Brenna Aubrey – High Risk
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Excerpts from High Risk book
Without another word, I spun and left Ms. Barrett in the lounge room, her arms crossed, her face flushed. The wet bar was in the following room. She could tail me there in the event that she needed to proceed with this discussion, and on the off chance that she didn’t—so much the better. I strolled over the lounge room to the wet bar, dodged behind it, and hauled out the half-unfilled jug of Stolichnaya Elite. I presented myself with a shot.
Ms. Dark Barrett jogged after me. Her face was tranquil, eyes distinctly attentive, however no feeling appeared as she watched me under the substantial edge of those glasses. She did, be that as it may, in all respects observably check her watch once more. It was close enough to the worthy hour.
I smiled at her before thumping back the vodka. This minute was justified, despite all the trouble. I balanced the jug to present myself with another shot, yet she jumped forward, holding her hand over the highest point of the shot glass, blocking it.
All things considered, well, well. Spunky… and irritatingly brazen.
I looked into, my temples raised. “Never divide a consumer and his vodka,” I said in Russian.
Her mouth diminished, however that was the main piece of information to her feelings. Her voice was enduring and confident. “Alright, you’ve made your point. I get it. You’re troubled about this.”
A chuckle burst forward from my chest before I even acknowledged what was occurring. “You have an ability for modest representation of the truth, Ms. Barrett.”
“Dim, it would be ideal if you I—”
“Fine. Dim,” I yelped. “Couldn’t your folks think about an all the more fascinating shading to name you after?”
Her white teeth neutralized her base lip. “It’s an epithet.”
“All in all, you need to be my companion? Is that what this is about?”
Her dull temples weave. I knock her hand with the base of the vodka bottle. She didn’t move.
With a drawn-out moan, I recapped the jug and put it aside. “I completed an entire year of the entire media bazaar for NASA after the mishap. Strutted around like a prize horse for meetings, talks, appearances, meals, and press occasions. Been there, done that, got the screwing T-shirt.” I pointed at the NASA logo on my chest to stress my point.
Her eyes dropped to my chest, and she folded those pink lips into her mouth. It was at exactly that point that I understood how entrancing her mouth was. It was little, at the base of a choice pair of cheekbones. Her lips weren’t especially thick or pouty, yet she had this delightfully profound valley where her top lip bowed, from the base of her upturned nose to the highest point of that coral-hued lip. It was conspicuous and… charming.
Kissable. I wager her lips tasted exceptionally sweet.
I flickered and shook my head. Damn. I hadn’t contacted the vodka in over seven days. That one shot was hitting me harder than I’d envisioned it would. Mental note: go simple on the Russian dew.
I rectified from the wet bar and made a stride back even as I braced myself with a full breath. She watched me with those leaf-green eyes.
“What’s it an epithet for?” I shouted before I even understood that I wanted to know.
She flickered and moved back. “Um, what?”
“Dim. What’s it an epithet for? For what reason do they consider you that?”
Her thick foreheads curved over the top edge of her glasses, and she made a sound as if to speak. “It’s short for my real name. Angharad Grace.”
“Goodness. Better believe it, that’s… that is a sizable chunk.”
“Says the person who blasts out precipitously in Russian?”
I snickered yet didn’t answer.
“I was named after both my grandmas. What’s more, ‘they’ don’t call me Gray. I call me Gray.”
I limited my eyes at her. “You appeared to be astonished that I’m irritated by this circumstance.”
She shrugged. “I’m astonished you aren’t trying to shroud your disturbance. I’m astonished by your level out discourteousness. I’d assumed that the consistent piece of your mind and your long periods of preparing would have helped you dealt with completing what should be finished.”
I shrugged, bothered at being gotten out. “I see no issue with completing the poop that necessities to complete. XVenture has rockets. They have space travelers. Presently, we should fly them. How about we do this.”
She shook her head. “We both realize it isn’t that simple.”
My eyes meandered her face as she talked. She had the most lovely skin. It sparkled, even in the obscured live with a large portion of the shades drawn against the late evening. As every minute passed, the more she confronted me and pushed back at me, it occurred to me what a dolt I was to have overlooked gathering her that first time. She was the direct inverse of forgettable.
A sparkle of fascination—minor, astounding—flew in my chest and seethed a little lower. Waiting.
“Primary concern is this—are you prepared to carry out your responsibility?” she inquired.
“For what reason are you here?” I shot back.
She straightened out her glasses and tilted her head to the side as though contemplating me. “I’m here for my future. For my fantasy work. What’s more, for Tolan. Furthermore, for every other person who longs for being a piece of the main ever business space explorer program. Individuals who need to impact the world forever, who never again feel the administration is doing what it ought to propel mankind’s objectives in space investigation. For what reason would you say you are here?”
My temples jerked up. Huh. She gave in the same class as she got, it appeared.
I remained quiet, not exactly realizing what to think about her genuineness. Of late, individuals didn’t demonstrate me a lot of it. They were excessively occupied with the legend revere. Nobody at any point talked their brain any longer. Furthermore, despite the fact that hers annoyed me, it was invigorating to hear a genuine supposition now and again.
From this point, her dull fair hair got the light, and it sparkled brilliant. It just added to that odd emanation of know-it-all blamelessness she appeared to extend. She resembled… grown-up Hermione going to class Ron Weasley for the hundredth time. Stunning.
“I can’t resist the urge to ponder what it is you truly need, Commander Tyler.” She signaled to the room around us. “Possibly it’s to lounge around throughout the day in a chateau paid for with book arrangements and talks to your venerating open. Goodness, and getting a charge out of the advantages of laying down with ladies who think adoring you is their energetic obligation.”
Damn. Hermione in fact. “Any lady laying down with me, I ensure that obligation is the uttermost word from her psyche.”
A reasonable piece of shading washed over that gleaming skin, and I needed to confess to being fulfilled to see it.