Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 127712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 639(@200wpm)___ 511(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 639(@200wpm)___ 511(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
I am mesmerized.
He’s got me.
Forever.
I will never leave him now.
RIGHT NOW
Mercer is weaving the Jeep around the mountainous corners, heading back to the airport where the jet is waiting to take us back.
Such a waste of time this was.
But it’s my own damn fault. I knew how it would end. I knew it would end just like this.
With him walking out and me following.
Why him?
He’s not even the one I want.
Maybe once, a long time ago, Mercer was enough. His games, his commands, his authority. It was all very much a turn-on.
But now? Now it’s just a waste. Why do I stay?
Why can’t I choose her instead?
She’s who I want.
Nova Ryan. And, hell, Olsen too. He and I were friends. We got along great.
Did you, Michael? Did you really?
I pause to think about this because the little voice in my head is one I haven’t heard in a very long time.
Didn’t we?
I roll back the memories of Olsen and me. How we used to hang out. How we used to get girls. How much fun it was.
Was it fun, Locke?
Or was it just another game? Only this time, not Mercer’s game?
Your game.
A revelation ensues after these questions form in my head.
A revelation that I, too, am Mercer.
And I was playing the same game with Olsen.
Only he had the balls to walk out.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN - NOVA
NEW YORK
FIVE YEARS AGO
The next morning, I wake between two men.
Not my first time. So in that respect, it’s nothing unusual. But one of these men is Mercer. I’m facing him when my eyes open. It takes a moment to focus and then I smile.
He’s still asleep. Face down on his stomach, cheek pressed into the thick downy pillow, and his breath even and deep.
He looks very harmless when he’s sleeping. Innocent, almost.
Not words I would normally use to describe Silas Mercer, but they fit in this one instance.
Locke’s arms are around me. Not tight, like he’s hugging me. Just there. I think he’s still asleep too, but when I turn to face him, his eyes flutter and he shifts.
His dark hair is falling over his face. He’s something right out of the pages of a magazine.
Both of these men are handsome. Mercer has a dangerous look to him when he’s not sleeping that draws me in. But Locke is different. He’s dark too, obviously. That’s like seventy-five percent of my attraction to him. But he’s pretty, as well. Like… the kind of man you just want to look at.
I reach up and drag my fingertip across his forehead, moving the locks of dark hair aside. One eye opens and stares at me. I think it takes him a moment to realize where he is and who he’s with, because it also takes him a moment to smile. But when he does smile, it brightens my world.
I can see myself with Locke. Long-term, I mean. I could imagine a life with him. He’s got a fun side. Which Olsen has as well, but Olsen seems to be in a whole other category than Mercer and Locke.
“Morning,” I say.
“Is it morning?”
“I don’t know.”
He chuckles and closes his one eye, burying his face a little deeper into the pillow. “Are you done sleeping then?”
I don’t say anything. I don’t have to. He pulls me close to him. Right up against his chest. And then he rests his chin in the crook of my neck.
Bliss envelops me. And I feel more relaxed than I ever have in my life.
I fall back asleep in his arms.
The next time I wake, I’m alone in bed.
This is pretty much what I expected the first time I woke, which feels like entire lifetimes ago. And when I manage to turn my head and find a clock, I see that it is past noon.
I sit up abruptly.
I have never slept this late in my life. I throw off the covers, find a robe hanging on the door, and then open it to the living room.
Empty. But there is a basket of pastries in the small kitchen with a note.
Mercer and his notes. The man does love a good note.
Nova,
Eat and shower.
Your stylist will arrive at three.
Your tailor at six.
Your jewels at seven.
I look forward to seeing you tonight at the dinner.
Mercer
This note is so him. And even though it’s a little bit cold after the night we just had, it doesn’t hurt me. Because I know him. This is just… well, Mercer.
If I had a one-night stand with this man—and let’s be clear here, there is not enough imagination in my mind to conjure up Mercer having a one-night stand with anyone—but if I had, and he had left a note like this, with no complimentary closing… ‘yours truly,’ or ‘thanks for the good time,’ or God forbid, ‘love’—I would feel slightly rejected. Like it meant nothing.