Married to a powerful businessman feared all-over Portland, Mia Kingston has a reputation to uphold. As the CEO of MK, her own lingerie brand, everyone believes she has everything, including the perfect marriage most women envy.
She's beautiful, s...
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"Watch out, Madam!"
I almost miss a step when he grabs me deftly by the waist. Holy God! My heart race accelerates rampantly, but I know I'm safe whenever he's around.
Still intoxicated by the alcohol running through my veins, my lips stretch into a rather pathetic smile as I look at him.
"I know you'll protect me so why should I be too careful, huh?" I breathe out the trace of margaritas I had tonight, barely holding my vision.
The only thing I see is his ever serious face—gloomy yet beguiling—and the deep frown on his forehead that I'm used to by now.
How hot!
Do I want to touch him? Hell yeah. God knows how much I desire to run my fingers over his cheek, to touch his lips, and to... I gulp again.
For fuck's sake, Mia, you can't succumb to alcohol! You're better than this drunk lady here. My inner wisdom snaps some sense in me.
"Let me help you to your room," he whispers curtly, his voice thick and deep.
I close my eyes and instantly I'm in the air, his strong arms holding my body tightly in place. Automatically my arms encircle his neck, and my head easily rests into the hollow of his neck. Slowly he clambers the stairs, his steps calculated and precise.
Again that pathetic smile curves my lips at the feeling he evokes. A smoky and woodsy fragrance surrounds me as he ascends from the grand foyer, an awfully familiar scent of his. I think I like it very much now.
"Hmm... You smell wild," I murmur. "I fucking love your scent, Mr. Grumpy." I giggle, but he doesn't respond.
Does he wear cologne? Nah, he's not the type. So what is it?
He scrambles into my unnecessarily big bedroom and he lays me down carefully. On the king-size plush with so many pillows, a white duvet covers me upon his will. I suck in a deep breath, watching his every move despite my blurred vision.
As he edges back, my mood sinks in.
Why can't he just lay here with me? I don't wanna be alone. Not tonight after the terrifying evening I've had, and many unpleasant days I recall. If I could, I'd just hold him tightly and never let go until the new day arrives.
My drunken eyes are battling to stay awake, to watch him and his ember eyes that remind me of the blazing sun in the summer, yet as bewitching as the bonfire on the beach.
"Can I take your shoes off?" he asks hesitantly, his gaze on the bronze gladiator heels I'm wearing.
"By all means, Mr. Grumpy!" I dramatically fling my leg toward him.
I can barely gauge his reaction, but possibly he's giving me his signature solid look, a frown on his face.
"Oh, c'mon! Hurry," I mutter with a pout, thanking my pilate instructor for getting me this stamina for my leg to remain in the air.
