Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 97525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
I half-expected Brant to touch me in the car, his hand to steal onto my leg, his prostitute-loving self to put those beautiful lips on my body in some way. He did nothing, just settled into the seat beside me, his fingers drumming a pattern on the armrest as he stared out the window.
"My house, Mark." My family's driver, a man who has been in my life for over a decade, nodded, his eyes never flicking to the rearview mirror. My use of him and this car was rare, reserved for situations like this where I expected to imbibe. Despite my mother's neat signature on his paychecks, I had his loyalty. Who knew what secrets he kept for my parents, he kept a file cabinet's worth of mine. I turned my attention back to the mystery beside me.
I'd known plenty of geniuses. Stanford was stock full, so I had experienced every make and model. And, for the most part, they fell into a few standard types. There were the ones whose genetics had blessed them with intelligence but no social skills. There were the pompous, insecure men who feigned confidence by vomiting data and facts. And then there had been the kind who made me the most nervous: the quiet types who watched me while notating every nuance of my character for analysis at a later moment—Brant’s type.
He glanced away from the window and studied me with open intensity, his eyes scraping open every damaged pore on my psyche.
“Stop,” I ordered.
His mouth twitched. "Why?"
"Don't think so much. Your brain could probably use a rest." I smiled.
"Worried about what I will come up with?"
"No." Yes.
"Why'd you leave with me?” he asked, as if any woman needed to explain running off with a billionaire.
"I figured you should have one night with a woman that you didn’t have to pay for."
His eyes crinkled at the edges. "I like paying."
"Why?" Now I was the curious one, and about every piece of this man. He was fascinating, the most interesting piece being his utter lack of concern about my opinion of his actions.
"It's less messy. I can dictate the night with no emotions involved."
"Emotions can make it hotter."
"And more painful."
“Have you been hurt?"
"Not yet." He stared at me so steadily, an odd emphasis placed on the words, as if he was giving his heart to me with both hands, certain it would lead to his demise.
I suddenly didn't want it. Didn't want the weight and pressure of that expectation. Didn't want to do anything but bring the light back into this man's eyes.
The car slowed, and I saw the gates of my home before us, moving slowly as we waited for entrance. I reached over, unclicked his belt, his gaze following my hand, his brows raising slightly. "We're here."
Mark dropped us at the front entrance, and I pulled Brant into the dark house and straight through the massive living space. The interior lights were off and the room's only illumination came from the view of the backyard, where uplighting highlighted traveler palms surrounded the glowing blue pool, my sliver of the ocean hidden by the night. I grabbed his hand and led him into my bedroom, my private oasis, which smelled of pears and sea salt, the bed already turned down, the lamp casting a soft, warm light onto the cream sheets. I turned my back to him. "Unzip me?”
There was a moment of pause, a moment where I tilted my head and waited for the pressure on my zipper. Then the slow drag of exposure, the fingers of his other hand following, four points dragging down my bare back as he took it down past the curve of my back, his breath changing in tempo, a deep inhale bringing a smile to my face. So, he is human.
His warm hands slid up and skimmed the tops of my shoulders, shedding me of the dress as the material fell down my arms and off my body. I turned, naked except for my underwear, and cast a mischievous smile toward his tuxedo.
"Strip."
"You do it." There was both a challenge and an order in his tone.
I shook my head. "I've got to break you of the habit of ordering women around."
He scowled and yanked his bowtie loose, then worked open the buttons on the front of his shirt. "When's the last time you did what you were told?"
I shrugged. "Hard to think back that far." I stepped out of my dress and faced the dresser. Behind me, there was the thud of his dress shoe as it hit the floor. As I carefully removed my diamond earrings, I watched him in the mirror. He shed his jacket, his shirt, then his pants. My eyebrows rose.
Dropping the large studs on the dresser, I moved toward my bed, my progress halted as he pulled me back and around into the hard surface of his chest. A full body press of his skin against mine, hard planes meeting soft curves. Nothing between us but my panties.