They are things I need to know if I’m going to answer the one question he hung over my head.
“I was going to ask you to stay.”
It’s not like I don’t want to. I do. But when that request sliced through the air and then impaled my heart, my rationality somehow started kicking in. I barely know Preston.
What I do know about him, this life, is that it is equally composed of terrifying moments as it is of tender ones.
Like him.
I stare at my reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirror in the closet, twisting and turning to admire myself from every angle.
The soft pink fabric highlights the tan notes to my skin. The sweetheart neckline with spaghetti straps dips low, pushing up my breasts enough that the light skims the swells. The flowy skirt with a high slit cuts up high on my thigh, leaving little to the imagination. All topped off with tan heels that I have to relearn how to walk in, and my long, curled hair tossed up into a slicked-back ponytail.
I’ve never felt this beautiful.
Preston plopped me in his office chair, gave me his card, and told me to order whatever I wanted to wear for our date.
Date.
It still doesn’t feel real. Like any moment, I’ll wake up from this dream and realize Xander and Preston are only a figment of my imagination.
Only one of those things I wish was a fantasy.
But without one, I wouldn’t have the other.
I wouldn’t be standing in a dress, waiting to go out on a date that I’m sure, knowing how extra Preston is, will blow all my expectations out of the water. If my collar were pure gold, I wouldn’t be surprised if he had something overly extravagant planned.
My fingers drift to my collarbones. I kind of miss it.
Then he pressed his lips to my temple and told me to go crazy.
So, I did.
When I saw this dress from a boutique, I knew instantly it was what I wanted to wear. The best part is what is hidden under it; I’m wearing strapless lingerie that hugs my curves and comes with matching garters.
I feel like Marilyn Monroe with the flowy skirt, but I have a dirty secret underneath all the fabric. And I’m not just talking about the lingerie that I hope will end up on his floor at the end of the night. I also have my blade strapped to my thigh on the leg opposite the slit.
It’s exhilarating.
A knock sounds at the door, and I walk out of the closet to see Gretta standing in my room. Her cheeks are painted a rosy pink, a smile dancing on her lips. She looks almost…proud. “Your date is outside.”
Five minutes later, I’m standing in the circular driveway, my glossed lips parted in awe as I stare at the man leaning against a navy-blue Bugatti. Where the hell has he been keeping that beauty?
His short beard is neatly trimmed to perfection. One hand is tucked into the pockets of his charcoal gray suit, which I know perfectly hugs that firm ass. It stretches across the planes of his chest in that black button-down, my fingers already buzzing to pop those buttons and stroke his warm, strong body with my fingertips. Memorize every strain of muscle. His tendons that ripple when he moves. The veins that beg for the attention of my lips and my tongue, as if I can memorize the mapping of him.
My lace panties are damp on the spot. My pussy extracted all the moisture from my mouth. It’s pooling at my core as my handsome devil tries to melt me with his presence alone.
And to make it worse, he’s lethal, holding a bouquet of pink anemone flowers with the iconic black centers that pop against the pastel petals.
How he knows that’s my favorite flower is beyond me. Then I remember this man’s power is so unfathomable that I’m just scratching the surface of what he’s truly capable of.
He probably knows my blood type, too.
I’m so engrossed in ogling him that I don’t realize he’s been slowly stalking toward me. The expanse of his throat moves, and those warm bourbon eyes fuse with mine.
“Goddamn. If looks could kill…” He shakes his head, his hoarse voice trembling in a way that makes me grin. I’ve never seen him this nervous before. Fire licks up my body as his eyes drop again, leisurely taking me in like he may not get another chance to. He holds out the bouquet. “These are for you.”
I reach for the flowers, lifting them to my nose. The sweet, floral scent coaxes a smile to my lips. “You want to explain to me how you know what my favorite flower is?”
