Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 64938 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 325(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64938 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 325(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Mirage trailed far behind him, too far. He wasn’t on his heels where he was supposed to be.
Grace stopped and spun on Mirage, his calm demeanor now silent anger.
“Don’t do that.”
Mirage stuck his chin out. “Don’t do what?”
Grace gripped Mirage by his throat—enough to stress his frustration but not enough to hurt—and pushed him back against the wall.
Passion coursed through Grace’s veins as he pinned Mirage’s body under his.
His cock hardened in agony-infused bliss as heat spread through his groin like wildfire.
Mirage’s lashes lowered and shielded half of his gorgeous eyes as numerous emotions Grace couldn’t interpret flashed across the surface.
Mirage could’ve gotten out of the hold, but he didn’t remove Grace’s palm from his throat.
Grace was frozen in the moment. His partner’s exquisiteness rendered him speechless.
For the first time in years, he didn’t know what the fuck to do.
As he gazed down on Mirage, a rush of ache and longing seized him, unfamiliar feelings, forbidden to a Raven.
Their faces were inches apart, tension saturating the air as he found himself drawn to Mirage’s irresistible strength and intelligence.
Grace was so close he could smell the lingering caramel and sugar from dessert on Mirage’s breath.
This was a dangerous game he was playing.
He kept one hand against Mirage’s rapid pulse while he raised the other, shaking one to his partner’s face. Grace hovered there for a long, confusing moment before he gently touched Mirage’s cheek.
The simple contact made nerves spark and shoot up his arm.
The dusting of short, fine, dirty-blond hairs felt like soft whispers beneath his fingertips.
The subtle hint of ruggedness added masculinity to Mirage’s otherwise polished features.
You are so damn handsome.
Grace teetered on the edge of a cliff, torn between duty and longing. A battle between a raven and its prey warring in the same intimate space.
While he traced the outline of Mirage’s jaw, goodness, compassion, and warmth encased Grace’s soul.
Will feeling this way really distract me from my job?
His heart lodged in his throat as he inched lower, tracing the gentle curve of Mirage’s bottom lip with his thumb.
He knew it would feel as tender and supple as it looked.
He lifted his gaze back to Mirage’s eyes and got so lost that it scared him.
And nothing scared Grace.
His partner’s breath was labored, and Mirage parted his lips as if he were about to speak.
But before he could, Grace released him and escaped into his apartment.
He slammed and bolted the door as if it would keep those defiant feelings out there and out of reach.
Mirage
Mirage was lying in bed atop rumpled sheets, wide-awake at three in the morning.
His dick was hard as concrete as he brushed his fingertips over his bottom lip.
He did that until the sun rose over the horizon.
He was half-dressed and out of his apartment by six, needing coffee and maybe some toast or a bagel for his upset stomach.
No one was in the cafeteria except the workers who served him with their gazes down.
Needing air, he went onto the balcony, where a few administrative employees from the management wing conversed over pastries and juice…until they saw him.
Their faces drained of color before they abandoned their food and scattered like squirrels.
“What the fuck do you think I’m gonna do, huh? Throw a knife into your goddamn cheese danishes?”
Fools.
He went to the side of the balcony to watch the morning traffic he was glad he couldn’t hear this high up.
Mirage welcomed the peace and quiet when his mind was filled with the sounds of an emotional war.
He took a couple of bites of his dry toast, then threw the rest into the trash bin.
An hour later, the patio door opened and closed.
He didn’t respond to the silence creeping up behind him. He recognized the relaxed breaths and inaudible footsteps.
Mirage didn’t need the scent of leather carrying on the cool breeze to know who it was.
“Did you rest well, Grace?” he muttered, not turning around.
Grace let out a low, rumbling hum from so close behind him that Mirage could feel his heart pounding.
“Did you?” he countered.
“Yeah, Grace. Sure did. I slept like the fuckin’ devil on Sunday. Not a thought or care in the world.”
Grace sounded as if he’d just woken thirty seconds ago, but when Mirage turned around, it wasn’t at all how he looked.
His partner’s dark-brown hair was slicked back, and his stubble was neatly trimmed. Even his fucking training fatigues were muster-ready.
Mirage was so sleep-deprived and racked with frustration that he hadn’t bothered to do much with his hair except finger-comb it on the elevator.
He’d also forgotten the jacket to his black fatigues, so his wrinkled brown T-shirt would have to suffice, and so would his untied combat boots.
Grace’s gaze didn’t lower to Mirage’s attire. All of his attention was on Mirage’s face…and his mouth.
“Mirage, can I explain?”
He scoffed at his partner’s audacity.
He didn’t know what Grace had been thinking last night or what had happened to make him pin him down the way he had, but one thing he did know was that Grace’s cop-out at the end had been shitty and cowardly.