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“No more walking in a blizzard, Ms. Alonso.” We stopped by the bank of elevators and faced each other. His shadow of a smile returned, all lazy charm and confidence. “I can’t have one of my tenants dying of hypothermia. It would be bad for business.”
If my thoughts were chaos, she was my anchor. They always went back to her.
“People say sarcasm is the lowest form of wit.” “But it’s the highest form of intelligence.”
“Careful, Stella.” His low warning pulsed between my legs. “I’m not the gentleman you think I am.”
My reply fought its way past my dry throat. “I don’t think you’re a gentleman at all.” A slow, lazy smile tugged at his lips. “Smart girl.”
Green eyes. Green dress. Symbolic of life and nature. Green. Apparently it was my new favorite fucking color.
“Well, I’m sure you’ll get the account.” Mischief lit Stella’s eyes. “I, personally, wouldn’t entrust my well-being to someone who wears a light-blue suit to a black-tie event.”
“Because I don’t want to be jailed for murder if anyone touches a hair on your head.”
Some photos were worth a thousand words. This photo said only one. Mine.
Christ. Every employee at Harper Security was ex-military or ex-CIA, yet they gossiped like high schoolers.
I wanted him, but I didn’t want to date him (or anyone else). We lived together, but we barely knew each other. The world thought we were dating, but we’d barely kissed. The contradictions were enough to drive a girl mad.
“How do other people see me?” Christian’s eyes didn’t leave mine. “Like you’re the most beautiful, most remarkable thing they’ve ever seen.”
“It’s because you haven’t looked me in the eye since New York. Because you’re all I can fucking think about no matter where I am or who I’m with, and the thought of you hurt or upset makes me want to raze this city to the ground.” Soft, almost desperate viciousness coated his voice. “I’ve never wanted someone more, and I’ve never hated myself more for it.”
It’d been forty-eight hours since our last real interaction, and I already craved her closeness like an addict hungering for his next hit.
Risk over safety. Desire over comfort. No regrets.
“I want to make a few things clear.” Christian’s lips brushed mine with each word. “Touch another man, he dies. Let another man touch you, he dies. Tell me I can’t touch you…” His grip tightened on the back of my neck as his voice dropped. “And I will fucking die.”
