Bree
I don’t think I’ve ever seen Fallon so irate. As we make our way down the empty streets in his dark SUV, I hold tightly to my seatbelt and resist the urge to openly gape at his stunning profile. The man is a walking dream with gorgeous dark hair, creamy skin, and tantalizingly clear eyes that look like molten silver. I almost swallowed my tongue when he stepped out of his room wearing a fitted black sweater, jeans, and combat boots. His arms are riddled with intricate tattoo sleeves, and his hair is tied back into a ponytail, emphasizing his chiseled jaw and perfectly curved brows.
Gazing from the corner of my eyes at his stiff posture, I bite my lower lip and try not to squirm in my seat. It’s still pretty early in the morning, and the light of day shines brightly against his pearl
