We drove for what felt like forever. I tried to track the turns, to figure out where we were going, but lost count after the fourth direction change. Finally, the car slowed. Stopped. My dooropened, and cool air rushed in. Then a hand—warm, large, and urging—took mine.
"Carefully," Dez's voice said, and the sound of it after the silence made my breath catch. "Three steps up."
I let him guide me out of the car. Lake air, sharp and clean. We were near the water. His hand stayed in mine as we walked. Fifteen steps across stone, then inside where the temperature warmed and the acoustics changed. A door closed behind us with a heavy, final sound.
We were alone…
"You can take off the blindfold," Dez said.
I reached up with trembling fingers and pulled the silk away. And forgot how to breathe. The penthouse was stunning. Floor-to-ceiling windows showed Seattle’s skyline and Lake Union and beyond. Modern furniture, clean lines, the kind of space that screamed money and taste. But it was the bedroom visible through an open doorway that made my stomach flip. A massive four-poster bed. Dark wood. Burgundy silk sheets.
As I rotated in his direction, he walked away, giving me a delicious view of his backside.
"Drink?" Dez moved to a bar cart, and when he turned to look at me, I finally got a good look at him without the mask.
Jesus.
Twenty-eight years old, and he looked like he'd been carved from marble. Sharp cheekbones, strong jaw, a mouth that was currently curved in the faintest hint of a smile. Brunet hair slightly disheveled, like he'd run his hands through it recently. But it was his eyes that held me. Gray and intense, watching me with an expression that made me feel stripped bare despite still wearing my coat. Devastatingly handsome.
"Yes," I managed. "Please."
He poured a glass of whiskey—neat, a glass of white wine, and crossed back to me. Our fingers brushed as he handed me the wine glass, and I felt that touch everywhere.
"Nervous?" he asked.
"A little," I admitted.
"Good." He took a sip, never breaking eye contact. "You should be."
The words sent a shiver down my spine.
"Is that a threat?" Cause it sure felt like one.
"It's a promise." He set his glass down and moved closer, crowding into my space. "I'm going to take you apart tonight, Angelina. Piece by piece. And then I'm going to put you back together exactly how I want you."
My breath caught.
"Prove it," I heard myself say.
His smile turned predatory.
"With pleasure."
Angelina
"First," Dez said, his voice dropping to a commanding tone that made my thighs clench, "we eat."
I blinked. "What?"
"Lunch." He gestured toward the dining area I hadn't noticed before—a sleek table set for two, covered dishes waiting. "You haven't eaten since last night, have you?"
The question caught me off guard. "I... no. I was too nervous."
"I thought so." He moved behind me, his hands going to the lapels of my coat. "Which means you need food. Energy." His breath ghosted across my ear. "You're going to need it."
The coat slid off my shoulders, pooling at my feet. His sharp intake of breath made me feel powerful despite standing there in my slip dress and heels.
"Beautiful," he murmured, his hands hovering over my hips like he was restraining himself from touching. "But you're still wearing too much."
