Page 172 of Chandelier Sin
Instinctively responding to a burning sensation on my back, I pivoted and peered upwards.
Oh, no.
Atticus was standing on the open stairwell, unscathed having survived our session in the dungeon, where he again pushed his limits and mine.
It had been four days since I last saw him, and I’d felt the loneliness of every one of them.
The memory of his touch, his kiss, his passion that had wielded a power over me in that small chamber brought goosebumps to my flesh.
I felt the anxiety that had settled in my chest over the last few months begin to ease up. I was emotionally exhausted from the continuous onslaught of stress. Yet, when my eyes found his all of that lifted off me like he’d flipped a switch.
Slowly, Atticus descended the winding staircase, soon reaching the bottom. When he saw the security guard heading our way, he motioned for the man to go away.
The guard gave a respectful nod and left us to it.
Atticus grabbed my forearm and hustled me toward a door, opened it, and then guided me into a room. His cologne that I’d come to crave hit me like a spell. It mingled with his natural scent,the resulting formula like a hazard, a chemical combination evoking emotion—evoking arousal, too.
It reminded me again of our explosive time in the dungeon.
He’d dressed down in jeans and a black shirt and it made him look casually handsome, but as refined as when he wore one of his designer suits, his masterful demeanor never wavering. His midnight- colored hair was ruffled to perfection, and his eyes sparkled with intrigue.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, seemingly annoyed.
“I could ask you the same thing.” I felt a rush of adrenaline from being in such close proximity. Our mutual attraction was rising to the fore as it always did. Especially when we’re alone in a room together.
This time was no different.
The sound of the music had faded, as though this room had been sound-proofed.
It was easier not to look at him. To turn my focus to this unusual space connected to the house, a modern take on a Victorian greenhouse. The exposed three walls were nestled within a lush garden and surrounded by towering palm trees that provided privacy. The freestanding waterfall in the corner was a lovely, calming touch.
“You didn’t know I’d be here,” Atticus said.
“Glad you’re still alive,” I snapped back.
“You don’t look happy about it.”
“Of course, I am. You were reckless, even though I am grateful.”
“You almost got raped by—”
I slapped my hand over his mouth. “I’d have scratched his eyes out first.”
Atticus peeled my hand off his mouth. “I approve.”
Seeing him again reminded me why I’d fallen hard for this mysterious man who kept turning up in my life—or me, his.
“You didn’t think to reach out to me?” I asked.
“I assumed you’d had enough of me.”
“You contradict yourself.” I pointed at him. “I never know what you’re thinking.”
“I’m usually thinking Eve Roper is in trouble.”
“This is my life.”
“Just think about that statement, Eve. You’ve normalized it. That’s the fucking problem.”
