I shake off the disguise. “It was your idea!”
He glances back at me, and it might be my imagination, but his eyes seem to spark when he sees me this time. “Better. You’re a work of art in that dress.”
“I’m a…” Did he just call me a work of art? I hold on to the door as he takes a sharp corner. “Where are you taking me?”
“Home.”
“Wonderland is that way.” I point over my shoulder.
“My home. It’s the only place he doesn’t have access to the security footage. He owns fucking everything else.”
The night grows thicker as we break from Dragonfly and enter Elderflame, the capital city of Devashire. Before I can even process that Seven is actually taking me to his inner sanctum, we’re parking in a private garage under a skyscraper.
“Seven, I don’t think—”
He’s out and around the car, opening my door and pulling me from my seat. Still intensely angry about whatever he fought about with his dad, his steps are quick and I almost have to jog to keep up. With his fingers entwined with mine, he ushers me toward the elevator, the heat from his hand making me oddly flustered. Why does his touch do this to me after everything?
There are a dozen reasons why I should protest going home with him, not the least of which is that I’ll be completely vulnerable there. Seven can overpower me in a heartbeat. Even if I use Kiko, he has more luck than I’ll ever have. I shouldn’t trust him.
But I can’t bring myself to say anything, and despite myself, I can’t move away when he clings to my hand in the elevator. I feel his touch deep within me. There’s so much sexual tension in the small, enclosed space I can feel it pressing against my skin like moisture on a humid day. It ricochets off the walls. I’m carnally aware of every square inch of him beside me. It’s so quiet, I can hear myself swallow.
And then he moves. His hand slides from mine as the doors open and he walks into a sparsely decorated but elegant foyer.
“This is a bad idea,” I mumble as I follow after him. He ignores me.
Another leprechaun in a dark suit waits at a desk beside a beautifully crafted door. Seven nods to him. “If anyone asks, I’m not here. No one goes in or out. Understood?”
The man nods. Before I know it, Seven has unlocked the door and swept me inside.
What have I gotten myself into? This is a far more intimate scenario than what I wanted to experience with this man tonight. I’m not sure that I’m strong enough for this. His presence ignites too many memories. Too many feelings. They’re all tangled up in me in a confusing knot that weighs heavily at the pit of my stomach and has the blood rushing lower. It’s a thrill, and Seven was telling the truth when he said I was a thrill seeker. My desire to self-protect wars with my need to dive headfirst into the excitement of the moment.
I fold my arms, a barrier between us. “What the hell is going on, Seven?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he moves through the foyer—oh my gods, this apartment has a massive foyer—and into a main room with a wall of windows overlooking the city.Fuck, who lives like this? If I thought Seven’s office was decorated in a style called things-I-can’t-afford, this condo is things-so-out-of-my-price-range-I-didn’t-know-they-existed!
I glance down to watch three koi fish swim through the center of his living room. A custom fish tank winds like a river through the pale marble floor under a thick pane of glass. I’ve never seen anything like it.
“Nice fish.”
He glances at me. “The river ends at a pool on the balcony. You can feed them if you’d like.”
Is he really asking if I want to feed his penthouse fish? Now? “Maybe later.”
He nods, then crosses to a bar in the corner of the room. Across the glass river with the fish is a seating area anchored by an ecru carpet with a subtle geometric pattern of interlocking rings. Atop it a stone coffee table that’s big enough to accommodate a human sacrifice is neighbored by a sofa the color of fresh whipped cream and two chairs that belong in a museum. Everything faces the windows and the balcony beyond. There’s no TV or magazines or clutter of any kind. If there is a single grain of dust anywhere in this room, it’s well hidden. There is, however, a shiny black baby grand piano in the corner.
Does he even play?
“Would you like something to drink?” Seven pours himself a glass of amber liquid from a decanter.
“Who even fills that thing? Why can’t rich people pour from the bottle like everyone else?” I ask.
The corner of his mouth twitches. “My housekeeper, and it oxygenates the whiskey. Any other questions?”
“Yes,” I say immediately. “Why the fuck am I here? And why the clash-of-the-titans action in the Dragonfly Club? I thought the glasses were going to shatter from the luck coming off you two.”
He snorts and walks to the windows, taking his glass with him. He leans an arm against the pane and rests his forehead against it.
“This thing between us, Sophia, it’s a mess. A big, fucking mess.”
