Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 119184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 596(@200wpm)___ 477(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 596(@200wpm)___ 477(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
This man is a master conductor, and right now my body feels like the whole orchestra, singing for him so sweetly, just as he commands.
And oh, this is music.
I’m clinging to him, one hand on his arm and the other fisting his shirt at his waist. Both his hands are still on my face, gentle yet firm as he tilts my head slightly, fitting us together at a better angle.
Fireworks.
Literal fireworks.
My stomach leaps in a way I’ve never experienced. Like I’ve swallowed a whole summer’s worth of butterflies.
Super cheesy. But super real.
Is this what kissing is supposed to feel like?
Or have I just been kissing the wrong men all my life?
Or maybe—the thought irks me, though I don’t know why—he’s just kissed enough women that he’s an expert in the dark arts of sex.
That’s the most likely explanation.
I tell myself I don’t care as his tongue roams mine and his fingers press into my cheek, adding this roughness I shouldn’t like.
I definitely don’t mind that he’s turned my body liquid.
That shameless surrender spreads from my knees to the rest of me too soon.
If he didn’t have another hand on my back, holding me up, I’d be so screwed.
Pretty sure I still am, because I’ve forgotten how to breathe.
If he wasn’t so good at this, I’d also say I’ve just forgotten how to kiss. Because this kiss tells me I never knew.
But his lips move slowly and suggestively—all sharp, silent words—until only primal instinct remains.
When he moves away, I follow him before I catch myself and jerk back.
No way. I can’t be doing this.
I can’t seek his warmth, dick-matized by a near-stranger I wanted to strangle half an hour ago.
Right now, I’m nothing but bad instincts, and most of them are lodged in my lower belly. There’s an ache between my thighs I haven’t experienced in ages, pulsing so intently it scares me.
Holy shit, this is bad.
And that was quite possibly the best kiss of my life.
Speechless.
“Practice, Sass. Don’t look so shocked,” he tells me.
My mouth opens, and I fully intend to say something witty and harsh, but all I can manage is “What the hell?”
Clever. That’ll show him.
“I’ll have my people send over the paperwork soon. Tell me you get it when it comes through.” He has the audacity to salute as he walks away.
Looking utterly unaffected.
And I think I’m back to hating his smug, arrogant ass, even if he’s converted me to the dark side.
Just not like before.
Not when it’s also possible that I’ll never forget this shredding, world-tilting kiss for as long as I live.
And that’s the worst part.
There’ll be more kisses like that coming, and soon they’ll fill my head until I forget how to keep my guard up.
VIII
Barking Mad
(Brady)
Some days, I forget I’m the son of one of the richest business magnates in Seattle.
Today is not one of those times.
Dad’s favorite breakfast spot is a Filipino American diner, and like usual, he buys it out for a couple hours so we can eat in peace and privacy.
Usually, it’s such overkill I laugh. He loves to pretend he’s more famous than he really is. Even if he isn’t far off the tech titans you always hear about, he doesn’t have anything close to their media footprint.
Today, though, I don’t mind.
His face is already cherry red as he glowers at me from his wheelchair.
“I can’t believe you’d do this. After you insisted you were done screwing around,” he snarls. His big hands hold his coffee mug like he’s on the verge of hurling it at me.
“Now, Alec.” Mom puts a hand on his arm. “We haven’t even eaten yet. Let’s take it down a notch.”
“That’s the damn point. We haven’t even had our coffee, and he’s ruined breakfast with his alley-cat bullshit exploding across the internet. What the hell were you thinking?”
“Thanks.” I look up and smile at the poor server who finishes filling my mug.
“Brady!” Dad barks, crashing his fist against the table. “Are you listening?”
“Yeah. Everyone in a three-mile radius can hear you too.” I add a splash of cream to my coffee and stir.
I knew he’d react like this, yes, but it’s so fucking infantile I have trouble keeping my temper in check.
“Explain yourself. And you better have an excellent excuse for humiliating the Loomers and the entire Pruitt brand with this nonsense. The money we’ve had to shell out on those damn reputation managers over the years to bury your antics . . .” He shakes his head.
Never one to mince words, my old man.
“First of all,” I say, “I was never with Nancy. You guys kept pushing her on me, yeah. I went out of my way to give her a chance. It just didn’t work, Dad. You can’t hold a gun to my head and make me like her, especially when I have better options. Like Lena Joly, for one.”