Page 210 of Devious Lies (Cruel Crown)
I stepped closer, pushing a small wave onto her. “What are the odds I was in that bed the night you snuck into Reed’s room? That you are Durga? That I am Ben? That you ended up in the elevator with me? That it got stuck? That you worked for me? That I ran into you at the soup kitchen? I can go on, but what are the odds?”
“High!” She threw both hands up and began ticking her fingers. “You are Reed’s brother, and Betty took over your room. Of course, you’d sleep there. There aren’t that many people in Eastridge, and even less using the Eastridge United app. Makes sense that you’d be Ben.”
She ignored my you’ve-gotta-be-kidding-me stare and continued, “I got a job from Reed, and he’s your brother. It was late, several people were trying to get into the elevator. There are power outages all the time during storms. And that’s the only soup kitchen in miles. Maybe there’s fate. Maybe there’s not, but are you really using us as proof it exists?”
“You—the girl who believes in magic words and starless skies—do not believe in fate?”
She lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know what I believe in, but it could all be a coincidence. Not fate.”
“It exists.” I closed the distance and wrapped a palm around the nape of her neck. “Fate is a hurricane. You think you know where it's going. You think you're safe. And just when you think you’ve weathered the storm, its path moves directly into yours. You, Emery Winthrop, are my hurricane. My fate. My Durga. My Tiger.”
I kissed her, running my fingers through her hair and tilting her head up to meet mine. Her fists clung to my shirt. A button flew off, but fuck if I cared.
She wrapped her legs around my waist. I brought my hands to her ass and pressed her against me. The waves pushed us deeper into the ocean. My cock fought to escape my pants, hard as fuck for her.
Emery pulled back and leaned her forehead against mine. She panted, still rubbing herself against me. Fuck. “We shouldn’t have done that.”
I knew she wouldn’t without knowing the full story, but I asked anyway, “Come back to me?”
“Not yet.”
Yet.
I’ll fucking take that.
Knock!
Knock!
“Coming!” I muttered, “Please, tell me you have not developed a habit of waking me up this early every morning.”
I padded barefoot to the door, passing a spare room, the living room, and the kitchen before reaching it. These upper-level suites were the real deal. Ida Marie once mentioned they went for a cool five-figures a night.
When finished, Nash’s penthouse would span two floors, the first story sharing real estate with two presidential suites. Delilah's and, now, mine.
I swung the door open, expecting Nash. A cherubic face greeted me. I recognized him from a meet and greet with the staff. They came in last week to get a lay of the land before employee training began.
“Hi.” I kept a palm on my door. “Can I help you?”
He hopped from one foot to the other. “Mr. Prescott told me to sit outside and wait until you wake up.”
“I'm sorry.” I blinked, taking in his uniform. “What? He wants you to babysit me?”
“No. Oops.” Cherub Face reached down and collected a giant blue cooler. The type hospitals used to transport organs. He shoved it into my arms. “Here. I was supposed to get this to you when you wake up, but I really have to pee.”
“Thanks, I think?” I opened the cooler, heartbeat a fucking goner at the sight of my packed lunch. My fingertips ghosted my lips, remembering my kiss with Nash two nights ago.
Cherub Face’s feet tapped against the hall’s carpet. “Can I use your restroom?”
Uhhh… Hard pass.
Letting a stranger inside equaled the premise of every slasher flick.
Ceiling: Oddly sensible of you. Gold star.
“No.” I pulled out the lunch bag and set the cooler on my entryway table. “But you can use Mr. Prescott’s.”
“Are you sure?”
