CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

|•| IRIS CORTEZ|•|

The reflexively husky, masculine voice eased into the room like a honey drizzling into a teacup, swiftly grabbing my attention more than it ought to.

I froze, the whiskey bottle hanging in the air. I was definitely hallucinating. I mean, I knew I had been thinking of the guy a little too much lately but there's no way in hell he was here.

“He is not here. He is not here.” I muttered to myself, trying to steady my shaky hands.

“Ouch, does that work all the time?” he queried, sounding confused.

I knew I was fast, but I didn't think I was fast enough to snap my head in the direction of the doorpost in what seemed like the blink of an eye.

“Pretending that people are a product of your hallucination?” I saw one of his perfectly carved brows tug up a little, inquisition etched on his strong features.

He didn't move a muscle from where he was leaning on the doorpost, his muscular frame eating up every inch of the opening behind him. His large