Tempting-Red Lips, Truthful Lies $ Seductive Touch

Celeste’s POV

"If you're going to kill me, at least let me finish my drink first.”

I say it lightly, my fingers gripping the fragile stem of my champagne glass. Whispered talks fill the ballroom, crystal clinking across polished cutlery. But here, in the shadows of the balcony, it's just him and me.

Adrian Devereaux

The man I arrived to kill. The man who, at this very moment, is gazing at me as though I belong to him.

He leans closer, the sharp aroma of his perfume wrapping around me like invisible shackles. Who claims I wish to murder you? Though his voice is silky, something deeper lurks behind. Something risky. Many more fascinating tactics exist to exact payment from someone.

Though my pulse races, I remain unflinching. I will not. Not when I have labored so hard to be here, to come this near to him.

Mr. Devereaux, your flirting is really unusual. Though my body tightens with awareness, I grin slowly and purposefully.

Reaching out, he says, "I don't flirt." Though the contact is electrifying, his fingers barely brush my wrist. I accept.

He's pushing me. Seeing whether I would withdraw. I do not. I am unable to. I need him to think I'm the prey while, really, I'm the predator.

I chuckled quietly. How incredible... dominating you.

His lips quiver, the suggestion of a grin there and gone. You don't know.

Oh, but I really do. I have studied. Adrian Devereaux lacks faith. Lacks affection. He has. Regulations. And at this time, he finds me dangerously interesting.

Ideal.

Keeping my eyes fixed on his, I raise my glass to my lips. So tell me, Adrian—do you always corner ladies in dark balconies, or am I simply unique?

He moves closer, the thin fabric of my dress allowing his body's heat to lick at mine. You are unique.

In what way?

His gaze falls to my lips, then lower, as though he could see past the silk and lace to the secrets I keep concealed. You don't fit here.

I tilt my head, pretending to be entertained, but within, frost runs down my spine. He looks too much.

"Now that's impolite," I joke, running my finger down the lapel of his tux. I assumed we were friends.

Before I could move away, he grips my wrist with a strong but not uncomfortable hold. Just enough to remind me who controls this moment.

Who dispatched you? His voice is soft, lethal.

My heartbeat stutters for a fraction of a second. He has his suspicions. I knew getting close to him would be risky, but I didn't expect him to be so aware.

As if I found the whole thing funny, I let my body relax under his grip and force a gentle chuckle. Send me? Sweetheart, I wouldn't need someone to send me if I desired a man's attention. I drop my voice and lean closer. I would just accept it.

A difficulty.

Something dances in his frigid blue gaze. Fun. Interest. Desire.

You believe, tiny liar, that you can manage me? Warm on my cheek, his breath is tightening just a little.

I grin. Give me a shot.

Then I act foolishly.

I kissed him.

It's a deliberate gamble. A bet. But the instant our lips touch, I know I may have misjudged him.

Adrian doesn't simply kiss me. He consumes me.

As he intensifies the kiss, his hand glides up my back and tangles in my hair. A deep, possessive growl from his chest sends a lovely tingle down my back. This shouldn't be fun for me. I shouldn’t be gasping as his fangs brush over my bottom lip, shouldn’t be melting into him.

Yet I am.

Curse him.

Breathless, my lips tingling, I push myself to draw away. "Well," I say, struggling to control my voice. "That was... surprising."

Adrian's gaze pierces my own; his face is a blank slate. Nothing with me is ever anticipated.

I don't believe so. It isn't. And it may be an issue.

He pulls out a sleek, black card from his pocket before I can step back.

9 PM tomorrow. My penthouse. His fingertips brushing my skin, he tucks it under the neckline of my dress, sending a jolt of fire right through me. Be on time.

It's not a question. It's a command.

Gripping the card, I swallow hard as he departs. The air between us is electrified; the tension is sharp enough to slice with a knife.

Then, just before he vanishes into the throng, he looks back. Celeste? Oh, and

I run chilly.

He grins. Being lied to bothers me.

My heart pounds against my ribs.

He is aware.

Raising my champagne glass in phony toast, I smile. Then it's fortunate I never lie.

Liar!

I breathe out quickly and my heart races as he disappears.

I ought to go. Vanish before he approaches too near. Before he really sees through me.

But then I glance down at the card. At the one address written on the shiny surface.

The penthouse he owns.

A snare.

Alternatively, a chance.

A wicked grin twists my lips as I slowly sip my champagne, letting the flavor of costly bubbles wash over my tongue.

Alright, Adrian. I'll participate in your game.

But you have no idea what you have just brought into your life.

What happens when I finish?

You will come to regret ever contacting me.

"You're late."

Adrian's speech is icy, but the fire in his eyes reveals a different narrative.

Entering his apartment, my heels tap on the smooth marble floor. The air between us is heated, dense with tension unrelated to rage but rather related to what occurred last night.

Smoothly throwing my clutch upon the closest table, I declare, "I don't take orders." I run on my own timetable, not anyone else's.

Adrian watches me with a severity that makes my stomach clench as he tilts his head. Dressed in a black button-up, the sleeves rolled up just enough to see the ink writhing over his forearms. A perilous contradiction: polished but natural. A man who lives on the edge yet flourishes in control.

You still arrived, he says quietly, moving closer.

I stand firm. A desire to know more.

His lips quiver, the ghost of a grin flickering at the corner. Is that everything?

I breathe out gently. Adrian, what do you want from me?

Though there is no joy in it, a gradual smile develops over his face. Just something gloomy. Some ownership. Tell me why you're deceiving me.

I hold my face neutral and swallow hard. You believe everyone that enters your life is concealing something?

He moves further closer, invading my space and filling my lungs with his scent—expensive whiskey and something clearly manly. Not at all. Only you.

Cursed it.

Refusing to let him see the spark of terror under my skin, I raise my chin. So why ask me here?

His fingers, scarcely there yet strangely claiming, touch my waist. You can't be trusted, so I don't allow anything I don't trust out of my sight.

A caution. A commitment.

I ought to go. Leave before I become too involved.

I let the game go on instead.