Page 48 of The Devils They Are

I see the six digits easily, burning them into my mind for some reason. There's a beep of approval, and Rylan pushes open the door, holding it for me.

Stepping inside the entrance, the air whooshes out of my lungs, eyes rising as I take in the structure. It's absolutely beautiful, not like I expected—especially not from someone like Max Astor.

Similar to the outside, the inside is full of classic features, the interior renovated to bring life back to the wooden floorboards and bannisters. Family photos hang on the walls, giving it a homely feel. There are even pictures of Tai and Hunter when the three of them were younger, still looking as suspicious as ever. They were clearly up to no good in the photo, a secret hidden behind their grins.

"My room is upstairs," he says, gesturing for me to follow.

Kicking off my shoes by the door, even though he doesn't ask me to, my feet groan under the soft, plush carpet of the stairs as we ascend. My fingers run along the polished railing as I take note of the large sky-window on the roof. The crystal patterned glass welcomes the afternoon light, and when I reach the landing, I spot large windows at either end of the hall as well.

Rylan takes a right, and just before the glass panel, he stops at a door. Pausing for a moment, he gives me a warm grin, before opening the door.

Instantly, I'm breathless again. His bedroom is light and airy, full of blues and grays. There's a large balcony on the other side of the room, overlooking the front entrance of the grounds.

To my left, there's a large window above his desk, mounted bookshelves full of different kinds of literature. And on the right, his king-sized bed is donned with matte black matching bedding.

It's nothing like I expected, but it's still Rylan-coded.

In an open space between the bed and the balcony door, a 75-inch television is affixed to the wall with floating shelves holding his beloved PS5 in front of two beanbags.

"Your room is amazing," I murmur, glancing around. "I'm just surprised you don't have your own bathroom and staff in here." It's a joke, but Rylan walks back to the door, opening it.

"See that door across from us? That's my bathroom. It also has a walk-in closet attached."

Of course, it does…

Shaking my head, I head over to the beanbags, eyeing the console. "Still playing COD?"

"Yeah," he answers, making me jump when he appears right behind me.

I resist the urge to spin around, grossly aware of how close we are.

"I'll play you sometime," I offer, silently deflecting from the nerves that burn from our close proximity.

Rylan laughs, his breath tickling the back of my shoulders. "Think you can beat me?" he teases.

Finally, I turn around, facing him. There's no way I'm shrinking away from a challenge—even if I've never played COD before in my life. How hard could it be, really?

We're even closer than I imagined, barely three inches between us. My head tilts back so I can find his eyes easily. "Absolutely."

A wicked smile appears on his face. "Care to make a bet?"

"What's in it for me if I win?" I ask.

Rylan leans closer, and for a second, his eyes dart down to my lips. As quickly as it happens, the baby blues shoot back to my eyes. "Whatever you want."

"That's playing a dangerous game, Rylan."

"Maybe I like danger, Bexley."

What the hell are we doing?

So close, I can feel his breath on my lips. I find myself unable to tear myself away, despite knowing that I'm in trouble territory. My body is tense, urging me to reach out and touch him.

Every single reason why I shouldn't be here has vanished, and I'm mesmerized by his eyes and lips, wanting to just brush my fingers along the soft, pink edges to see if they feel exactly like they look.

For the second time today, my body just does what it wants, giving in as my thumb gently strokes his bottom lip for all of about two seconds before Rylan grabs my hand.

"Bex," he murmurs, running his finger along the inside of my wrist. "Don't tempt me. You'll regret the end result."

---