Fall Into You (Morally Gray, #2)(12)

Holding her gaze, I step off the elevator, moving closer until I’m looking down into her eyes. I can tell she’s intimidated, but she refuses to step back or break eye contact. She stands her ground like a lioness defending her territory, all wild beauty and savage pride.

The tiny beads of sweat glistening on her hairline are so pretty, it’s like art.

Jesus. Listen to yourself. Get a grip!

I growl, “Room 410. It’s left down the hall. Walk.”

She blinks, then frowns. “Walk?”

“Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Arching her brows, she says tartly, “I’m sorry, are you under the mistaken impression that you’re in charge here?”

It’s a good thing I don’t have problems with my coronary arteries. If I did, she would have already given me a heart attack from stress.

My tone firm and dark, I say, “I want to watch you walk down the hall.”

She thinks about that, then smiles. “Say please.”

I seethe at her silently. Her response is to smile wider.

“All right, Shay. You leave me no choice.” I pick her up and throw her over my shoulder, then stride down the hallway toward the room. She squawks and kicks her legs.

“Stop bleating. You sound like a sheep.”

“Put me down!”

“I’m surprised you’re not enjoying this, considering the kind of books you’re into. Don’t all those he-man romance heroes of yours toss their women around like sacks of flour?”

“I never said I was into romance novels!”

“Yet you knew all the culprits I mentioned.”

“Those aren’t culprits, they’re characters!”

“Famous for their misdeeds, hence they’re culprits.”

She stops struggling and goes quiet. “Wait. You’re trying a different tactic to get me to change my mind, aren’t you?”

“Is it working?”

“No.”

“What a gigantic surprise.”

Hanging onto the back of my suit jacket, she mutters, “You don’t have to be sarcastic, you big jerk.”

I’m glad I’m carrying her, otherwise she might glimpse my huge smile.





Shay





He unlocks the room with an electronic card key, then strides inside, letting the door slam shut behind us.

I’m upside down, so I don’t have the best view of the place, but I can tell it’s a suite. A large main room opens onto a smaller dining space. A lighted nook displays a piece of contemporary art. There’s a wet bar beside an enormous TV and an unlit fireplace in the living area across from a sofa and a pair of chairs.

Cole bypasses all that. He walks straight into the bedroom and flips me over onto my back on the bed.

I stare up at him standing at the edge of the mattress gazing down at me and try not to have a stroke.

Shucking off his suit jacket, he murmurs, “Those pretty eyes of yours are very wide, sweetheart. It’s still not too late.”

Ignoring the thrill hearing him call me “sweetheart” sent through my body, I pretend a calm I don’t feel. “Say that one more time and lose your testicles.”

He makes a clucking sound of disapproval. “Shame. I think they might come in handy soon.”

He drops his jacket to the floor and starts to work on the buttons of his shirt.

I don’t know what I was expecting. Actually, I wasn’t expecting anything at all. I’ve been too focused on my own anxiety to think about what he might look like under his clothes. But the moment Cole’s shirt parts under his fingertips and he pulls it open to reveal his naked chest, I think I know the feeling the architects of St. Peter’s Basilica in the Vatican were trying to inspire when they built the place.

Awe.

I sit upright, lay my handbag aside, and stare at him with my heart in my throat and my mouth hanging open.

“Now that’s a new expression. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were at a loss for words.”

I slide to the edge of the mattress and lightly place both my hands flat on his majestic abs. They contract under my touch, a ripple of hard muscle that’s both masculine and intoxicating.

I whisper, “Wow.”

It’s insufficient, but it’s all I’ve got.

Cole puts a knuckle under my chin and tilts my head up so I’m looking into his eyes. After examining my expression, he murmurs, “Thank you.”

“No, thank you.” I look back at his chiseled body, at his pecs and biceps and smooth, golden skin, and produce a small, semihysterical laugh. “God. No wonder you’re so arrogant. You look like you were created by artificial intelligence to star in action movies.”

“Arrogant?”

“Oh, please. You’re the arrogance poster boy, and you know it. How much time do you spend in the gym?”

“None.”

I scoff. “You’re telling me all this sculpted muscle comes naturally? No way.”

“I didn’t say it came naturally. I said it didn’t come from a gym. Take off your panties.”

My breath catches. I glance up at him to find him looking at me with hooded eyes and dangerous intensity.

“Can we turn out the lights?”