Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 59022 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 295(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59022 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 295(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
“I’ll give you twenty-four hours,” his tone radiates pure alpha power sending a shock of pleasure through me. A cataclysmic wave that makes no sense or shouldn’t make any sense and yet here I am. Merry Christmas?
“I’m—I’m not following…” I stutter out.
“To sign the clause. This time tomorrow night you’ll be on my yacht for a sleepover.”
“Are you mad?” I gasp in outrage, borrowing one of Grace’s new favorite sayings though when she says it, she almost always adds a British tilt to it.
He smiles in anticipation.
“I’ll send over transportation.”
My mouth drops. Oh, he’s serious.
Why is it so hot? The command itself? The way he just says it like I have no choice? Maybe that’s been the problem all along—me arguing sense into myself and the world around me—maybe what I’ve needed all along is this. Him.
“I’m not climbing on your boat tomorrow night!” I try to sound indignant, but honestly the thought is not a bad one.
It’s the best idea I’ve ever heard in my life.
“No, you will walk on my boat,” his grin is devilish. “And after dinner, or maybe during, you’ll slide into my bed.”
He holds his hand up like he’s stopping me from saying something I’ll regret.
“We can argue back and forth all night long, but I know without a doubt where you’ll be at this time tomorrow.
“In my bed… underneath me… screaming in pleasure.”
Fuck. Me.
“Promise?”
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Ithink Christmas is coming early for you.” Grace says as she sits down at the foot of my bed and watches me with wide eyes.
Thankfully, dinner came to a quick end and Jayson and Stetson left early. After my run in with him on the upper deck, and the craziness of our conversation, we had avoided each other like the plague. I was just praying for the night to be over so I could hide in my room and analyze the hell out of everything like any sane woman would do.
He hadn’t tried to say anything else in private to me, or get me alone for that matter, which was also interesting. And to be honest, I didn’t know what to make of it.
What was this mysterious clause he kept referring to?
This I want to know first. Because I have a lot of theories I came up with at dinner tonight. My number one being there must be something wrong with the family jewels. It’s the only idea that makes sense—that and some weird sex fetishes.
I don’t get to immediately start my obsessive thoughts because Grace follows me in my room, and I spill the beans before I even get comfortable in bed. I tell her that he invited me on his yacht. I intentionally leave out the clause agreement he mentioned because that’ll instantly turn Grace off. For the moment, I want her on my side… until I decide what I’m going to do and honestly, if he’s even serious.
But who knows?
Wouldn’t he have connected with me before he left? Found a way to communicate something?
“Oh God! Why do you look like that again?” Grace mutters under her breath.
I stop frowning.
“I’m just wondering how he’s going to get in touch when he didn’t ask for my number.” I say, not really panicked, okay who am I kidding, I’m both freaked out but also hoping he follows through and actually reaches out. I’m a mess. A holiday mess.
“He has Devon’s number,” Grace rolls her eyes. “Stop worrying. He’s obsessed with you. I watched him stare at you all night.”
“He did?” I wish I didn’t sound so needy but who doesn’t want a gorgeous man salivating?
“Yes,” she huffs. “So stop. Enjoy it. Have wet dreams and we’ll reconvene to talk about what you’re going to wear tomorrow night on your way to get laid because there is no world where you are not going.”
“We’ll see,” I reply even though I do want to go, unless of course the clause is some weird fetish that I’ll have to say no to. But I can’t imagine it would be.
“There’s no, I’m gonna see, shit,” Grace says. “You’re not just going to see tomorrow night; you’re going to come. Night, Charlie. Goddamn he’s a hot one.”
She shuts the door without missing a beat and I bust out in laughter.
He is a hot one. Aghhh! It really is a damn Christmas miracle. I swear this is the moment I suddenly believe in Santa again.
He’s sexy.
Single.
And has a clause… let me just remind you, Charlie, in case you forgot that small bit of information.
I hop out of bed and walk into the bathroom and get ready to sleep—if I’ll get any tonight. I’m fast and am ready to obsess about Stetson in bed. I turn on the reading light and throw the decorative pillows off the bed. Once I pull back the duvet and sheets, I’m more than surprised to see a long white envelope with my name perfectly written in black ink. Where the hell did it come from?