Total pages in book: 54
Estimated words: 49416 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 247(@200wpm)___ 198(@250wpm)___ 165(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 49416 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 247(@200wpm)___ 198(@250wpm)___ 165(@300wpm)
Why does that excite me so damn much?
And why do I find myself holding of his hand, letting him lead me up the stairs, past the VIP balcony and up toward the roof-access door?
He holds the door open for me, motioning me forward. I step through it, my heels immediately crunching against a graveled rooftop, complete with a lush, well-maintained garden, a scattering of wrought iron patio furniture, and a wide-open unobstructed view of the starry sky. I walk to the edge of the roof, leaning against the brick that comes up to my chest, and close my eyes as the cool breeze meets my flushed skin.
“Cool enough for you, kitten?” Silver asks, his voice at my ear, the pet name likely playing on my mask, which looks feline.
“It’s all right,” I say, shrugging like this isn’t the most romantic spot I’ve ever been taken to. “Are we allowed to be up here?”
He laughs softly, his voice slightly muffled behind the full mask. “Don’t worry,” he says. “I know the owner. You won’t get in trouble.”
“Who says I’m worried about getting in trouble?” I ask, and I swear I can feel his eyes trailing the length of my body even though I have zero evidence to back that up. It’s all I can do not to squirm under the silent appraisal that may or may not be happening.
“You don’t look like a rule breaker,” he says.
“Maybe I am,” I fire back, even though he’s right. Blame it on my strict upbringing, but I’ve never broken any rules or stepped over any lines in the history of forever.
“Whatever you say,” he says, taking up a good lean against the brick.
Jesus, even leaning he’s so much taller than me, and big. Like muscles for days beneath the fully black clothing he wears, the gloves and outfit only adding to the mystery of his masked features. And I can’t help it, I take my time looking at him, trailing my gaze over his muscled chest all the way down to his massive thighs. If I had to guess, I’d say the guy is an athlete, or maybe he’s just a gym enthusiast.
“You’re not a Reaper, are you?” I ask, suddenly curious if he came with the gaggle of friends Echo brought with her.
“I don’t play hockey,” he says. “But I can’t guarantee I won’t steal your soul, if that’s what you’re asking.”
A laugh tears through my lips, a warm shiver of delight spiraling down the middle of me at his words. At the way his presence eats up every inch of this roof even though we have miles of open sky above us. How he’s somehow shaking things awake inside me that had been perfectly content sleeping before.
“Do I look that innocent?” I ask, fully committing to the little flirtation we have going.
He moves a little closer, and my heart flutters in my chest. “Absolutely,” he says. “Innocent, reserved, rule-follower. Sexy as sin, but an innocent little kitten through and through.”
I part my lips, a little flush of anger slicing through me even though he isn’t wrong. And damn it, I’m so tired of being those things. I have been for a while, the agony of the box I’ve been living in growing bigger every day.
For once, can’t I play the part of the wild, reckless, temptress?
I can, can’t I? I mean, that’s why we’re here. That’s why we’re hiding our identities, right? It’s healthy to explore fantasies and take risks every once and a while, and I’ve never done that even when I constantly advised patients to do it all the time in a safe way.
So, why not take some of my own advice?
Confidence and anticipation storm through me.
“You’ve got me all wrong, Silver,” I say, reaching out and trailing a finger down his mask, shocked to find it’s metal and cool to the touch instead of a flimsy plastic.
“Do I?” he asks, not drawing away from my touch. “Because something tells me one night with me and I’d ruin a perfect little thing like you.”
“Who says I’m going to spend the night with you?” I ask, pulse thrumming in my veins. Excitement flaring across every inch of my body.
“You did,” he says, gliding that gloved hand over my bare shoulder.
I do my best not to purr at the touch.
What is it about not knowing a thing about this stranger—down to what color of eyes he has—that makes the moment so damn sexy? Even the gloves feel forbidden against my skin, causing desire to pulse in my core in a needy little heartbeat.
What has gotten into me? Where’s all my reasoning and logic gone?
I must’ve left them back at the bar, because I find myself asking, “When did I tell you that?”
His hand finds my hip, and I let him touch me there, let him draw me closer until our bodies are flush. “The second you stepped onto this roof with me.”