Page 27 of Ruthless Dream

I hold the door open. “Not everyone lives in penthouses in this city.”

I got the keys this morning, deciding that no matter what, I’d stay a bit longer in New York. Especially since the plans Cormac and I have can’t be rushed.

“You live here?” The statement is doubtful. A second later, I realize it’s not because she thinks the place is uninhabitable. “You’re Irish, aren’t you?”

“Born and raised in Dublin.”

“You were at the party last week.” In the light I notice her eyes are a lot more shrewd than I first thought. “In the courtyard.”

“I’m honored you remember, princess.”

Adeline makes a face at the nickname. Her steps are slow and cautious. She pauses on the stairwell, looking back at me. I motion for her to keep moving.

It’s a fifth floor walkup, and the front door is scuffed, but the inside is clean and furnished. The living room and kitchen are essentially one, and the one bedroom has an ensuite.

Adeline surveys the space, and I pause next to her, fixing the strap of her dress.

“What are we doing here?” she asks. “We’ve got the⁠—”

“Take your dress off.”

Adeline’s chest rises and falls. I swear the curves of her breasts are taunting me.

“Take it off.”

The open back did little to protect her against the brick wall. I hated looking at the red, angry skin on our walk up here.

“And then what?” she tests.

“And then you’ll get on the bed.”

Her body tightens. Like she’s trying to pull herself together, to make herself as still and silent as possible, in an attempt to hide. But I’ve seen her, and I won’t be letting her go anytime soon.

“So I won’t be opening my legs willingly.”

I step closer, our chests touching. “Take your dress off and show me what the fuck I just saved from that piece of shit Jack.”

Her eyes dart to the door behind me.

I cock my head.

She takes a step back, the straps falling down on their own since the dress is ruined. It glides over her chest, unveiling her breasts. She didn’t wear a bra tonight.

Hunger flickers in me, but I tamp it down.

She continues to walk backward, her eyes never leaving mine as she enters the bedroom. The dress falls to the floor. She steps out of it, wearing only a thong and her silver, skinny heels.

The back of her legs run into the edge of the bed and she freezes. A second goes by, and then she lifts her foot.

“No, leave them,” I tell her of the shoes. “Sit down.”

She sits.

I stand over her, completely clothed. “Move back.”

Awkwardness vibrates off her, but she does as I tell her, scooting back until her legs hang over the mattress.

She jumps when my hand wraps around one ankle. I shake off a shoe and then work on the other. Her eyes blink wildly up at the ceiling.