Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 138003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 690(@200wpm)___ 552(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 690(@200wpm)___ 552(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
“You’re… welcome?” Shut up! Kill me now! “But I think you have that the wrong way around,” I waffle as he straightens and offers me his hand, pulling me upright.
Maybe I already thanked him. Lots—loudly. My throat is a bit sore.
His index finger loops the strap of my dress, gently lifting it back onto my shoulder. I force myself not to shiver as it slips over my sternum, sliding away my breast.
“It was…” A smile lurks on those highly chiseled lips, though he masters it in favor of righting my silky skirt over my thighs.
“One way to get a girl's attention?” I give my head a tiny shake as though it might speed up normal function. “Though possibly a bit convoluted.”
“How so?”
Maybe this experience had the same brain-melting effect on him. I thought men who gave without the expectation of reciprocation existed only in the realms of romance novels.
“I’m just saying it doesn’t change anything.”
That enigmatic smile almost breaks free this time, though he cups his chin, using his thumb and forefinger to wipe the corners of his mouth.
My stomach flips. Not unpleasantly. “As fun as that was, I don’t date customers.”
“Let’s set fun aside for a moment, ignoring the fact I just rocked your world.”
“Fine. But should we also set aside the fact that you’re a little full of yourself?”
Or I would be, I think, as my eyes dip to his still prominent bulge.
Not that I’m complaining or anything.
Well…
Maybe?
“It’s hard not to feel good at the compliments you threw out.”
“You’re sure I wasn’t complaining?” About receiving the orgasm of my life? I give my head a shake, probably still dazed. But I’ve never liked cocky men, not since… I won’t think about him.
I curl my fingers around the edge of the desk. My shoe is still on the floor, my feet—one bare and one shod—swinging alternately back and forth.
I put an immediate stop to that.
“But I’m beginning to wonder what you think is going on here,” he says. “Because what just happened had nothing to do with your little boyfriend.”
“Can you pass me my shoe, please?” That sounded so prim.
He scoops it up, though he ignores my outstretched hand in favor of slipping it onto my foot himself. I suppose that makes me a slutty Cinderella.
“Thank you,” I say, “but I don’t have a boyfriend, little or not. And of course this had nothing to do with Tod.” I hop to the floor. “I didn’t come in here to have sex with you for—”
“The three hundred thousand he owes me?”
“How—” much? My stomach drops. What the hell has Tod gotten me into? “How are his debts my problem?” I demand, forcing my chin higher as I turn to him.
“Because he said you’d honor them.” He pushes his hands into his pockets and takes a couple of ambling steps closer.
“Tod says a lot of things that don’t make any sense.”
“That sounds like it could be a problem.”
“Yes, a him and you problem.” I shake the skirt of my dress because I find I can’t look at him and be brave.
“If coming on my face wasn’t part payment, why exactly are you here?”
Because boys will be boys. And girls will be women, I almost say.
“Because Tod has obviously gotten himself into trouble.” I straighten and flick my hair over my shoulder as I put a couple of steps between us. Hopefully without doing a solid impersonation of a newborn foal. “And I came here to… to sort this out.”
She came. Then she went on wobbling legs. Her eyeballs still rolling in her head.
“But the thing is, you can’t get blood out of a stone.”
“I’m sure you’d be surprised what I can get blood out of.” His voice sounds as dark as a grave. “But that’s beside the point.”
“Then what is the point?” I pivot to face him, my post-orgasm high quickly dissipating.
“The debt is yours, beautiful. What are you going to do about it?”
“That’s ridiculous,” I retort, attempting to stare down my nose at him. It's no easy feat, given he’s at least six inches taller despite my heels. “I don’t have that kind of money.”
“When you own an art gallery?”
“A new gallery.” In a shipping container, I almost insert. “Like most new ventures, cash flow is a problem,” I add uneasily.
“You’re saying it would be difficult?”
“Yes.”
“But not impossible. Not for your family.”
“Is that what this is about?” My stomach sinks to my Manolo’s dupes. “Because if you think you’ll be able to extort my brother, you’re mistaken.”
“I wouldn’t be extorting him. You would.”
“No, I wouldn’t.” The words hit the air on the breath of a laugh because it would be impossible! It’s not like I could ask for a loan either, not without explaining what it’s for. Whit already thinks Tod is my pet project. He’d laugh me out of London if I asked him for a loan to bail him out.