My cheeks warm at the thought of how he might respond to that little revelation.
It wasn't even the first time it happened, either. Since that night at Mingle, I haven't been able to get there at all without thinking of him, and it's become a real fucking problem.
I’ll give you two more minutes, Brig. And if you’re not down here, I’m coming up.
He wouldn’t fucking dare.
Of course, he would.
I need five.
See you soon.
That isn't an agreement.
But it's also not a denial of my terms.
So I either get my shoes on and run out the door in the next 90 seconds, or I risk him coming up to drag me outside.
How long does it take him to get in?
Howdid he get in?
Almost my entire apartment is covered in cameras. The only room that doesn't is my bedroom, and that's because I'm not worried about someone climbing through a window with absolutely nothing beneath it to grab hold of and a long, hard fall if they fail.
Even the camera on my patio is wide enough to capture my bedroom window.
No wonder people are so afraid of Cormac. He's a fucking ghost.
Tossing my flat, knee-high boots on, I quickly grab my purse, allbut running out the door to get there fast enough that I don't have to learn if Cormac would follow through.
Waiting for my elevator, I count down the seconds, my heart pounding out of my chest as I get closer and closer to seeing him again. Not exactly willingly, but that doesn't seem to matter to the butterflies taking up real estate in my stomach.
Finally, it opens, blissfully empty, and I dart in, noting that I have 30 seconds until the two-minute mark.
As soon as the ding of the elevator hitting the lobby reaches my ears, I nearly break into a sprint, ready to run out the door to make it on time.
And there, standing just outside, waiting with a wicked smirk on his face, is Cormac. Wearing another t-shirt and black jeans, with his hair starting to grow out a bit, he looks just like anyone I might see on the street.
If everyone else on the street looked like they should have been an underwear model. Or a hand model. Or face model.
"Hi," he beams, golden eyes alight with mischief. Checking his watch, he tsks, "You missed it by a few seconds. Good thing I have plans for us today, or you'd be in trouble."
"Plans?"
He nods, "Yeah, as it turns out, I'm not welcome back at Mingle for a bit. So you and I are going to go do something fun."
"I don't think I agreed to that," I argue.
He leans forward, lowering his voice to just above a whisper, "I don't think I asked."
My brows raise in surprise, but he just grins, those sharp canines drawing my attention to his perfectly sculpted mouth.
"Come on," he wraps an arm around my shoulder, pulling me with him. "You're going to have fun. Promise."
I'm not sure if I should believe him. "Our ideas of fun are very different. Yours seems to be sneaking around and taking photos of unsuspecting, sleeping women."
He laughs, looking at me from the corner of his eye as we pass my doorman. "Nah. That's a habit I reserve for you and only you."
