Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 22700 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 114(@200wpm)___ 91(@250wpm)___ 76(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22700 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 114(@200wpm)___ 91(@250wpm)___ 76(@300wpm)
“I think that’s down the road a bit, Cassandra.”
“What do you mean?”
I shouldn’t ask this, but I do. “Have you ever been kissed?”
Her cheeks immediately turn crimson. She blinks nervously and smooths her hair back, then shakes her head.
Damn. I knew it.
“Then maybe you should worry less about what men want and focus on what you want.”
She stares at me like she’s just had an epiphany. Like I just told her she’s allowed to have an opinion on something. Like she has a will of her own.
“No one…has ever said that to me before,” she whispers.
That’s no surprise. This girl’s been kept like a porcelain doll in a glass case her whole life. Hidden away from the world, taught to be proper. Her world is high fences, private tutors, and all the best money can buy.
But money can’t buy self-understanding or self-confidence. You have to learn those. And I want to be the one to teach her.
No.
I back away, shaking my head as if I can shake her out of my soul, which she’s quickly embedding herself into. “We should wrap up…”
“Already?” she asks.
She’s obviously disappointed, looking at me like she doesn’t want me to go. I’m her only line to the outside world, and that’s a dangerous power. Especially in my hands. My rough, calloused, strong hands, just aching to scour every inch of her unclaimed body.
I toss the extra balls back into the basket, trying to keep my eyes off her hard nipples and the curve of her hips. I don’t even respond. I just leave the court and walk back up the path to where I parked.
She trails behind me, close enough that I can just smell her perfume. I can hear the rustling of her skirt and the sound of her feet as she takes each step. I’m so turned on that I’m hyper-aware of her, and it’s absolutely killing me.
Just get back to the truck and get out of here.
“You’ll be back tomorrow, though, right?” she asks when we reach the lot.
I want to say no and turn in my resignation. That’s the safest bet for me. But I need this paycheck. And even more, I need her.
“Yes,” I say, my voice low. Her face lights up, so adorable, so sexy. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”
Even if it ruins me.
3
CASSANDRA
The pulsing between my thighs just won’t go away.
It’s been there since my lesson yesterday with Rhett, along with a tingling sensation like I’ve been transformed into a bubbling can of lemon seltzer.
I press my legs together as I lounge on the green velvet chaise in my room. I’m reading a book Clarisse brought me from the outside world. It’s a romance novel entitled Built from Stone about a girl who goes hiking and gets caught in a storm, only to be rescued by a rough mountain man who takes her home to his cabin where…things happen.
Clarisse gets me books like this occasionally. I think she knows they’re more educational than enjoyable to me. Having never had a boyfriend, I’m completely ignorant of how to please a man. These books at least give me somewhat of an idea.
I used to be able to picture the heroes in my mind, but ever since I met Rhett, all I see is his face.
His jaw, his hands–so rough and so big, gripping the handle of his racket as he showed me how to swing. The way he looked like he was holding back as he placed a hand on my hip while correcting my stance. The way his thick chest rose and fell when I asked him what men want from a wife. Something about that question rattled him, and he doesn’t look like a man who’s easily rattled.
He didn’t even answer me. Not really. But I remember his eyes when I said the word want. It was like my question was dangerous. Like I was dangerous.
My whole body still tingles, but especially the places he touched me: my hips, my hands, his chest against my back. If I inhale now, I can still smell his scent in my nostrils, despite the fact that he cancelled our lesson today and I haven’t seen him in over twenty-four hours.
The deep rumble of his voice and the way he spoke to me echoes over and over in my head–a naughty lullaby, beckoning me to do something I know I shouldn’t do.
I didn’t sleep at all last night. I just lay in bed, my body on fire, wearing nothing but a loose T-shirt and a pair of panties, trying to cool off and calm down. But I couldn’t stop thinking about his eyes, his hands, his touch…and what would have happened if I knew how to do those things that other girls know how to do. How to show a man they’re interested in him.