Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 90337 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90337 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
“I’ll need to add Ms. Murphy to my ongoing guest list,” he says, attention on his letters as he flips through a small handful of what looks like business stuff. “She’ll be staying with me for a while.”
“Of course, welcome to the building, Ms. Murphy,” the woman says, holding my gaze a beat too long. “I’m Alex, the attendant on duty Monday to Friday from noon to eight p.m. Let me know if I can help you settle in in any way.”
Cheeks warmer than they were before, I return her smile, flattered, but not tingly in the way I wish I was. As hard as I’ve tried to expand my horizons, it appears I might just be plain old garden-variety straight.
Ugh. What a disappointing turn of events…
“Thank you so much. I appreciate that,” I say, lifting a hand Alex’s way as I follow Hunter toward the elevators.
The moment the doors close behind us, Hunter arches a brow as he taps his key card to the control panel and pushes the P4 button, presumably taking us to penthouse number 4. “Blushing, are we?”
I exhale a laugh as I bring my hands to my cheeks. “Am I?”
“Be careful. Alex is the biggest womanizer on the Upper West Side. She used to work on the Upper East Side, but she seduced too many Wall Street wives and had to flee across the park before she was drawn and quartered by their husbands. At this point, I’m pretty sure she’s single-handedly responsible for the bisexuality of at least fifteen percent of Manhattan.”
I sigh. “Well, then, I guess I really am a lost cause.”
“How so?”
“I’ve been reading a lot of sapphic romance lately, in hopes of turning myself gay. Or at least bisexual.”
“Really?” His tone is as dry as the Sahara. “And how’s that working out?”
“Not great,” I confess. “And Alex, though outrageously yummy, did not make me tingle.” I shrug. “I mean, I’m going to keep trying—men are the worst, and it would be great to have more options moving forward—but things aren’t looking good on that front.”
Before he can respond, the elevator doors open right into his apartment.
My eyes bulge as I take in the massive space, where our luggage is already waiting, tucked against the wall to our left near a console table that looks like it was carved out of a single chunk of California redwood.
“Woah, fancy much?” I ask, wandering into the room, taking in the giant living space with not three, but four couches, and a handful of decorative chairs, arranged in conversation areas near a vintage, pod-shaped fireplace in the center. It looks like there’s an equally massive kitchen to our left, but I can’t quite see around the corner, and I’m too busy taking in the million-dollar view.
Across the large, black shadow of Central Park, the skyline on the opposite side of Manhattan dazzles. The buildings rise like glittering sentinels against the darkening sky, the lights in their windows creating a constellation of artificial stars. Closer to ground level, the park’s winding paths are marked by the faint glow of vintage lampposts, weaving ribbons of light through the darkness.
The contrast is breathtaking—nature’s darkness embraced by the city’s perpetual glow—and I instantly know I’m going to love it here.
In this apartment, in this city…
“Not too shabby Mr. M,” I say, turning back to him with a grin. “Not too shabby at all.”
“Thank you, Ms. Murphy.” He’s already close, but then, suddenly, he’s closer, his hands on my hips, and I’m not about to complain. “I’m glad you approve of your prison.”
I bite my lip. “I think I’m going to enjoy it, actually. Your place is fucking beautiful.”
“You’re fucking beautiful, and during your time here, you’re mine,” he says, the possessive note in his voice sending a shiver down my spine.
But it isn’t foreboding.
No, it’s something far worse than that.
Those tingles I was hoping would zip across my skin when Alex flashed her baby blues my way? Well, they’re out in full force as Hunter begins to bunch the cotton skirt I put on for the plane in his hands, slowly drawing it up my calves.
I tilt my chin up, holding his gaze. “Yeah? So does that mean you don’t want me inviting Alex up for tea and cookies?”
“If she gets anywhere near your cookie, I’m challenging her to pistols at dawn.”
I start to laugh, but then he’s kissing me, a deep, hungry, laying-claim-to-what’s-his kiss that takes my breath away. His fingers tangle in my hair, tilting my head even farther back as his other hand splays across my lower back, pulling me closer.
He tastes like a hint of the champagne we had on the plane and desire, and smells like the cologne that’s been driving me crazy since the wedding. Every brush of his tongue against mine sends electricity racing down my spine, making my knees weak and my core clench with need.