her bed. Looking at his hair which fell lightly down his forehead,she smiled at the decent job she had done before tucking the dryer back Into the convenience drawer. "I feel I should open a salon for you" Dorian said shuffling his hand through his now dried hair,still slightly warm from the devices heat. "But I won't" he deadpanned and watched how the girls wide grin fell. He held back a chuckle when she passed him a glare. Did she really want to own a salon

I didn't understand what the kids meant when they'd told me about him, but as I stared at his icy blue eyes, it suddenly made sense. They were icy blue chips that radiated an aura of power I'd never seen before. Black ink swirled around his body and I could tell thanks to the black hue peeking out from the collar of his shirt and the sleeves of his suit jacket. A lip ring grazed the corner of his lips and I wondered just how it would feel to run my tongue against it. He was the human reincarnation of a Greek God, and despite looking so mean, I found myself being drawn to him.

“Um…what, sorry? Oh, where I’m from? Downtown by the courts. What’s your name?” “Dorian,” was all he said. There was a brief pause in my expression before reality crashed down heavily on me. How could I have missed it? That unrivaled air of authority, the god-like aura, the wickedly sexy looks. Only one family in North Creekville had perfect command over things like this; the Grimaldis. Not just any Grimaldi, Dorian Grimaldi. The same Dorian Grimaldi who owned Creekville’s biggest club, Ace. The same Dorian Grimaldi who was the only heir to the Grimaldi empire. The very same Dorian Grimaldi who was notoriously known for his reputation as the most unattainable man in the city. Yes, that same

"From age seven until the day I killed my father and moved out. No one's been inside since except housekeeping. Not Marco. Not any woman. No one." "Dante……" "I need you to see this." He pushed open the door. "I need you to understand what you're really signing up for if we—if this becomes more than a contract." The room was frozen in time. Dark blue walls covered with posters of soccer players and vintage cars. A twin bed with a navy comforter, precisely made. Bookshelves lined with classics and textbooks, organized with obsessive precision. A desk with notebooks stacked in perfect alignment.

"You're going to do nothing. About your wife. About your prisoner. About the fact that you're sitting on the floor of a hallway at midnight like a pup who lost his first fight." I don't answer. Because what is there to say? He's right. I've done nothing. I've been doing nothing for months, reacting, destroying, lashing out at anyone who gets close. There's no strategy here. No plan. Just the slow, inexorable unraveling of a man who never learned how to hold onto anything good. Dorian stands. Walks a few paces away. Then turns back to face me, his arms crossed over his chest. "You know," he says, and something in his tone has shifted. Sharper. Edgier.

“Why do I always end up missing the best parts of the night?” Killian shot his friend a knowing look. “Well, knowing you, you’re usually wrapped up in some woman.” Dorian merely shrugged, unfazed by his friend's remark. “You’re not wrong. And speaking of ‘some’ woman,” he started. “Where might I find Dr. Angelos?” Killian’s entire body went stiff. He narrowed his eyes at his friend. “Why?” Rolling his eyes, Dorian swung his legs off the corner of the desk and stood up. “Because, my dear friend, I was entirely serious when I told Elena that I wished to speak more to her about her research,” he said.

POV: Dorian "My name is Dorian," he said, and his voice came out steady, which was the single greatest performance of his life. She looked at him with those dark eyes that had been reading him since a corridor on the fourteenth floor and found nothing. No recognition, no soul pull, no reaching quality. Just a woman looking at a man she had never seen before trying to understand why her legs had stopped working and why his arm around her felt like something her body recognized before her mind had any opinion on the matter.