Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 68354 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68354 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
“Go? Where?”
Glancing at the clock on the wall, she shakes her head, and to my surprise, her eyes fill with tears. “You don’t care, so why should I tell you?” she says. “I forgot something.” Her voice catches at the end, and for some reason, something unfamiliar claws at my chest. I fight the urge to draw her to me and hold her. “Something super important.”
“Our conversation is important,” I counter.
“Something more important,” she says, her eyes flashing at me.
Good girl.
The thought comes unbidden when she challenges me.
I wonder what she’d do to me if she pleased me.
I love the pretty way her eyes glow when she’s mad.
You’re so pretty when you’re angry.
“I see. And now you’re late?”
“Yes,” she whispers.
“You know, they make these things called calendars,” I tell her with a frown. She really should get her act together. “And smartphones with reminders.”
“Do they?” she asks, her head tipped to the side. “And they also make these things called douches. Do you know what they are? They’re used to—”
But the door to the bookstore opens and she clamps her mouth shut.
This time, I do speak it out loud. Taking a step closer to her, I whisper, “Good girl. You really do not want to complete that sentence, do you, Cora?” Leaning in, I let my thumb brush her delicate collarbone, when I whisper, “Or did you forget? What it felt like to be strewn over my lap, helpless, while I spanked you?”
“Oh God,” she whispers, shaking her head, but I can feel her trembling. “Please.”
“Please, what? Make you come again?” I shake my head and tsk like I’m scolding an errant child. “No, sweetheart. Not unless you beg. And only good girls get rewards.”
Huffing out a breath, she turns from me, but I can see it takes some effort. “I have to go,” she whispers. I almost regret being a jerk.
“Tell me,” I order.
“No, I—”
“Now,” I insist in my sternest tone. Christ, the woman would do well with a folded belt across her ass.
People call me convincing. Persuasive.
I get what I want.
“Parent-teacher night,” she says, not meeting my eyes. “I promised Bailey I would be there, and it’s just starting. By the time I can get a ride…”
I’m not thinking straight. I should let her go. I should walk away. Hell, I shouldn’t even be here.
I’ve let my impulses run crazy, like wild stallions, and I’m losing self-control. Losing? Hell, I’ve already lost it.
“I have a driver,” I tell her. “He’ll take you. Let’s go.”
“What?” she sputters. “I can’t—”
I give her an angry glare. “Why not? You’ve been in my car before. And you’re already late.”
Worrying her lip, she glances around the store. I can see when she finally makes the decision, for the wrinkles on her forehead soften, and she casts her eyes down.
“Yes, please.”
“Go tell your boss,” I say. “But we need to go now if we’re going to get there on time.”
She wastes no time in running to the front of the store. After a quick conversation with Marla, who looks my way warily but nods, she grabs her bag and runs to me.
“Thank you,” she says. “I’m… thank you,” she repeats.
“You’re welcome,” I tell her.
“Is this a truce?” she asks.
Damn, she’s cute. “Yeah,” I say with a smirk. “Cease fire.”
For the first time since I’ve met her, she smiles, and hell if it isn’t gorgeous.
I lead her to where my car waits and flick the button so the screen comes down between the back and front cab.
“Where to, sir?”
I jerk my head at her. “Wherever she needs to go.”
When she gives him the name of the closest high school, I blink in surprise.
Why a high school? Cora has some explaining to do.
I don’t know why I want to know these things. I don’t know why I have to ask her. But I like to know exactly what hand I’m playing.
Flicking the button to make the divider go back up again, I turn to her.
“So, you’re going to parent-teacher night. Why?”
Cora sits awkwardly, twisting her hands in her lap, but she meets my eyes without blinking.
“My mom was an alcoholic who died about six months ago in prison. She and my dad didn’t grow up around here, but she relocated after my dad was killed overseas.”
“Overseas?”
“He was in the military,” she explains. “Naval officer. After losing him, my mom… made some very bad choices.”
“I see.”
“So, I fought for, and won, custody of Bailey and Ben.”
I know who Bailey is. “Ben?”
“My brother.”
Shit. She’s the guardian of two children, she’s a college student, and holds down two jobs?
I could change her life without blinking an eye.
No.
I don’t give to charity causes like hers. I give to places that will benefit my career. I don’t believe in handouts. And I don’t get involved with women saddled with children.
Why am I letting her get to me?