The lobby is stunning, just like the photos, but even more opulent. I swallow down a burst of nerves as the hostess takes my coat and shows me through. I scan the room for him. He’s at the bar in a light-gray suit and white shirt, open at the neck, a drink in his right hand, speaking to the bartender. My heart thuds against my rib cage. I’ve taken five steps when that perfect profile angles toward me, and the world seems to stop turning. There’s so much desire and hunger in his eyes that it makes me dizzy. For the first time in my life, I feel like a princess. He watches me approach, a hint of a smile curving his lips, and I feel self-conscious, like I’m on a catwalk. Don’t trip, Lockhart.
“You look beautiful, Reagan,” he says, his voice a little husky. He lays his hands on my waist, draws me close, and kisses me on both cheeks. I can practically feel my pupils dilating as I drink him in. His beard is trimmed more neatly tonight, better displaying the smooth planes of his face, and his messy quiff is neatly brushed back. The open neck of his shirt reveals a hint of his pecs and the beginning of his tattoo. I imagine myself unfastening the rest of those buttons.
About the Author
Devon Birchley writes wild romances with a dirty twist. Her stories are full of sexy, dominant men, forbidden adventures, guilty pleasures and spine-tingling happily ever afters!
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