Page 53 of Twisted Hearts

EILISH

What the fuckam I doing here?

I stare up at the building looming over Central Park as the Uber I took over here peels away. Swallowing, I glance down at my phone, at the single text from Gavan that had this address.

I know damn wellwhyI’m here. What I’m trying to wrap my head around is why I stillcame.

So that I can take your virginity, Eilish.

Like literally everything else where it concerns Gavan, I’m trapped at the crossroads of fear, apprehension, and excitement at the dark, beckoning unknown. It’s a twisting, electrifying struggle, one that I’ve been dealing with ever since the night he grabbed me, when I shattered the egg.

It’s a battle that was raging inside of me when I left his office today, after he put his mouth on me and made me explode. It was still raging when I got home and somehow got a through a conversation with Castle—about motorcycles, I think. Maybe.

And now here I am, hours later: showered clean, my body meticulously shaved bare all over, wearinganothernew lingerie set—this one dark green lace, and fairly transparent—under a simple green wraparound dress, with black heels.

Eager. Nervous.

Sinfully excited.

Is this the new me? The “I’ve looked death in the face after being blown up by a bomb”, devil-may-care Eilish? Do I reallywantthis?

I know I do. Because again, I could so easily stop this. I could turn around, hail another taxi, and go straight back home, where I could immediately ’fess up to my crimes and shatter Gavan’s hold on me.

But I’m not going to. And it’s not because of the fear of what my family will say or think.

It’s because I don’twantto turn around and walk away right now, knowing what’s in store for me up there in Gavan’s penthouse apartment.

Or, at least, having anidea ofwhat’s in store for me.

I take one last deep breath, smile weakly at the doorman, and step inside.

A huge guard inside who clearly works for Gavan checks my bag and waves a wand over my body, like he’s looking for a weapon. He takes care not to actually touch me, though. A dark elevator with sultry light brings us up to the top floor. There, the guard uses a thumbprint reader to open the double doors. Wordlessly, he nods, and I step into a dimly lit room.

The door shut behind me. Gradually, my eyes adjust to the dark.

Whoa.

Gavan’s apartment is…vast. Ridiculously so. Like, it takes up the entire top floor of the building. The whole place is decorated not dissimilarly from his office, but here, in his lair, it’s as if someone turned that “dark and masculine” dial up to eleven.

Soft floor lights dramatically illuminate the slate-gray stone walls. I step across polished, dark hardwood floors toward a living room area with an enormous wall of windows looking east over Central Park.

The furniture is all dark brown leather and deep wood tones, with brass and slate accents. Soft, thumping, sexy music murmurs from hidden speakers as my pulse begins to quicken.

“I was wondering if you’d show up,solnishka.”

My heart jumps into my throat at the sound of his dark, purring voice. I turn to see him walking down a dark wood and steel floating staircase.

So, not just the entire top floor of the building. The entire toptwo floorsof the building.

As always, Gavan somehow manages to look both feral and immaculately put together at the same time. His longish hair is shoved back from his face. His stubbled jaw and regal cheekbones are as razor sharp as always. He’s wearing a simple but elegant dark gray suit—no vest this time, or tie—with his customary French style dress shirt open at the neck, revealing a maze of tattoo ink across his chest.

My skin heats as his eyes sweep over me.

Hungrily. Darkly. Promising a night of sin and damnation.

“Would you like a drink?”

I nod. “Yes,” I choke out. “Please.”