Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 62994 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62994 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
I close my eyes, sinking under the bubbles until they brush my chin. My fingertips drift across the surface of the water, and for a moment I wonder if I’m dreaming.
Who steps in to help a stranger like that anymore?
I don’t even know his name. I didn’t ask and he didn’t offer. I don’t know anything about him, except that he lives in a ridiculously expensive apartment and that I’ll be thinking about this bubble bath until the day I die.
I’ll probably be thinking about him until the day I die, too. The way he touched me so gently, despite the fact that I’d just watched him manhandle two grown men.
After I’ve spent way too long in the bath and the water starts cooling around me, I finally get out of the tub. The towel he left folded on the counter is thick and fluffy, far softer than anything I own. Underneath it is a long, cozy robe. I slip into it, pulling it tight around my waist. It’s far too big, hanging off my frame and enveloping me in warmth that smells faintly like cedar and clean linen.
I towel my hair until the droplets stop rolling down my neck, then run my fingers through the tangles. My legs feel unsteady when I step onto the cool tile as all the adrenaline officially leaves my body.
A dreamlike haze settles over me as I open the bathroom door. This is nuts. I’ve never been this comfortable in a stranger’s home before, and yet I feel so relaxed.
The penthouse is dim except for the glow of the city pouring through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The rain streaks the glass in silver lines, turning the skyline into something blurred and shimmering. He stands in front of that window, hands in his pockets, broad shoulders framed by the storm outside.
For a moment, I just watch the set of his back, the tension in his posture, the stillness that feels like coiled power instead of peace.
He turns the second I step into the room, as if he sensed me before he heard me. His eyes sweep over me, from my wet hair to the robe cinched at my waist to my bare feet on the hardwood floor. Something shifts in his face. Barely there, but noticeable enough. It almost looks like hunger.
He picks up a glass from the table and walks toward me. “Drink this,” he says quietly.
His voice sends a shiver through me that has nothing to do with the temperature. I take the glass from him, my fingers brushing his. I lift it to my lips and let the alcohol burn its way down my throat. I’m already warm, but this fills me with a delicious heat that settles in my stomach.
He studies me with an intensity that makes the air hum. “Are you injured?” he asks.
“No,” I say softly. “Just shaken.”
His jaw tightens. “That man hit you.”
“He did,” I agree, touching the spot where my skin is starting to swell, just a little. “But I’ll be okay.”
He steps a little closer, as if drawn without realizing it, and I feel his presence like a magnetic pull. The room seems to shrink around us. Every sound fades except my breathing and his.
“Thank you,” I whisper. “For saving my life.”
He takes the empty glass from my hand and sets it aside without breaking eye contact.
“It was my pleasure,” he answers with a small smile playing on his lips.
Something bold rises in me before he can say anything else. Maybe it’s shock wearing off. Maybe it’s the warmth of the drink. Maybe it’s the way he’s looking at me like he could devour every fear I’ve ever had.
I lift my hand and place it lightly against his chest. His brows lift, a faint spark of surprise flickering there. His body goes still. My palm spreads over firm muscle beneath the fabric of his shirt, the heat of him radiating through.
He lowers his head slightly, searching my face. “You should know who I am.”
“Right now,” I say, my voice trembling in a way that has nothing to do with nerves, “I’d rather taste you.”
Something breaks inside him with a quiet, controlled snap.
He grabs my waist and pulls me against him with a force that steals my breath. His mouth meets mine. It isn’t a gentle kiss. It’s all-consuming and fiery. Then, something seems to shift in him and he slows down, savoring me.
His lips move against mine like he’s learning me. Memorizing me. His hand slides up my back, fingers threading into my damp hair, tilting my head exactly how he wants it. The robe loosens a little as he pulls me tight against his chest. Heat floods my skin. My knees weaken. I moan against his mouth and he grips me even tighter.
I sink into him, my hands gripping his shirt, clinging to him as if he’s the only solid thing left in the world. His kiss deepens, his mouth opening over mine, tongue brushing mine with sensual, devastating precision. My breath catches as I feel his hardness against my stomach.