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“Graves?” Chloe asked.
There was a silence, then she heard him mutter, “Lights on.” The lamps flicked on: two matching ones beside his bed and a sleek, tall one by the window drapes. In the background Chloe could hear the virtual butler of his intelligent home speak in a British accent: Yes, sir.
And as her eyes adjusted to the light, her heart became a kettledrum in her chest.
Graves stood by the end of his massive king-size bed, wearing nothing but dark slacks draped low over his narrow hips, and his nude, muscled torso glowing golden under the lamplight. For a split second, his face went blank.
“Chloe?”
“Graves?”
Her stomach tumbled at the riveting sight he made, over six feet two inches of gorgeous, partly nude male. His eyes shone dark amber, and the effect of them was immediate as they locked on hers from across the room. His ebony hair tumbled recklessly atop his head. His neck was thick and corded, and she could see the flex and ripple of muscles as he started forward.
Oh, God. Predator. Large, lean, feline. Coming toward her.
Her braless nipples pushed against her strapless dress as she took in his amazing physical form, slowly advancing toward her, making her heart accelerate with each step.
He was so athletic and so mesmerizing, she could hardly think, couldn’t even move to save herself.
Graves was ripped, hard, and also…pissed. A pair of handcuffs dangled from three curled fingers of his left hand, and Chloe stared, horrified at the sight. A hand flew to her mouth. “What are you doing with that? Are you expecting someone?” she gasped, genuinely dumbstruck.
He stared at her from beneath drawn eyebrows and advanced the last steps in that slow, panther-like way that made her want to run for cover, shoving the handcuffs into his pants pocket. “What the fuck are you doing here, Chlo?”
“Returning your car. My date got canceled and I didn’t think you’d mind if I dropped it off sooner…”
When he reached her, he leaned over her in a way she could tell was meant to intimidate, his eyes stormy and wild as he assessed her with nerve-racking intensity. “I didn’t ask you to come here. How’d you get up here?”
“I followed you. You told me to come up when I rang,” she said, loathing that her voice shook.
His spicy, elegant scent did powerful things to her libido. Unnerved out of her mind, she stepped aside with a calming breath and distracted herself by taking in his bedroom. A year ago it had been featured in Architectural Digest. The expert touches of the best decorators in Chicago, one of whom Chloe knew very well, graced every corner of the whole apartment, from small Picasso drawings on the walls of his bedroom, to gold-leaf sculptures among the bookshelves. The look was contemporary and simple, maybe even austere, with gray walls, gold velvet drapes, and black woods, but it was elegant and expensive looking. What really knocked his home out of the park, she’d been told, was the intelligence wired down to the heated flooring. Every room was rumored to contain computer systems so advanced they rivaled Tony Stark’s in Iron Man.
It was all so fine, so calculated, so…Graves.
And as for the man himself? Oh, God, she was actually in his bedroom. His private lair. And she was dying to be with him. Her every forbidden fantasy since she was fifteen had been with him. She imagined him laying her on his bed and kissing her lips, her throat, the tip of her breasts…
He stepped in front of her again and pulled her chin up, his pupils dilated. “Leave. Don’t ever, ever, come back here. Ever.”
His lips as he spoke were so plush and mobile she could only stare at them, hypnotized, her legs trembling weakly. Dropping his hand, he took a step back and flexed his fingers at his sides, his face taut with displeasure.
Chloe’s chest hurt as she worked to breathe, and a horrible thought that Graves wasn’t single clamped its fist around her throat. Was he expecting someone? Who was he going to have sex with tonight? “I…I didn’t know you were expecting someone—I thought you didn’t have a girlfriend. Danny said you never have. Do you, Graves?”
He seemed transfixed by the sight of her lips moving. “I don’t do girlfriends.”
“Then what…?” she asked, confused. Burning jealousy had wrapped its tentacles around her, and now it wouldn’t let her go.
Graves’s stormy gaze traveled down the rest of her body until he yanked his eyes back up with a clenching of his jaw. His voice kept dropping and now it was a low, seductive rasp. “Just leave, Chlo.”
She rubbed her hands over the goose bumps he’d caused. “I just don’t understand. Are these the kinds of things you guys are into? Do you hit your women, Graves?”
He plunged his hands into his hair and circled around one time in desperation. “Jesus, I don’t hit women!”
“Then you just tie them up and what? Play with them?”
“I can’t do this with you, Chlo. Please. Get out of here. Now,” he hissed through his teeth, then he paced away only to come back and glare at her. “Please, damn you. I beg you.”
But his eyes…there was hunger there. Something primal, calling to something deep and intrinsic inside of her. She shook her head stubbornly, because she couldn’t leave…not so Graves could have another woman. Not when her body was crying out painfully for a measly touch from him. Not when she could see the unleashed power within him coiled in each and every straining muscle in his body. And not when she could see the storm of desire in those thick-lashed, flaming eyes.
Breathing with difficulty, she ran her tongue over lips, her nipples erec
