Total pages in book: 39
Estimated words: 37324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 187(@200wpm)___ 149(@250wpm)___ 124(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 187(@200wpm)___ 149(@250wpm)___ 124(@300wpm)
The winter air was sharp and raw as it filled my lungs. I dragged in deep breaths of it anyway. I needed the sting. Needed the cold to burn through the heat crawling under my skin. My pulse was still hammering, and my body was strung tight like wire.
By the time I slid into the driver’s seat, I was barely holding it together.
I pulled out, and as I drove, the silence in the car stretched thick. The heater whirred, the wind howled, and the headlights cut through the dark as I eased into the traffic on the bridge. She didn’t look at me or speak, appearing lost in thought. I could see her reflection in the window—her eyes on the city, looking but not really seeing.
Finally, I heard the warm, husky voice I loved so much. Normally, I basked in the beautiful sound. But tonight, it pummeled the wall of my control, making the crack widen.
“Saxon, I—”
“Don’t,” I snapped, my voice low and rough.
Her head jerked toward me. “Pardon?”
“Don’t talk,” I growled, still watching the road. “Not right now.”
Confusion laced her tone. “Why not?”
“Because if I hear your sultry, sexy voice much longer,” I growled, my control fraying with every word, “I’m gonna lose my shit. And I won’t be able to stop myself from pulling over and fucking you right here in this car.”
Her breath hitched, and my knuckles tightened around the wheel.
“And I’m not doing that,” I went on, forcing the words out evenly. “Our first time’s not gonna be some quick fuck on the side of the road.”
Silence fell again, even heavier than before.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her blush blooming up her neck, staining her cheeks a deep pink. She didn’t argue. Didn’t tease. Didn’t even speak another word. She just folded her hands in her lap and stared out the window, lips parted like she was struggling to breathe evenly.
For a while, the only sounds were the hum of the engine and the steady rhythm of her soft exhales.
The longer we drove, the more her shoulders eased, though she kept stealing quiet glances my way. I didn’t speak. I couldn’t—not yet. Every part of me was strung too tight, wired between restraint and the need to touch her again.
The city loomed over in front of us in a blur of lights. Then the splashes of yellow were right above us, each streetlamp giving me a clear view of her face for a few seconds. I drove on autopilot, muscle memory steering us through the late traffic until I turned onto my street lined with glass and concrete. Ivy was lost in her thoughts, probably trying to decode whatever the hell had just happened between us. She didn’t notice that I hadn’t taken the usual route to her neighborhood.
When I eased the car into the underground garage beneath my building, she frowned and straightened in her seat. “Where are we?”
“My place.”
13
IVY
The air in the SUV was thick, charged in a way that made it hard to breathe. The chemistry between us was too strong to ignore.
“Your place?” I echoed, shifting in my seat.
Saxon’s mouth curved into one of his half smiles. “Yeah.”
“I guess this is as good a place to talk as any,” I mumbled.
His answering grunt was all the confirmation I got before he pulled into a numbered spot and killed the engine. My heart raced as he slid out of the driver’s side and came around to mine. When he opened the door, I stayed frozen for a second, staring up at him.
“You always bring girls home without asking first?” I tried for humor, my tone lighter than I felt.
“Only the one I don’t plan on letting go. And I’ve never brought another woman here at all.”
I blinked up at him, my breath hitching in my chest.
“C’mon, sunshine.”
He helped me out of the car, his hand firmly around mine as he led me toward the elevator, then pressed the button for the top floor.
I was too aware of him during the ride up. Of the way his chest rose and fell slowly and how his other hand flexed at his side like he was resisting the urge to touch me again.
“You’re quiet,” I finally whispered.
His answer was low enough that I felt it more than heard it. “Trying not to smash what little control I have left.”
The car slowed. By the time the doors slid apart, my panties were drenched in anticipation.
Saxon guided me forward with a hand at the small of my back. His touch was light, but my body reacted like he’d branded me.
We stepped into a wide-open living space—floor-to-ceiling windows framing the glitter of the city below. His apartment was as impressive—and as unapologetically masculine—as he was.
He set his keys on a console, then locked the door behind us. The sound of the bolt sliding home echoed through the space.