Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 59521 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 298(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59521 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 298(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
God, I really am in my own world. I hadn’t even heard Ace approaching, and as my eyes take him in, I notice that he looks a thousand times more dangerous in the moonlight. He stands just a little too close, like he’s making sure I don’t pitch myself into the black water.
I squeeze the rail harder. “So, I’ve figured out I may need to stay out here until sunrise. Or until I die. Whichever comes first.”
He doesn’t smile. Just leans his hip against the glass barrier and studies me, then the water, then me again. “I’ll walk you back to your room.”
My dignity is hanging by a thread, but it’s let him help me back or attempt to crawl, so I don’t fall over the edge, and I’m not crawling. “Promise you’re not going to take advantage of me.”
He stares at me, expression unreadable. Then, “I don’t do drunk women.”
I can’t tell if he’s joking, but he offers his arm anyway. I wrap my fingers around his forearm, trying not to focus on the muscle there. The yacht dips, my knees buckle, and before I can stop myself, my body collides into his. He just catches me, hands at my waist, and guides me upright.
“Oh my god,” I half laugh, half groan. “Could it get any worse?”
His lips twitch. “It could, you haven’t vomited yet. Don’t worry, I got you.”
He walks me down the hallways, catching my every stumble. “You always drink like this?” he asks.
“God, no. I’m barely allowed to eat food that isn’t perfectly prepared for me. I’m a dancer, my body has to be perfect, and so does my health. Alcohol doesn’t factor into that.”
“Yeah, I get that.”
I pause. “You do?”
“I’m a fighter.”
My eyes widen. Well, I knew he was something, but I didn’t pick that. Though it makes sense now. “A fighter?”
“Yeah.”
“Like a real fighter?”
He gives me a look.
“Sorry, I just...you mean like wrestling?”
“No,” he mutters. “I mean like fuckin’ fighting. MMA, mostly.”
“Damn. Are you good?”
“Champion.”
I have so many questions, like why the fuck did my father hire fighters to watch over us?
“Well, as much as I want to ask more questions, I am trying to not complete my shame by vomiting on you.”
He chuckles. “We’ll see.”
We reach my door and I fumble for the handle, managing to get it open only to knock a vase off the cabinet right beside it. Somehow, Ace catches it with ninja reflexes. He sets it back without comment. I’m rooted in place, suddenly too aware of him, of his size and the way his eyes don’t miss a thing.
“So, since you’re my security,” I say, my words less clear than I’d like. “Does that mean you have to check under my bed for monsters?”
“Trust me, if there were monsters, you’d hear them screaming. Get some sleep.”
I don’t want to. Not yet.
“What about...” I squint, and can’t remember the question, so I just lean on the door frame and let my head loll. “Do you think I’ll fall asleep and vomit and then die because we’re on a boat and I never drink?”
He gives me a long, slow look, then says, “You want me to sit and watch.”
“That’s creepy.”
Another snort. “Have it your way.”
I dare to take a step further inside, and barely make it to the edge of the bed before the room tilts, and I have to brace myself on a dresser.
“Need some help?” he asks from the doorway.
I shoot him a glare, but the effort makes me giggle. “You offering to undress me and tuck me in?”
His face doesn’t change. “I’ll tuck you in, the rest is your problem.”
“Rude,” I mumble.
Right then, the boat gives a massive, rolling heave and I tip forward, arms windmilling, and Ace has to lunge to steady me. I land against him, face pressed tight to his t-shirt, and holy shit, I inhale the faintest trace of soap, beer and ocean.
“You smell really good,” I say. He doesn’t move, his hands remain gripping my upper arms.
“You’re going to regret all this tomorrow,” he says, voice a little softer this time.
“Story of my life,” I whisper, and finally, with enormous effort, manage to pull free of him and flop face-first onto the bed.
He leaves me there, but before he does, I feel the blanket settle over my shoulders and hear his footsteps fade down the hall. If I could move, I’d chase after him. Instead, I close my eyes, let the world rock and spin, and wonder what exactly I’d set in motion by letting him catch me.
“WHY SHOULD SHE GET the first session just because her daddy paid for this trip?” Rachel snaps, arms folded across her chest as we stand outside the spa room.
The small Thai lady who runs the spa room stares at Rachel, her face laced with confusion. Her eyes dart frantically to mine, no doubt hoping I can get her out of this before it escalates.