Page 2 of Release Me
‘Sorry.’ I raise my hands. ‘I didn’t realise there was anyone in here.’
A woman turns to face me, spinning on glittering heels that accentuate her long, sculpted legs.
The wind whooshes from my chest as I drink her in slowly.
Fuck—those eyes. They’re enormous, emerald, and utterly fucking arresting. They meet mine with an intensity that’s sopowerful it feels like a head on collision–shocking and soul-shattering in equal measure.
She’s breathtaking—literally. The air continues to rush from my lungs, my heart thunders in my chest, and for once in my life, I’m lost for one of my famous flirtatious lines.
This woman, this ethereal creature, possesses the kind of beauty that belongs on the pages of glossy magazines. She looks untouchable. Airbrushed to perfection—except she needs no such illusion.
A lavish ivory pencil dress clings reverently to her body, sculpting her form like fine art. She’s perfectly polished, impossibly poised—she isn’t just beautiful. She’s fucking devastating. A vision designed to ruin men.
‘It’s okay.’ She shrugs. Her lips kick upwards, revealing her gorgeous white Hollywood smile, but it doesn’t fully reach her eyes. No, her eyes are hollow. Haunted even.
Prominent cheekbones gleam with a luminosity beneath the sunset slanting in through the window. Her flawless skin is like porcelain. Her glossy blonde hair is swept into a classy upstyle, with a few stray strategically placed tendrils to soften the severity of it. She assesses me warily, her full, plump lips twisting into a position of uncertainty as we take each other in.
Instinctively, I gravitate towards her. My eyes rake over every inch of this goddess-like creature. White tipped, manicured fingers clutch a crystal glass like her life depends on it. Finally, my tongue remembers its purpose in life—well, one of them anyway. ‘Looks like we both had the same idea, sneaking away from the party.’
‘I’m not much of a party person,’ she confesses in a soft American accent. She must be here for the bride. Dear God, is it possible that Rebekka Remington has a hot friend? Cousin? Sister? She’s older than me, not that she looks it, butshe radiates an aura of someone who’s seen too much, experienced too much, and has the battle scars to prove it.
Whoever this woman is, the urge to learn more about her consumes me from the inside out.
Fuck, maybe Mrs De Courcy is right. Double dating doesn’t sound quite so ludicrous if it involves this stunning creature.
‘You mustn’t have been going to the right parties.’ I wink, and my lips tip up in a grin.
Her mouth stretches into a slow smile, a real one this time, if the twinkle in her eyes is anything to go on. ‘Why do I get the feeling you could take me to one?’
‘Ah—I see you’re astute as well as utterly arresting.’ I raise my whiskey in a silent toast.
Her smile widens further, but she shakes her head like she doesn’t agree. Either she’s unaccustomed to being complimented, which is hard to believe given her appearance—or she struggles to accept said compliments.
Her gaze drops to her glass, and I notice she’s in need of a refill.
‘Let me get you a drink.’ A Persian rug swallows my footsteps asI strut towards the huge mahogany desk, forcing back a million graphic images of all the things I’d love to do to this woman on top of it. I grab the decanter and stride back to her as quickly as my feet will carry me, terrified she’ll fade like a mirage if I don’t move fast enough. .
‘Is that Macallan?’ She eyes the whisky suspiciously.
I snort. ‘No. It’s much better.’
‘Doubtful.’ She arches an eyebrow and smirks.
‘Trust me.’ I pour a generous measure into her glass. Her feminine scent floods my senses, vanilla and amber, soft and decadent, like something I want to taste on my tongue forever.
‘I don’t trust easily,’ she admits, her huge eyes meetingmine again. Electricity courses through the air between us, pulsing like an invisible short circuit.
‘Smart woman,’ I concede, filling my own glass without breaking eye contact. ‘Who hurt you?’
Her smile freezes on her face, and that hollowness returns to her eyes. She huffs out a breath. ‘Where do I start?’
‘Give me a list of names and I’ll take care of them.’ I’m only half-joking. My brother Killian is the CEO of Europe’s most successful security company. His men are highly skilled, lethal and discreet.
‘If only.’ She reaches up to tuck a glossy lock of hair behind her ear. ‘Thanks for the offer though.’ She forces another small smile. I preferred the genuine one. Suddenly, it’s my mission to coax it out of her again.
‘Try the whisky. It’s better than sex.’ I arch an eyebrow, nodding towards her drink.
Her pupils flare, and then she tosses a version of my line right back in my face. ‘You mustn’t have been having sex with the right people.’
