NEVE
NEVEI don’t know how I got from the limo to the penthouse. I was so keyed up. My clothes, hastily rearranged so that I looked presentable, felt three sizes too small and made of the worst kind of itchy sackcloth.
On the elevator ride up, I leaned against Mason’s chest, my breathing short. The tension in the small space was so electric I half expected the three of us to spontaneously combust somewhere between entering the elevator and it reaching their floor.
They were in the penthouse. Of course, they were in the penthouse. Where else would they be? ASC didn’t look like it was short of a dollar or two, and thanks to Robert I easily recognized bespoke tailoring as well as Italian leather shoes.
“I can’t wait,” Dante growled before we were through the door. “I’ve got to taste her.”
