#1.2

Black McLaren pulled up beside me before it reached the rolled-down

passenger window and the owner in question.

My heart slowed a fraction of a beat.

Dark hair. Whiskey eyes. A face so exquisitely chiseled it could’ve been

sculpted by Michelangelo himself.

Christian Harper.

CEO of an elite security company, owner of the Mirage, the building

where I lived, and quite possibly the most beautiful, most dangerous man I’d

ever met.

I had nothing except instinct to back up the dangerous part of my

assessment, but my gut had never steered me wrong.

I inhaled a small breath. Released. And smiled.

“Mr. Harper.” My polite reply was met with dry amusement.

Apparently, only he was allowed to address people by their last names

like we all lived in a giant, stuffy boardroom.

Christian’s eyes grazed the snowflakes drifting onto my shoulder before

they met mine again.

My heart slowed another fraction of a beat.

Tiny crackles of electricity hummed to life beneath the weight of his

gaze, and it took every ounce of willpower not to step back and shake off the

strange sensation.

“Gorgeous weather for a walk.” His observation was even drier than his

stare.

Heat rushed over the back of my neck. “It’s not that bad.”

It was only then that I noticed the alarming rate at which the snow was

thickening. Perhaps the blizzard forecast had been a little off on its estimate.

“My apartment is only twenty minutes away,” I added to…I didn’t know.

Prove that I wasn’t stupid by trekking through the city in a snowstorm, I

guess.

In hindsight, perhaps I should’ve taken the Metro.

“The blizzard’s already rolling in, and there are ice patches all over the

sidewalks.” Christian rested his forearm on the steering wheel—an action that

had no right being as attractive as it was. “I’ll give you a ride.”

He also lived at the Mirage, so it made sense. In fact, his apartment was

only a floor above mine.

Still, I shook my head.

The thought of sitting in a confined space with Christian, even for a few

Minutes, filled me with a strange sense of panic.

“I’m okay. I’m sure you have better things to do than chauffeur me

around, and walking clears my head.” The words spilled out in a rush. I

didn’t ramble often, but when I did, nothing short of a nuclear blast could

stop me. “It’s good exercise, and I need to test out my new snow boots

anyway. This is the first time I’ve worn them all season.” Stop talking. “So,

as much as I appreciate your offer, I have to politely decline.”

I finished my near incoherent mini speech on a note of breathlessness.

I was getting better at saying no, but I still over-explained myself every

time.

“Does that make sense?” I added when Christian remained silent.

An icy gust of wind chose that moment to whip past. It tossed the hood of

my coat off my head and burrowed past my layers into my bones, sparking a

burst of involuntary shivers.

I’d been sweating bullets in the studio, but now, I was so cold even the

memory of warmth was frosted with blue.

“It does.” Christian finally spoke, his tone and expression unreadable.

“Good.” The word shook through my chattering teeth. “Then I’ll let you

—”

The soft click of a door unlocking interrupted me.

“Get in the car, Stella.”

I got in the car.

I told myself it was because the temperature had somehow dropped

twenty degrees in the space of five minutes, but I knew that was a lie.

It was the sound of my name, in that voice, delivered with such calm

authority my body obeyed before I could protest.

For a man I barely knew, he had more power over me than almost anyone

else.

Christian pulled away from the curb and turned a dial on the dashboard.

A second later, heat blasted from the vents and warmed my frigid skin.

The car smelled like rich leather and expensive spices, and it was eerily

clean. No wrappers, no half-empty coffee cups, not even a speck of lint.

I sank deeper into my seat and glanced at the man next to me.

“You always get your way, don’t you?” I asked lightly, trying to dissolve

the inexplicable tension blanketing the air.

He slid a brief glance in my direction before refocusing on the road. “Not

always.

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