Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 64938 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 325(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64938 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 325(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Motherfucker.
Grace slung the covers off and stormed out of his bedroom.
The air in the living room wasn’t as thick with smoke since the patio doors were open, but the kitchen was overwhelmed with a dense, acrid fog carrying the scent of burnt eggs and burning aluminum.
The flames were so high now—beyond using his fire blanket—they were leaving black scorch marks on the ceiling.
Grace walked casually into the kitchen and went for his fire extinguisher beneath the sink.
He stood a few feet from the stove and had just pulled the pin out when a heap of freezing cold towels hit him on the back of his head and then slid down his bare back.
“Oh shit! I didn’t see you, Grace, I swear!” Mirage yelled.
Grace didn’t bother to turn around at his partner’s ridiculousness. Instead, he focused on dousing the flames and preventing more damage to his counters.
He wasn’t upset about the potential cost of repairs—he’d send the bills to the organization—he was livid about handypersons and decorators having to come into his sanctuary again.
Once the yellow powder extinguished all the flames, Grace dropped the heavy device to the floor and turned to face Mirage.
His partner was in a towel, his chest and arms littered with red splotches. Mirage’s expression was sullen and so apologetic that Grace’s first instinct was to wrap him in his arms.
“I know. I fucked up big-time, Grace. I’m so sorry. I’ll get it fixed, I promise.”
Grace didn’t say a word.
He stepped forward, took Mirage’s hands, and placed them on his shoulders. With a slight tilt of his lips, he pulled Mirage into a close embrace. It wasn’t long before the tension in his frame melted away, and he accepted the hug, wrapping his arms around Grace’s neck.
Mirage wove his hand through Grace’s wet hair and buried his face against his throat, a silent display of his disappointment.
“I wanted to make us breakfast,” Mirage whispered.
“I know,” Grace rumbled. “It’s okay. Things can be replaced. I can handle damage.” He pulled back and cupped Mirage’s cheek. “What I can’t handle is you being upset and thinking I’m mad at you.”
Not giving Mirage another chance to apologize, Grace let out a soft sigh, then leaned forward and touched Mirage’s soft lips with gentleness.
It went longer than he thought as he relished the feel of Mirage’s relief.
When they pulled apart, he rested their foreheads against one another.
“Forgive me,” Mirage asked with his eyes closed, pulling Grace closer.
“I will—” Grace moaned into Mirage’s smoke-scented hair. “—if you take me back to bed right now and bury your dick so deep in me that I forget this bullshit ever happened.”
Mirage
“Mmm, now that I can do.” Mirage nibbled the side of Grace’s jaw since it was one of his sensitive spots that drove him wild.
Mirage took Grace’s hand to leave the kitchen when danger prickled at the base of his neck.
Awareness struck as adrenaline surged through his veins.
Mirage caught a flicker of darkness in his peripheral just as Grace spun his body behind him.
Mirage instinctively grasped the cold steel of a chef’s knife out of the butcher’s block on the island and, without hesitation, shot it toward the balcony.
He threw it with exceptional speed, though time seemed to slow as the knife sliced through the air.
But the hooded man standing there had the reflexes of a cat. With a graceful motion, he extended his arm and caught the knife midflight.
A long moment sat suspended in time as the two men standing on the terrace exchanged knowing glances, their presence now undeniable.
Ex and Meridian stood shrouded in their black covers.
“How the fuck did you two get in here?” Mirage asked, stepping from behind Grace’s protection.
“The same way you would’ve. We climbed down.” Ex shrugged as he stepped inside with Meridian trailing behind him.
Mirage glanced at Grace, recognizing the deep frown lines.
Mirage nodded and asked the only question Grace wanted answered.
“What the fuck are the two of you doing here?”
They removed their hoods, glancing around the living room and then toward the kitchen.
“We’re a floor above you. We’d rather not burn alive.”
Ex took the knife from Meridian, helped himself to an apple out of the fruit bowl on the dining table, and used it to start peeling the skin off.
Meridian didn’t speak as he pulled out an antique-looking cabriole from his inside jacket pocket, removed a black cigarette with a gold-colored filter, and lit it with a black pearl Zippo.
Grace bristled, clenching his jaw.
“Thanks for asking, don’t fuckin’ light that in here,” Mirage gritted out.
“You sure it’s not okay? I mean…” Ex glanced around the room at the lingering smoke and black marks on the ceiling.
“Fuck you.” Mirage looked away in embarrassment until Grace gripped his chin and turned his head back to face him.
Don’t ever let another man’s words make you turn away from me.
Mirage nodded.