up to the second
floor and up another flight of stairs to the third. Opening a
white door, he ushers me into one of the bedrooms.
“This was my room,” he says quietly, standing by the
door and locking it behind him.
It’s large, stark, and sparsely furnished. The walls are
white as is the furniture; a spacious double bed, a desk
and chair, shelves crammed with books and lined with
various trophies for kickboxing by the look of them. The
walls are hung with movie posters: The Matrix, Fight
Club, The Truman Show, and two framed posters
featuring kick boxers. One is named Guiseppe DeNatale
—I’ve never heard of him.
But what catches my eye is the white pin board above
the desk, studded with a myriad of photographs, Mariners
pennants, and ticket stubs. It’s a slice of young Christian.
My eyes come back to the magnificent, beautiful man now
standing in the center of the room. He looks at me darkly,
brooding and sexy.
“I’ve never brought a girl in here,” he murmurs.
“Never?” I whisper.
He shakes his head.
I swallow convulsively, and the ache that has been
bothering me for the last couple of hours is roaring now,
raw and wanting. Seeing him standing there on the royal
blue carpet in that mask . . . it’s beyond erotic. I want him.
Now. Any way I can get him. I ha一ve to resist launching
myself at him and ripping his clothes off. He waltzes over
to me slowly.
“We don’t ha一ve long, Anastasia, and the way I’m
feeling right this moment, we won’t need long. Turn round.
Let me get you out of that dress.”
I turn and stare at the door, grateful that he’s locked it.
Bending down he whispers softly in my ear, “Keep the
mask on.”
mask on.”
I groan as my body clenches in response. He’s not
even touched me yet.
He grasps the top of my dress, his fingers sliding
against my skin, and the touch reverberates through my
body. In one swift move, he opens the zipper. Holding my
dress, he helps me to step out of it, then turns and drapes
it artfully over the back of a chair. Removing his jacket, he
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