Author: Alyse Zaftig
Category: Paranormal
Go to read content：https://readnovelfree.com/p/32470_78
Resisting the urge to curl my fingers into his shirt and drag him closer, I shook my head. “Get to know each other when you’re sober.” Thankfully, my voice sounded steady and firm.
He blinked, and I watched as it dawned on him that I was deadly serious, a look of disbelief sliding over his face, then disappearing under a mask of indifference. “Of course.” He straightened at once, turning away from me and shoving a hand through his hair.
“I’m going to need a room,” I suggested, affecting a light, airy voice. As if I didn’t have a care in the world. As if the man in front of me hadn’t knocked me sideways, realigning everything I thought to be true.
He regarded me with a watchful eye. “How long are you planning on staying?”
Pushing away from the wall, I yanked my inner diva up by her bra straps and strolled over to him. Casting my eyes down his body, I catalogued his strong legs, trim waist, and—with a twist of my neck—his firm ass. “As long as I want to.” At no point had my instructions ever said I wasn’t allowed to have a little fun, and after everything I’d been through this last year, I was overdue a karma booty call.
Whispers: Interactive StoriesMake your own choices and decide what happens next!
And Bastian Jewelcrest was shaping up to be the perfect candidate. Confident, easy on the eye, and wouldn’t know commitment if it reached up and smacked him between the eyes, or so I’d heard from the few people I’d grilled before accepting this case.
Putting a little swing into my hips, I walked past him, heading to the large, sweeping staircase. When his eyes dropped, gluing themselves to my rounded derriere, I allowed myself a small smile. First, to get the work out of the way, then a little fun. And God knows, I needed some fun in my life.
Chapter 2
Bastian
I cracked open an eye, squinting against the bright light that was busy burning holes into my retinas. The bed beneath me was hard—lumpy—my cheek smashed up against rough wood, a trail of drool having tracked down my cheek and dried in an itchy trail. A crick in my neck had me rolling over onto my back. My hand hit the floor, eyes staring at the ceiling.
Wait. Floor? A qu
ick survey and it was confirmed. I’d passed out just feet from the comfort of my bed, choosing—for some bizarre reason—to bed down on the floor for the night. My mouth drier than a dragon’s scales at high noon, I swallowed, wincing at the bitter taste of day old brandy while scrubbing a hand over my forehead as though it might jog my lackluster memory.
There’d been brandy. Lots of it. Some sulking and a hell of a lot of self-loathing. Nothing new there.
Pushing up from the floor, I staggered to my feet, swaying on legs as weak as a hatchling. I was missing something. Think!
Huh. You’re awake now, my dragon snorted. Though, it was more of a deafening roar, designed to send my head spinning and fingers twitching as I hot footed it over to the bathroom to hunch over the sink.
Moaning, I splashed ice-cold water on my face, eyeing the man in the mirror for answers. Bloodshot eyes stared back, none the wiser.
“What the fuck happened last night?” Stripping off my clothes, I shoved on a pair of sweatpants, intending to sweat out the hangover the old fashioned way.
You don’t remember?
No. But you do, I snapped back inside my head, his smug tone grating on my already frazzled nerves. Why was he choosing to talk to me now? I gave up before the question had even formed, the pain inside my skull making it impossible to think clearly.
His low chuckle had me storming out of the room, the door slamming behind me as I strode down the stairs, taking them two at a time. A good sparring session with the bag would send this hangover reeling into submission.
Cursing a blue streak, I made my way into the kitchen, wrenched open the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of water from the many stacked on the shelf. A soft gasp had me reeling around, up on the balls of my feet, arms raised and fists ready.
A halo of light brown hair surrounded a soft, rounded face. Mousey brown, someone callous might call it, but in reality it was a glorious golden shade when caught by sunlight, as it was now. Hovering in front of the window, a coffee mug clasped in front of an ample chest—which happened to be displayed to perfection by a fitted, deep blue blouse—stood a woman. Her dark brown eyes clashed with mine, widening as she took me in.
I closed my eyes briefly, counted to ten, then opened them again. Still there. My arms lowered to my sides, adrenaline evaporating in an instant. I opened my mouth. Nothing came out. Who was she? It all came crashing back, almost splitting my head in two, as my dragon gave my memory a not so gentle helping hand. The brandy, the bright idea to find a mate, her, showing up at my door. “Faye.” It came out on an undignified croak.
“You remember then? I wasn’t sure that you would, what with you being three sheets to the wind last night,” she murmured, relaxing back against the counter and taking a sip of her coffee. Her eyes watched me quietly over the rim of her mug, assessing and judging.
“Of course I remember,” I half snarled, twisting off the bottle top and taking a swig of water.
Her gaze tracked my movements, resting briefly on my bare chest but not lingering anywhere near long enough for my liking, before her head turned away to survey the room. The sharp sting to my ego didn’t go unnoticed. I only want her attention because I might take her as my mate.
Whatever you want to tell yourself, Romeo, my dragon growled, not sounding too impressed with my argument. She’s nice.
How would you know? I shot back, unwilling to admit that I halfway agreed with him. Not that it would do me any good—he was inside me, he could tell what I was thinking. That he could keep his thoughts from me—and he chose to do so—only served to widen the breach between us.
A pause, then, I’d say trust me, but you’d only do the opposite.
He had a point there.