Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 51507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 258(@200wpm)___ 206(@250wpm)___ 172(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 258(@200wpm)___ 206(@250wpm)___ 172(@300wpm)
He was too close. He was too damned close, in more ways than one.
Meanwhile, I was trying desperately not to let any of it show. If he even suspected... I would never recover.
So I cut and took another bite of my steak, but I had lost the enjoyment of it, chewing robotically and swallowing so hard it might as well have been a clump of dryer lint. “And you think that Father meant you should oversee my wardrobe?”
He was eating his meal as if I weren’t just about to explode two feet away from him. “I most certainly do. I have been lax in my duties, and I’m going to rectify that situation as soon as possible.” Anthony leaned forward, looking me directly in the eye. “I want you to go out and buy yourself a winter coat, and I want to see it when we get together the next time, or you will not like the consequences. I promise you.”
“Consequences?” I giggled uncomfortably. “What? Are you going to spank me if I don’t?”
“Yes,” he said without a moment’s hesitation.
“Ha, ha, very funny.” I was trying to make light of the situation even though the look on his face made it very clear he wasn’t joking, and the ache deep within my pussy revealed that I wasn’t one hundred percent opposed to the idea.
“I’m a man of my word, Raychel. So I advise you to get a coat, or you won’t be sitting comfortably for quite some time.”
“Is this how you speak to the women who work for you at Black Secrets, Mr. Boss Man?”
“This is how I talk to you. Don’t push me. Trust me on that.”
My eyes widened so far, my eyes started to tear. How the hell was I going to buy a damn coat? I was barely making my rent, paying my bills, buying groceries and painting supplies. Sometimes groceries took a decided back seat to everything else. A new coat was out of the question. I could go to Goodwill, I supposed, but I didn’t really want to. Despite the fact that I was occasionally lucky enough to find donated clothing that had the price tags still on them, like the blouse and skirt combo I’d worn last month, I wasn’t all that fond of wearing other people’s clothes due to an underlying germ phobia I had. And it wasn’t like I really needed a coat for most of the days living in New Orleans. Just because there was a cold snap didn’t mean I needed to go into debt. But the bigger question... was he serious? Would he actually spank me if I didn’t get a damn coat?
“And I want us to get together more often than once a month, too. I don’t have much of a social life outside of Black Secrets, and I don’t imagine you do, either, no offense. It wouldn’t hurt either of us to get out more often and go do things. We can see movies, go out to dinner, go bowling, or I don’t know. Whatever we want.”
“Bowling?” I asked with a smirk. Anthony didn’t seem like a bowling type of guy.
He shrugged with a smile. “Maybe we need to do something normal. Like normal people.”
“Normal? I’m the daughter of a Russian mobster and you run a rich man’s nightclub. I would say we are far from normal.”
“Well... maybe it’s time we try it on for size.”
I was wondering how I was going to pay for all of this, but I didn’t say anything, concentrating instead on my meal.
“I don’t want to lose contact with you, Raychel. I don’t want to push you too hard or piss you off—although I can’t remember a time when I have ever seen you angry. But I realize that I want to take care of you. That it feels good to have someone to look after. Your father was a tough ass, but I loved him. You are more fragile than he was, but with the familiar stubborn streak that curses your family.”
He reached over and took my palm in his. I instantly tried to grab my hand back, but he refused to let me go, holding gently but firmly, not allowing me to wiggle my way out of his careful grasp.
I was practically in a panic. I did not want him touching me. The man was sharp as a tack, and he was sure to discover my immediate response to him if he were able to lay hands on me any time he wanted. So I concentrated all of my effort—every ounce of my being—on retrieving that hand, but got absolutely nowhere. He wasn’t hurting me at all, he was just holding onto my hand with calm determination.
I had been concentrating so hard that I hadn’t looked at him, but when my eyes flitted up to his, I stopped cold. His eyebrow was up again, chin down, his full, sensual lips in a tight line across his face.