Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 24900 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 125(@200wpm)___ 100(@250wpm)___ 83(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24900 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 125(@200wpm)___ 100(@250wpm)___ 83(@300wpm)
Nathan leans back against the wall, looking at me like he’s memorizing every pixel. He moves closer, the space between us now just atoms. “You’re fucking mine.” He says it low, the way you’d say a secret or a threat. “You always have been.”
I don’t know what to do with that, so I kiss him again. His hand slides up my thigh, finds the hem of my dress, and I gasp into his mouth. The elevator gently slides to a stop, and I’m pretty sure we’re about to set off the sprinkler system.
He holds my hand tight and leads me down the quiet hallway leading to his private penthouse. I used to tease him for having both a fancy house on the outskirts of town and a penthouse in the Midnight Mischief building, and he’d tell me he needed the penthouse for the times he’s too tired to drive all the way to his house. Now I can see what he means. It would suck to wait for him to drive us to his home miles away.
The first time I visited, I was overwhelmed by the size. It’s easily ten times the square footage of my entire apartment, all soaring ceilings and sleek black-on-black everything. Floor-to-ceiling windows wrap around the main room, showing off a view of the city that makes you feel like you’re in a spaceship. There’s a baby grand piano in one corner, and a wall of books that I always suspected were just for show. Tonight, the whole place feels different—less like a hotel lobby and more like a lair. Dangerous. Inviting.
Nathan lets go of my hand and shrugs off his suit jacket, tossing it over a chair. Then he turns to me, and his expression alternates somewhere between “smug” and “starving.”
“So. You’re here.” He spreads his arms, and for the first time, I notice he’s nervous. Not that he shows it—his hands are steady, his face perfectly composed. But I’ve known him long enough to spot the subtle tells: the way his fingers tap twice on the counter, the way his shoulders hitch ever so slightly before he speaks.
“I’m here,” I echo, toes sinking into the plush carpet. “And now what?”
He comes over, stops just short of touching me. “Now, I figure out how to not scare you off by moving fast.”
“I hate to tell you,” I snort, “but six years isn’t moving fast.” My words are apparently what he was looking for because he picks me up like I weigh nothing and carries me to the kitchen island.
He sets me down gently and slides a hand up my thigh, slowly, watching as goosebumps erupt along his path. I’m too busy cataloging every new sensation to worry about being embarrassed by my reaction to his touch. The heat of his palm on my skin, the scrape of stubble as he kisses down the side of my neck, and the way his body slots between my knees all combine to turn my mind to mush.
“I need to hear you say it,” he murmurs against my skin. “That you want this. That you want me.”
I lean in, let my lips brush his ear. “Nathan Brennan, if you don’t take me to bed in the next thirty seconds, I’m going to kick your butt.”
He laughs, low and rough, and the sound goes straight through me. “Yes, ma’am.”
He lifts me off the counter and heads down the long, dark hallway that leads to his bedroom.
Nathan’s bedroom is somehow more intimidating than his office. This room is all shadows and velvet and floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over the city, and a huge bed that could sleep at least ten people.
He sets me down at the foot of the bed but keeps his hands on my waist like he’s afraid I’ll vanish. Actually, I’m kinda worried about the same thing. God. If I wake up and find this is all a dream, I’m going to be crushed.
There’s this wild, feral tension in his muscular body, like he’s barely keeping himself from tearing my dress off right here.
He stares at me with his intense brown eyes, and for a split second, I swear I’m hallucinating. No way am I actually standing in Nathan Brennan’s bedroom with his hands on my hips and his mouth so close I can taste him.
Oh, man. I’m in trouble. So much trouble.
If he lets go of me, I’m genuinely worried I’ll just melt into the carpet like a popsicle left in the sun.
Nathan’s thumb brushes my cheek. The softest touch. I can barely breathe.
“Roni,” he says on a groan.
His voice breaks me. “Yeah?” I sound like I just ran a marathon. My brain is mush, and my knees are marshmallows. Sexy.
He cups my cheeks so gently I nearly lose it. Instead, I stare straight into his wild, dark eyes and let the world go fuzzy around the edges.