Page 23

Me: Central Park. I went for a jog.

Marshall: You shouldn't have gone alone.

Me: Please forgive me, Warden.

Teasing him makes me feel better. Gathering my things, I walk through the park with my phone in my grip, waiting for him to respond. When he does my heart beats faster.

Marshall: Don't make jokes about locking you up. I'll get the wrong, dirty kind of ideas.

Marshall: Or was that your intention?

Marshall: Should I buy some cuffs?

Me: I'm surprised you don't have some already, pervert.

Marshall: Come back to the penthouse. I'll show you what I can do with some rope.

"Hey, watch it!" a woman cries as I bump into her shoulder.

"Sorry!" I insist, my face burning hot with shame. Glaring at my phone, I blame him for distracting me. But I can't let him know. He'll hold it over my head. I can picture his smug smirk already.

Me: I have a question.

Marshall: You always do.

Me: Do you want to seePhantomwith me tonight?

He doesn't respond. Clutching my phone, I make it all the way to a coffee shop, purchase myself a latte and a cranberry scone, eat it, walk around the block, and finally head back to his condo. No messages from Marshall.

I eyeball my phone, wondering if it's my reception. Why wouldn't he say yes or no? He was willing to flirt, but when I ask him for something so straightforward, he shuts up?

He doesn't want to go with me.Dammit, that hurts more than I imagined.Don't get so miserable. Who cares if he wants to go or not?I have to remind myself I'm in the city, in his home, because of my budding career.

Putting my key into his door, I jiggle the lock. It opens a crack before the chain halts it. "Marshall?" I call through the gap. "It's me. Let me in. Marshall! Hey!"

His onyx iris and angular jaw fill the space. "You came back."

"Of course I did."

"Then you do want to see the ropes."

I fumble for a response as he smirks. "No. Just let me inside. Why did you bolt the door?"

Marshall vanishes a moment, the metalclickingas the chain falls. He pulls the door towards himself, exposing the penthouse—and himself. There's a white towel around his waist, droplets of water on his damp hair. "Oh my god!" I gasp, covering my eyes. "You're nearly naked! Why?"

"I was getting ready."

"Forwhat?"

He gently shuts the door, walking around me towards his bedroom. I peek through my fingers at his gorgeously fit body. "For thePhantom of the Opera."

I drop my hands entirely, gawking at him as he shoots me a sly smile. "You mean you want to go?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"I don't know. You didn't respond to my text."

"Because I was showering." Straightening in his open doorway, I glimpse his crimson king size bed beyond his hip. It's impossible not to imagine the filthy things we'd do in his room. How his blankets would feel on my bare skin, how he'd press me down with all his strength, whispering in my ear. "Leona?"