Slowly, methodically, their lips almost touching once more, he trailed his fingertips up the inside of her arm, causing goosebumps to rise in ripples over her skin. “Sophia.” It came out low, raspy, and loaded with promise.
He moved in then, pressed a strong and fervent kiss to her mouth. Euphoria was the only word for it. Each extended glance and heated look, every playful tease and flirtatious word, all of it led to this shared moment of connection and need, desire and bliss.
She couldn’t be sure if a relationship between them would work; they’d only known one another for a few days. But a connection like this was meant to be tested. A mouth like his was meant to be tasted. And a moment like this—though she might be ruined for any future kiss from any other man—was worth the risk.
* * *
Blayze moved his hand up Sophia’s back, her skin hot through the thin layer of silk. He tilted his head, gave in to another succession of lingering kisses, his pulse shooting to rocket speed.
He pulled back, considered trailing kisses along the hollow of her neck, when a voice kicked in.Not too fast.
He toyed with her lips once more, reveling in the small whimper sounding from her throat, and then forced himself to speak up. “We should probably stop,” he said in a whisper.
“You’re right,” she said in that low, playful tone. But then she kissed him again. Bringing things to a slow, tortuous close. “There,” she said. “We stopped.” She snuggled into his chest then, her hands curling around his waist.
“You know,” she said, her face against his shirt, “we should probably turn on the television if we plan to stay stopped. Because I’m already thinking about starting things back up again.”
Blayze was right there with her. He chuckled, scanned the small table beside him for the remote.
“Behind the lamp,” Sophia said without moving.
“Ah.” Blayze snatched it off the table and handed it over, working to catch his breath as Sophia flipped the stations. She landed on an episode ofSeinfeld.
Two seconds into it and she was already cracking up. As the show continued, Blayze ran the tips of his fingers over her arms, taking in the comfort and ease between them. He began picturing future nights together, wrapped in each other’s arms. More visions came to mind as the episode wound to an end. Blayze was captivated by this new side of her. A side that knew how to unwind and enjoy herself.
He remembered then, for the first time since Sophia asked him to join her—that they were expecting a package that day. Yet, with midnight a mere half-hour away, they’d all but made it through the day without the dreaded delivery. No anonymous gift. No brightly colored threat wrapped in ribbon and lace. Nothing. Which wasn’t as comforting as he’d hoped. Waiting for another shoe to drop had never been on the list of things he liked to do.
Yet, just as the thought crossed his mind, an odd, ticking noise sounded from the far corner. Soft, but unmistakably there.
Perhaps that other shoe might just drop after all.
Blayze sat up, tilting his head as he detected the sound once more
after a spell of audience laughter. “Did you hear that?” he whispered, his pulse pounding in alarm.
“No.” Sophia shook her head.
The remote rested on the side table just within reach. Blayze snatched it up quick, tapped the mute button, and leaned toward the back of the penthouse as it waned. More of a hum than a tap. But then it started up again.Tap. Scratch. Tap tap scratch.If he hadn’t known better he’d think Sophia had brought her cat.
“Stay here.” He gulped, scanned the perimeter of the spacious area. A pale, ghostlike glow poured from the large flat screen, casting shadows on everything beyond its reach. No one could be in that penthouse. He’d done a thorough check of the place when they’d got there. But what about when he’d showered?
He spun in place, kept his face toward Sophia, and took slow backward steps toward the light switch. Her brown eyes, thick with worry, stared blankly into the shadows at his back.Tick… tick… tick tick tick tick…
With the jerk of his hand to the light switch, Blayze flicked on all four switches. A burst of light filled the kitchen, dining area, front room and entry. He squinted from the brightness as his eyes adjusted, sensing the direction of the sound. “It’s coming from the window,” he mumbled.
He risked a glance in that direction, catching nothing more than a reflection of the room. White, glossy floors, tall vases holding floral decor, and a terrified-looking Sophia on the couch. Her face drained of color.
Blayze hurried back to the switch as the noise scratched on, sounding more like metal on glass now. He palmed the wall blindly, felt the edge of a switch against his pinky and reached to catch them all at once. Black fell upon them, allowing the city view to come alive once more. His eyes followed the ruckus until he saw the source at last. There, hovering beyond the window was a drone. Beating against the glass like a crazed, robotic bird.
“Duck behind the couch,” he breathed, honing in on the object trapped in the machine’s talon-like claw. An object that erased any doubts as to who sent it to their penthouse.
A curse slipped from his mouth.A wrapped box.
The wrapping, a glossy, candy apple red, was accented by white, curly ribbon and a matching tag. The writing on the tag was red too; however, a ribbon curl jiggled and swayed in front of it, blocking part of the single word printed there.
Eyes squinting, Blayze identified the first two. “B. O…” The drone reared back, sweeping the ribbon out of the way just long enough for him to see the last two. “O. M.” At once the small, hovering device exploded with a barely audible pop.
Scattered sparks flew, as if mere fireworks had blasted from within. Pale green shreds scattered in a much broader display, hanging in the air for a blink. The distinct corner of a dollar bill drifted against the glass, leaving an ashy smudge. Beyond that mark on the window, scraps of dusty red twirled in confusion. A charred ribbon curl spiraled through the cloud and plummeted beyond sight.
