AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“That’s an…interesting perfume,” Sullivan says, the edge of his wickedly beautiful mouth quirking up.
I’ll get this out of the way and admit that Sullivan is gorgeous. I’m not talking a normal level of good-looking—that I can handle. I live in Los Angeles. I see good-looking people every day.
Sullivan makes movie stars look dull by comparison. Back in high school, he had a thick head of ink-black hair, the bone structure of a supermodel, luminescent brown skin, and these deep, dark eyes that made you feel like you were swooning every time he looked in your direction. Assuming you were beautiful enough to catch that kind of look.
I was not. But I certainly saw the effect he had on everyone else.
Not much has changed.
In fact, as proof of the utter unfairness of the universe, Sullivan appears to have somehow become even more handsome.
He’s dressed in a bespoke suit cut to illustrate that whatever Sullivan has been doing for the last ten years, he hasnotbeen skipping chest day. His hair is just as thick and lustrous as ever, without a thread of gray. And those full, sensual lips sit above a jawline that has only become more chiseled.
Seriously…fuck this guy.
“What areyoudoing here?” I demand.
Sullivan lays a hand on his chest, pretending to be hurt. Even though I know he’s pretending, there’s something horribly effective in the way his thick, black brows draw together and the dark eyes beneath gaze at me in soulful reproach. His brother might be the actor, but let it never be forgotten that Sullivan is an identical twin.
“You don’t seem that happy to see me, Theo.”
My name sounds unspeakably intimate on his lips. The temperature in the bathroom alcove rises several degrees.
I order my cheeks notto blush, no matter what happens. No matter how many times he says “Theo” exactly like that.
“I’d say I’m a little bemused.” I cross my arms over my chest. “Since you’re not on the guest list.”
I should know—I wrote it myself.
Sullivan chuckles.
His laugh is low and wicked, like his voice. It makes me think of melted chocolate, dark and rich, with just a hint of bitterness.
I can feel my skin getting hotter, every bare inch.
He says, “You haven’t changed a bit.”
That isnota compliment. I was a mousy, anxious loser in high school, a lottery student who could barely afford the bus pass to school, while most of my classmates drove Beemers and G-Wagons.
“You have.” I lift my chin. “Your hair’s really thinning.”
This laugh of Sullivan’s is a lot more genuine because it’s less controlled, like I surprised it out of him.
He runs a hand through his hair, making it spring back like a shampoo commercial. “I think I’ve got a few good years left.”
I bet he does. He’ll probably sail into his seventies looking like John Stamos, while I’ve already found four gray hairs at the ripe old age of twenty-eight.
Angus is responsible for all four of those hairs, not to mention the bags under my eyes and the heartburn that might be turning into an ulcer.
It reallywillbe an ulcer if I don’t get back to the party.
“What are you doing here?” I repeat.
“I’d like to have a conversation with your boss.”
“Not happening.”
Angus doesn’t meet with anyone unannounced, and he’s a germaphobe to boot. He won’t even shake hands unless the person attached to that hand has been vetted by his in-house physician.
