Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 31800 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 159(@200wpm)___ 127(@250wpm)___ 106(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31800 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 159(@200wpm)___ 127(@250wpm)___ 106(@300wpm)
“Is it like this for you all the time?" I blurt out.
“The parties?”
“The attention. It’s...unsettling.”
His hand on my lower back presses me closer. “Most people would say otherwise.”
“I know,” I admit. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that. To each their own, you know?”
“But it’s not for you.” It’s not a question.
“It’s not...and I think you know that.”
“I do.”
His admission surprises me. I look up, finding his dark eyes already fixed on my face.
“So why then?” I ask helplessly. “Why does it really have to be me?”
Lykan’s thumb traces small circles against the small of my back, sending shivers up my spine. “You keep asking me these things, but you keep turning me down when I offer to show you why.”
Something reckless flares inside me. Maybe it’s the champagne. Maybe it’s the realization that my safe, predictable future with Vaughn was never going to happen. Or maybe, just maybe...it’s the way Lykan is looking at me like I’m the most fascinating creature he’s ever seen.
“Show me then,” I hear myself dare.
The words cause the sheikh to miss a step, and I choke back a laugh when I hear him swear under his breath.
Our gazes meet, his dark and glinting with something dangerous, while I...I’m not sure how I’m looking at him. I’m not sure about anything at all.
“What’s gotten into you?” the sheikh demands, his voice rough.
“You.”
The sheikh stiffens against me, his fingers digging into my hip.
“You got into me,” I hear myself whisper.
Oh my goodness, what am I saying?
“You...confuse me. You frustrate me. And...and anger me.”
Is it possible to get drunk on heartbreak? The emotional whiplash of everything's that just happened has made me feel like I'm floating...and completely out of control.
“You," I find myself repeating again.
"What about me?"
"I n-never saw you coming.”
Just like I...never saw myself saying these things, and oh dear heavens, maybe I'm not drunk. Maybe it's worse, and I've simply lost my mind along with my heart, because...
Oh, why on earth am I curling my arms around his neck and actually moving closer to him than propriety allows?
"Careful, Ms. Hood."
Sheikh Qahiri’s hands settle on my waist as he slows us to a stop, two people lost in their own world in the middle of the dance floor.
"You know what they say about people playing with fire."
Around us, other couples continue to dance, some openly staring, women watching Lykan with envious eyes that make me suddenly, fiercely aware of how desirable he is.
“Is that a threat or a promise?"
"What do you think?"
"What do I think?" I echo his words as I lift my gaze to his, and what I see in his eyes–
"I think..."
It makes me finally understand why playing with fire–
"I think it's possible you’re the one I’ve been waiting for all this time."
–can be so dangerously addictive, with how the words have Lykan's fingers weaving through my hair even when I haven’t finished speaking.
Oh!
My lips part in a silent gasp as his grip turns feral and possessive. There’s something unexpected in his expression—a flash of vulnerability beneath the hunger that makes my heart squeeze.
“If I am that,” he asks in a low, fierce tone, “what then? What will it change?”
“Everything,” I whisper.
“And how will you know if I am that?”
I don’t know.
His face lowers toward mine, and I can feel his breath against my lips. The entire room seems to fade away, the music dimming, the other dancers disappearing. There’s only Lykan, his dark eyes consuming me, his hands holding me like he’ll never let go.
And as his mouth hovers just a breath away from mine, my phone suddenly rings, the sound jarring in the intimate bubble we’ve created. I unthinkingly pull it out from my pocket, and Lykan and I see the name on the screen at the same time.
Vaughn.
Lykan
The moment we step outside the ambassador’s residence, I pluck her phone from her clutch.
“Hey!” Scarlette reaches for it, but I’m already sliding the device into my jacket pocket, my other hand guiding her toward the waiting limousine.
“What are you doing?”
My lips only tighten in response. I don’t trust mysel to say a word, not with the memory of another man’s name on his phone still making me want to punch something to pieces. And when I remember the way her face paled as if I’ve caught her red-handed...
Damn her.
My driver opens the door, and I guide Scarlette inside with a firm hand at the small of her back. She stumbles slightly in her heels, and the sight of her struggling sends an unwelcome stab of something through my chest. Guilt, maybe. Or regret.
I ignore it.
The moment the door closes behind us, I hit the privacy button. The partition slides up with a soft mechanical hum, sealing us in our own private world. Scarlette has pressed herself against the far window, her red dress a splash of color against the black leather seats.