Freya Arsov sits on top of a world of diamonds and sports cars. Her father is a billionaire, head of a world-renown company, her mother, an esteemed lawyer. She attends the most prestigious boarding school in England. She has four amazing best frien...
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FREYA DIPPED HER HEAD OUT OF the bathroom after her shower, skin still warm from her brief interaction with Matthew moments before. The room that greeted her was empty. He was nowhere to be seen, but her bags that Grayson had toted for her, which were what she was looking for, were settled neatly in the corner of the room.
A quick glance at the little table standing across his bed as she darted across the room in a towel, told her that he'd intended to keep his end of their bargain.
An array of coloured paints sat in a careful order atop the surface, along with several jars of well-loved paintbrushes.
She bit her lower lip, trying to guess at what he intended to do next.
It was exhilarating.
The sear of his eyes. The brush of his lips. The way he worked his jaw before saying something that stirred every bright thing inside of her.
Was it wise? To play this game with him?
She didn't know.
She only knew that she liked to play. She always had a weakness for the games that made her blood turn into fire.
She liked to win. And God alone knew that Freya needed to win.
Freya grabbed her bags, the paper rustling as she tottered away back to the bathroom, clicking the door shut behind her.
Once finished, she opened the door and found Matthew bent over a cupboard this time.
She paused in the doorway and, as if sensing her, he straightened and turned, eyes drinking her in within seconds.
They'd lost some of their dark fire from earlier, gone back to honeyed brown as they slid across the features of her face as if committing them to memory.
"What are you looking for?" She asked, jerking her chin in the direction of the cupboard he'd been rummaging through.
