Her heart thudded inside her chest as though one was, with fingers outstretched ready to drag her into a dark New York alley. Lexie filled her lungs, and then slowly released the breath through Russian Red lips. The MAC cosmetics color typically perked her disposition. Today, it lacked the desired effect. She lifted her small hand from the slick wood-grained steering wheel and examined it closely. The money-maker hovered in the air as steady as ever. Not a twitch or tremor to see. She huffed, “Of course.” Her fingers were that of a pianist’s, long and slender. Milk white skin, from zero time in the sun, stretched over them, revealing the barest hint of squiggly veins over the back of her hand and up her small arm. A horn blared from the left. “Shit!” Both her hands flew to the wheel and her eyes shot up in time to save the beloved 1965 red ragtop Mustang from side swiping a Smart Car. When the open water bottle she’d held noisily glugged its contents into her lap, she screamed, “Double shit!”
What do You think about Red (Close Contact Book 3)?
