Page 17 of Craving Danger

Holy shit.

My mouth drops open as I glance at the impressive chandelier, the marble statues of women, and a lounge chair I wouldn’t mind stealing.

I’m still staring at the foyer bathed in expensive décor when the man who opened the door says, “The main bedroom is on the third floor.”

“Oh, right. Thank you.”

When I walk toward a grand staircase, I notice the man doesn’t follow me.

Yay! Maybe I can explore a little.

I take the stairs to the second floor and quickly peek up and down the hallway. The walls are covered with beautiful black and gold wallpaper.

Not wanting to push my luck, I head up to the third floor and as I approach an open door, I feel like I’m intruding on forbidden ground.

The moment I walk into the main bedroom, my mouth drops open again and I gape at Mr. Vitale’s personal space.

The bedroom is easily three times the size of mine.

Wow. The man has good taste.

A king-size bed is positioned by floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the city. Where the walls are black, the bed covers are a soft cream color. I move closer and trail my fingers over the silk, thinking this is where Mr. Vitale sleeps.

To the left of the bed is a lounge chair covered with black velvet and a small coffee table. A neatly folded newspaper lies on the table, and an image of Mr. Vitale reading the paper while sipping his morning coffee flashes through my mind.

Lucky bastard.

I glance into the bathroom, and my eyebrows fly up when I see stairs leading down to a sunken tub that can rival the best of jacuzzies.

I’d give one of my kidneys for a chance to soak in that baby.

There’s a huge shower that can easily fit five people. The thing even has a bench and a fern in it.

The twin basins are made of black marble, and the round mirrors make me green with envy.

Stepping out of the bathroom, I head to the walk-in closet, and I let out a jealous huff when I see all the space the man has for his clothes.

“God, it’s unfair that someone as grumpy as him gets to live in this beautiful house,” I mutter as I unzip the garment bags. Hanging the suits and making sure nothing is out of place, I continue to rant, “Jesus, he has more shoes than I do.”

Which is saying a lot, as I have an out-of-control shoe addiction.

When I’m done, and every suit is neatly in the closet, I glance at all the sweatpants and T-shirts but don’t notice any jeans.

There’s a display case in the middle of the walk-in closet, and I take a moment to look at Mr. Vitale’s cufflinks, wristwatches, and ties.

Not wanting to be caught snooping, I let my eyes feast on all the beauty as I make my way back to the stairs.

I expected Mr. Vitale’s house to be cold and soulless, but instead, I’m pleasantly surprised.

When I reach the first floor, there’s no sign of the man who opened the door, and unable to suppress my curious nature, I walk toward a living room that’s made up of my wildest fantasies.

The TV takes up an entire wall, and black velvet couches furnish the room. It doesn’t look like they’ve been sat on.

There are ferns that remind me of the plants I saw inParadisoand a glass table that holds a crystal decanter filled with an amber liquid, which I assume is some kind of expensive whiskey.

Movement draws my attention to the expansive windows and sliding doors, and I see a group of men out on the patio.

Instantly, my curiosity is doused, and fear creeps into my bones.

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