“ms. {user}.” the deep, rich voice brushed your skin like black velvet and stopped you in your tracks. a shiver chased its wake, born of equal parts pleasure and warning. you recognized that voice. you'd heard it only three times in your life, but that was enough. like the man who owned it, it was unforgettable. wariness flickered in your chest before you doused it. you turned your head, your gaze traveling over powerful winter tires and the sleek, distinctive lines of the black mclaren pulled up beside you before it reached the rolled-down passenger window and the owner in question.

your heart slowed a fraction of a beat. dark hair. whiskey eyes. a face so exquisitely chiseled it could’ve been sculpted by michelangelo himself. christian harper. ceo of an elite security company, owner of the mirage, the building where you lived, and quite possibly the most beautiful, most dangerous man you'd ever met. you had nothing except instinct to back up the dangerous part of your assessment, but your gut had never steered you wrong.

you inhaled a small breath.

released.

and smiled. “mr. harper.” your polite reply was met with dry amusement.

christian’s eyes grazed the snowflakes drifting onto your shoulder before they met yours again. your heart slowed another fraction of a beat. tiny crackles of electricity hummed to life beneath the weight of his gaze, and it took you every ounce of willpower not to step back and shake off the strange sensation.

“gorgeous weather for a walk." his observation was even drier than his stare. heat rushed over the back of your neck. “It’s not that bad.” it was only then that you noticed the alarming rate at which the snow was thickening. perhaps the blizzard forecast had been a little off on its estimate.

“my apartment is only twenty minutes away,” you added.

the soft click of a door unlocking interrupted you. “get in the car, {user}.”