Rille (Tribes, Book 2)

Chapter 12

The room was spectacular. High ceilings, expensive furnishings, and a TV that folded into the wall. All high-end stuff that Brielle hadn't expected. Yet there she was, snooping through the room like a thief.

Half of her expected to find some sadomasochistic junk hidden in a bottom drawer somewhere. Surprisingly, she never came across anything of the kind. Either Preston hid his toys well or he straight up didn't have any. So, this wasn't a Christian Grey situation. Good to know.

But it only confused her more.

Preston had a lot going in his favor. He was tall, handsome, strong, thoughtful, and clearly richer than he let on. He could have any girl he dang well wanted, so it didn't make sense that he had chosen Brielle.

After all, she was short, not model-proportioned. And she had a temper. A hot one. And up until about an hour ago, she had already been taken. It wasn't worth the effort to steal her away from another guy. What did Preston see in her, anyway?

The latch on the door clicked.

Brielle went scrambling back toward the bed. She didn't manage to get the blanket over her legs before Preston stepped through the door.

His brows rose, his eyes roving from her head to her feet and then back to her face. "How long have you been awake?"

"Not long." A lie, but it rolled off of her lips easily. He didn't need to know that she had been snooping. "What are you doing here?"

Preston stepped further into the room, running a hand through his hair as a chuckle fell from his lips. "Well, first of all, it's my house."

Oh. Yeah. That. Brielle hadn't taken time to think that far ahead. Of course he could go anywhere he wanted within the confines of his own place.

"Wait, where are we?" Brielle blinked, trying to configure how she managed to go from her apartment to Preston's personal space. Had the car ride been that long? Honestly, part of her had thought this was some kind of high-end hotel.

Preston waved a hand through the air, denoting each inch of the elegance around them. "This is my room. Did you sleep well? How are you feeling?"

Wait, hold on. How did he skip right over the part where he said this was his room and move into gentle thoughtfulness. They were definitely going to have to talk about his propensity to brush off the most important bits of information.

"The mating mark doesn't hurt, does it?" Preston shook his head at his own question. "I should have a look just to be sure."

Brielle held up her hands to stop his advance. "It's fine. I'm fine. No touchy."

"No touchy?" Preston's hands went into his pockets, his chin lowering to better settle his gaze at the woman on his bed. "Do you think that will work on me?"

No, but it had been worth a shot.

Brielle looped her legs criss-cross in front of her, folded her arms much the same way and lifted her chin defiantly. "What? You can't even give me twenty-four hours to get over my last boyfriend?"

Preston had been calculated in his words and actions since the moment Brielle had met him. This time was no different, except for the glittering green sparks lighting his eyes. Step by step, inch by inch, Preston marched his way to the side of the bed.

His hands left his pockets to land on either side of Brielle's legs. Those sparking eyes roved over her features, lingering when they found her lips.

"That last boyfriend of yours is precisely the reason why I need to touch you." Preston's gaze lifted, catching Brielle's glare and staring her down.