Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 66732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
But that night three years ago, when Ethan had disappeared and I’d found him making out with Anya in an alcove, I’d been upset—not for his betrayal, but because of my own expectation. After that, I’d seen our relationship for what it was. A casual friendship, if that. Ethan wasn’t interested in me romantically. I didn’t realize I wasn’t interested in him that way either until then.
After I’d spied Ethan kissing Anya, I’d snatched a bottle of champagne and come up here to lick my wounds, but the room hadn’t been empty. Silas had been standing at the window watching what was happening below in the ballroom. He’d been as surprised to be found as I’d been to find him. He took one look at me, at the bottle in my hand and raised his eyebrows. I still remember the moment. I’d been afraid he’d send me back down. Tell me I was too young to be drinking.
There’s a trick to opening those, he’d said, and instead of sending me on my way, he’d reminded me that I was too good for Ethan and left it at that as if he knew why I was up there. He’d popped the cork and we’d shared the bottle. Well, he’d had most of it. I’d had a few sips. I don’t really like champagne.
And then we’d kissed. Well, I’d kissed him for about three seconds.
I look up at Silas now and nod. “Of course I remember. How could I forget?” I also remember how I’d told him his eyes were the color of my favorite beach in Mexico. And the moment that followed the awkwardness of it all.
He smiles, brushes a lock of hair that’s fallen from my up-do back behind my ear and the gesture is so tender, his smile so soft, it touches that aching inside me. That space like loss, which is ridiculous, since to feel loss you must lose something. It’s not like I ever had Silas Cruz to lose him.
That smile vanishes fairly quickly though when his gaze lands on the choker. I touch it. Although it’s in my head, I swear the rubies feel like shards of glass against my throat.
“Mira’s?”
I nod.
“It’s hideous. You look like you’ve been decapitated,” he says. He turns me around and his hands brush my nape. I shudder at this touch. A moment later, the cool stones slip from my neck and into his hand. He sets the necklace aside and I feel like I can breathe again even though they weren’t really choking me.
“You and Ethan? It’s over?” he asks, tone serious.
I nod.
He studies me, then reaches out to me again, and this time, he tugs the pin holding my hair in place out, and curls tumble down over my shoulders. I watch him as he watches, then brushes my hair back, away from my face.
“That’s better,” he says before setting one hand on the flat of my belly and pressing me backward into the wall. His other hand slides to the back of my head to cup it and his eyes grow dark and then, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, he’s kissing me. He’s kissing me and his lips are warm and soft and my heart flutters in my chest. My hands come to his shoulders not to push him away, but to touch him. To feel him. His strength. His solid mass. The safety there.
He looks down at me, eyes searching my face, my lips. He dips his head to mine again and whispers something I don’t hear before kissing me so deeply, I’m left gasping for breath when he draws back to trail kisses along my jawline, down to my throat, to my racing pulse. My fingers curl around his shoulders as he brushes his jaw over the hollow above my collarbone.
When he straightens, I push his jacket off, my fingers fumbling with his bowtie, tugging at it, then at the buttons of his shirt because I need to feel him, feel his skin against my skin. I need him like I’ve always needed him.
Silas tugs on the zipper at the back of my dress, and a moment later, it slips to the floor and when he stands back to look at me, I push his shirt half off, two buttons popping. I take in his muscled chest, wide shoulders, the dusting of dark hair. I can’t stop looking at him, touching him, almost unsure this is really happening.
He dips his head again to kiss me, his mouth wet as he leaves a trail down the center of my chest, my belly, crouching down before me to slide my panties off, eye level with my pussy. He kisses the flat of it and when he draws away, I shudder with the cool air against the space his mouth was. He combs his fingers through the small patch of hair I’ve let grow in, and when his mouth closes over my clit, I’m not sure whether it’s him or me moaning.