A copy of the popular vampire novelDark In Bloodlies face-down on the nightstand next to a salt lamp and half a glass of water.
Her desk sits in the corner under a large picture window that looks out at the woods, with a chunky yellow throw draped over the back of the chair tucked underneath it.
A wire photo board with clipped snapshots hangs on the wall next to the window, with a picture of Noia and a cuteredhead laughing with their heads thrown back, and a few other pictures tacked up haphazardly around it.
Done with my tour, I flop back onto the bed and tuck my arms behind my head.
I feelgood. Energized. Like the adrenaline high you’d get from a perfect heist.
Fifteen minutes later, the bathroom door creaks open.
I sit up and promptly forget how to breathe.
Noia steps through the doorway like a slow-motion dream. Black skinny jeans hug every curve like they’ve been stitched to her thighs. Red hooker heels give her legs fordays, and that red top? It drapes off one shoulder, revealing just enough collarbone to short-circuit every rational thought I’ve ever had.
My gaze takes all of her in as I stare and lick my lips.
“Stop looking at me like that,” she mumbles, fidgeting with her hair.
“Holy shit, you’re stunning,” I murmur.
Her flush is bright crimson and gorgeous.
“Wait a second.”She narrows her eyes at me. “You can’t go out like that.”
Confused, all I can do is blink. “What?”
“You’re not wearing a shirt and you’re barefoot.”
I shrug. “Not my fault.”
“In your last scene, you were supposed to be dressed for the gala.”
“Well, you never got around to writing that part did you? So, technically, this isyourfault.”
“You’re not walking into a bar looking like the goddamn cover of a Highland romance novel.”
“Why not?” I shrug again. “Could be good marketing.”
She groans, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You’re impossible.”
I get up and give her my best faux-innocent smirk. “I could always borrow one of your sweaters.”
Noia snaps her head up so fast it’s a miracle her neck doesn’t break. “Touch my cashmere and die.”
“Noted. But, seriously. You actually think I would wearcashmere?”
A long, thoughtful pause hangs in the air before her expression slowly shifts into something that can only be described as devious.
Uh-oh.
“Wait a second,” she whispers.
“What?” I deadpan.
“What if… Iwriteyou into a shirt and shoes?”
Okay. That doesn’t sound so bad.
