Page 162 of Ewan

I’m sure there’s a second door in here somewhere, one that connects this room with the rest of the house.

The space is quiet, which doesn’t surprise me since the place is soundproof.

“Who lives in this house?”

He glances at me.

“No one in particular. My brother stops by once in a while.”

“Is he home right now?” I ask when he hands me my drink.

“I doubt it.”

I start to believe his brother is an invention.

“What’s his name?” I ask abruptly, gauging his reaction to see if he's lying or not.

“Callan,” he says curtly before we clink our glasses and both take a sip.

He drinks hard liquor. I’m enthralled with my cocktail.

It’s fresh and sweet with citrusy notes and a velvety feel like the room.

“What is this?”

“That’s a Negroni. Dry Gin, Campari, and sweet vermouth,” he says. “You like it?”

“Mm-hmm. It has a taste of orange, too.”

“That’s the candied orange peel.”

I take another sip.

“It’s delicious,” I say, the alcohol dimming my anxiety. “You know a lot of things,” I observe.

“I lived a little longer than you, so I learned stuff.”

I look around to find a place to sit. He pats the bed, and I reluctantly lower myself to the edge, my drink in hand.

“You don’t like this place,” he says, giving me a double take.

“It’s intimidating.”

He chuckles.

“You think? I haven’t even shown you what we can do in this room.”

“What exactly do you mean by that?”

Warmth soars through me as I lean back and prop myself on my hand, holding my drink up.

He likes how my chest pushes out and pulls up close. Standing in front of me, he runs his hand over my breasts without the slightest hesitation.

I’ve experienced a lot of this since I met him, but he can still surprise me.

My eyebrows wiggle up as he caresses me again, a deep need for me growing in his eyes.

He slides his fingers inside my cleavage and, without finesse, ruins my dress.

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