Page 67 of Halo (Fallen Angel 1)

Deciding to deny, deny, deny, I shook my head. “You’re full of shit. I wasn’t groaning.”

“Mhmm. Yes, you were.” Viper ran his eyes down to my very obvious erection and said, “What were you dreamin’ about, Angel?”

Like I was going to tell him. “Nothing.”

“Liar.” Viper rubbed the hair between his thumb and forefinger, his eyes narrowing on me. “Okay. We’ll play your way for now. You’ll tell me eventually.”

That made me laugh. “Pretty sure of yourself there, aren’t you?”

Viper leaned in close and put his lips to the corner of my mouth. “Not pretty sure. One hundred percent sure. I’m also sure of you. So unless you’re gonna tell me that the thrill of flying in a private jet got you all kinds of fucking excited, I’m going to place bets that the hard cock between your legs right now is for me.”

A rush of air left my lips, and I turned my head to try and get a taste of his. But Viper moved out of reach, releasing my hair and standing tall, and when I looked up at him, he smirked.

“Hold that thought till we get to the house.”

Shit. “Then what?”

Viper palmed the front of his jeans, drawing my eyes to his arousal.

“Then you’re gonna tell me what you were dreamin’ about.” Viper ran a hand through his hair. “You got five minutes, Angel. Don’t make me come back here and get you.”

That had been enough of a warning for me, and thirty minutes later, Slade was pulling the black Cadillac SUV that had been waiting at the private hangar to a stop in front of a set of wrought-iron gates that fenced off a driveway so long that I couldn’t see the actual house.

The drive between the airport and what I now knew to be Indian Creek Island had been eye-opening, to say the least. For one, the sun was out, miracle of all damn miracles. I was used to the blizzardy mess that was New York right now, and the idea that I’d be able to sit outside and soak up the warmth of the sun in February was really damn appealing. Second were the sheer sizes of the houses we’d been driving by to get to our final destination.

Jagger had been acting like a tour guide of sorts, explaining how Indian Creek Island was the most exclusive place to live in the Miami-Dade area. With approximately forty-one homes on this slice of paradise, it offered luxury and privacy to MGA’s clients and artists, and for the next three months, this was home.

I felt like I’d tripped and stumbled into an alternate universe—a really fucking great one.

“It’s good to be back in Miami,” Killian said as Slade wound down the window and punched in the code.

As the massive gates yawned open, and Slade put the SUV in drive, Jagger leaned across the second set of seats and said, “Wait till you see this place, Halo. It’s totally sick. Twelve bedrooms, ten bars, a swimming pool and Jacuzzi, a sky bar—”

“A recording studio,” Killian said, twisting around in the passenger seat. “A 3D movie room.”

“A helipad,” Slade added, as I peered out the window at the lush green foliage and palm trees that lined the entryway. “And anything it doesn’t have, you can get with one call.”

“Paradise,” Jagger said, and when I looked out the front windshield, an enormous palatial estate seemed to appear in the middle of all that greenery, as though it had sprung from the earth the same way the plants had.

Slade brought the car to a stop at the front entrance, which looked like some kind of Spanish bell tower. As I climbed out and craned my head back to take in the sheer size of it, I heard doors being slammed shut behind me as the guys continued talking about sun, sex, and—

“I call dibs on the guesthouse, losers.” Viper slung a massive duffel over his shoulder and then picked up another before heading to the stairs.

“That’s not fucking fair. You had it last time,” Slade said, as he hiked a backpack up his arm.

“Don’t matter. Rules are rules. Whoever calls it gets it.” Viper walked backward, a shit-eating grin on his face as he stared at the four of us who were standing at the back of the Cadillac.

Jagger grabbed his Louis Vuitton suitcase from the trunk and extended the handle. “Eh, less awkward that way. Now we don’t have to pretend to remember every new guy we run into in the kitchen.”

Viper flipped him off. “Doesn’t save me from tripping over every new chick out by the pool doing a downward fucking dog at the ass crack of dawn.”

“What can I say? I like someone who’s a little bit flexible.” Jagger laughed and then wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “Don’t worry, Halo. There’s plenty of rooms to go around—”

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