Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 52779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 264(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 176(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 264(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 176(@300wpm)
There’s a stairway to our left and a bright brass elevator straight ahead. I expect we’ll take the stairs so I can admire the restoration of the historic building but he places that big warm palm in the small of my back again. An intense shock of heat short circuits my entire body. I wonder how I’m not flopping around on the floor from the electrical current running through my veins. He guides me to the right and swipes the fob again to reveal a private elevator.
My eyes cut to his face and search for his gaze as if to see if he felt what I did. The shock of recognition, of searing lust that poured into me at his polite touch. The door slips shut on us and we’re in a small elevator, the floor marble, the walls mirrored, and the man beside me filling up every inch of space, crowding me and making me take in the scent of him, like leather and cigarette smoke and the burn of something sweet.
Our eyes lock for an instant. I register his shock and something feral and deep. His handsome face hardens, something dark flares in his eyes that draws an answering leap and swoop in my chest.
I swallow hard in the confines of the elevator. He steps in toward me, leans down. I don’t know what he’s going to do, but I’m positive I’ll let him. He lifts one big hand and brushes the backs of his fingers to my neck. My body jolts at the contact, frantic pulse thrumming against his fingers. I don’t know what to do, so I grab him. My fingers twine around his thick wrist to hold his hand there, right where it is.
Heat climbs my neck and flushes my cheeks. I can’t meet his eyes anymore. The moment is too charged, to vulnerable somehow. Later I’ll tell myself it’s just the confusion of a radioactive level of lust, that it’s nothing more intimate than that. My boss is hot, plus he’s Rory’s friend so there’s the added kick of forbidden fruit.
Just a cheesy leftover teenage crush ratcheted up by hormones and whatever wicked alchemy makes him smell so irresistible. Purely physical, that’s what I’ll tell myself. There’s no attraction on any other level. His objective off-the-charts sexiness and the aura of dark power he wields as head of the crime family make for an intoxicating blend.
The faint brush of his knuckles down the side of my throat is now his hand hot on my throat, holding my neck tenderly but with a hint of possession, that dominance that seems to be an intrinsic part of him. My thoughts scatter when I’m near him, which is surely not a good sign, and everything in the universe concentrates on the place where his hand is on my neck and I’m holding his wrist.
I feel the beat of his pulse, as quick as my own, pumping against my fingertip. I stroke the inside of his wrist and see and feel his reaction. A breath rushes out of him, and his eyes drop shut. He holds himself very still. With his eyes shut, mine feel free to roam his body. I see the unmistakable bulge in his expensive trousers. It makes my mouth go dry.
“Did you push the button?” I ask hoarsely.
“Button?” he frowns before the question registers.
He takes a step back, disentangling himself from me. I have no choice but to let go of his wrist even though I’d like to keep holding it. He steps to the panel and presses a button. The elevator begins to move and I grip the brass rail beside me. I’m no longer crowded in a corner by him but I still feel off balance. I want to say something, tell him he’s incredible and that I’ve had actual sex that was a lot less satisfying than him touching my neck in an elevator.
But I don’t.
When the doors slide open, I follow him to a door that unlocks with a code and a scan of his thumbprint. The room itself isn’t that large, but it’s beautiful. The walls are deep green and the wood trim is rich and old-fashioned. There’s a table that seats four, a couch and a couple of chairs, a bar cart in the corner. But the focal point is a broad window that covers the wall opposite the door. I go to the window and look out, or rather I look down. It’s an interior window that looks out over the main floor of the casino.
“That is some classy James Bond looking shit,” I mutter. He chuckles and I hear the warmth of his laugh close behind me.
“Glad you approve,” he says.
“I went out to Vegas with some friends last year. It was unbelievably tacky and crowded. So loud. Everywhere we went I just wanted to leave.”