Page 163 of The Invite
He arches a brow. “Did you lock the backyard door, Nessa?”
“It’s always lock…” I trail off as a light bulb goes off in my head. Gasping loudly, I screech, “That’s the door you’ve been using to get into my house this whole time?”
“Didn’t your parents teach you to lock all doors?”
“We had servants,” I absently answer, and freeze at my mistake. Glancing at him, I lose hope of taking it back. Augustus isn’t one to miss any crumbs I give him about my history.
“So, you’re from a rich family?” he casually asks, pulling me toward his bike sitting regally at the end of my driveway.
“No,” I say too quickly. “I mean, my father lost all our money because of his gambling addiction.”
“Where’s your mom?”
“My parents passed away in a car accident, Augustus.” Not even a flicker of sympathy crosses his ever-so-monstrous eyes. “I don’t like to talk about them.”
Any other person would back off. Or offer words of condolences.
He does neither.
“Why do you hide their photo frame?” Curiosity drips off his tongue. “Because it hurts to look at it and you miss them? Or they never meant anything to you?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“Because I’ve developed an unhealthy obsession to knoweverythingabout you.”
“No one knows everything about anyone.”
He comes closer, circles an arm around my waist, and hauls me up against his chest. “Iwillknow everything about you. I promise you that.”
“It’s impossible.”
“I’ll prove you wrong.”
“Does it apply both ways?”
His white teeth press down on the corner of his mouth, like he’s pleased and fighting off a smirk. “Yes. I’ll be an open book…for you.”
Unfettered access to him? Scary. Yet it’s what I’ve been craving ever since meeting him, which tells me that it’s a very dangerous slippery slope.
“Hmm,” I simply hum.
He cocks a brow.
“I’m not accepting that offer.”
A chuckle slips past his throat. “Chickenshit.”
“I am not.” I’m pissed he figured me out so quickly.
Picking me up, he closes the small distance between us and his bike in two long strides. Setting me down, he challenges, “Guess you’ll have to prove me wrong.”
My sharp comeback dies a swift death as I become tongue-tied when he throws one leg over his bike and straddles it. He does it so effortlessly, like he’s done it a million times. Up close, the undoubtedly expensive sports bike is a hundred times more intimidating, beastly, and magnetic.
All black to match the dark aura of the man who owns it. I can feel him watching me stare and admire his ride. He doesn’t interrupt as I get my fill of it. I bet he can tell I’m a novice in all things Augustus and his bike.
I didn’t even know motorcycles could drive a woman wild until I stumbled on the thirst trap videos by bikers on the internet.
No one came close to exuding raw masculine power like Augustus. I bet his bike is one of a kind. I feel lightheaded while a strong pulse forms between my thighs.
