The Golden Hour by L.M. Halloran

Author:L.M. Halloran [Halloran, L.M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-10-07T16:00:00+00:00

25

Tap. Tap. Tap.

“Miss?”

Tap. Tap. Tap.

“I’m so sorry to wake you, but there’s someone here demanding to see you.”

I blink groggily at my bedroom door—the direction Selina’s voice is coming from. “What? Who?”

“Mr. Reid.”

The name might as well be a bucket of cold water. Jerking upright, I swing my feet to the floor and pad to the door. Unlocking it, I squint at Selina. From her fresh face and the light behind the curtains at my back, it’s morning. But it feels like I just went to bed.

“What time is it?” I croak.

She checks her watch. “Just after nine o’clock.”

I groan. “What is he doing here? Did he say?”

She shakes her head. “Would you like me to call security? I would have already, but Lizzie told me you had a successful date last night, and I didn’t want to—”

“No, no, it’s okay. Thank you, Selina. You did the right thing. Tell him I’ll be right down. But you can leave him outside.”

Her eyes twinkle as she nods. “Very well.”

When she’s gone, I open the closet and grab the first thing I see—a deep blue maxi dress and flip-flops—and hustle into the bathroom to brush my teeth, slap on some lip gloss, and throw my hair into a bun, all the while castigating myself for caring what I look like. For caring what he thinks, or sees, or wants. For still feeling the aftershocks from not only what he said last night, but from the intense orgasm I had later in bed courtesy of my own hand.

My breath sits high and short in my chest as I make my way to the front door, and my face feels like plastic about to crack. Thankfully, no one’s around to notice my mostly mental walk of shame.

Who shows up the morning after a date like this? Let alone a fake one. What the hell is he playing at?

By the time I open the door, I’m as irritated as I am nervous. I don’t wait for him to turn around before whisper-hissing, “What the hell, Finn?”

Spinning on a heel, he gives me a lazy smile as those shockingly blue eyes scan me from head to feet. After a perusal that feels more than skin-deep, he shakes his head. “Cute. Very L.A. But that dress won’t work at all.”

I finally tear my gaze from his face to what he’s wearing. Athletic shorts, sneakers, and a faded T-shirt. He makes casual look sinful, all lean muscles, sun-kissed tattoos, and tousled hair.

God help me, it’s really not fair he’s so gorgeous.

“What are you talking about? I don’t like surprises, and I definitely don’t like being woken up before ten on a Sunday morning.”

His smile only grows. “I’m being spontaneous. You said you weren’t doing anything today. I didn’t have plans, and I wanted to see you, so here I am.” Spreading his arms, he grins through the lies, like he knows exactly how irate I am and exactly how much I don’t want to be anywhere near him.

But then there’s the small matter of blackmail.

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