Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 23181 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 116(@200wpm)___ 93(@250wpm)___ 77(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23181 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 116(@200wpm)___ 93(@250wpm)___ 77(@300wpm)
The girl nods. “Are you talking about the weather now?” she whispers. “Or…have you learned that lesson in life?”
How…odd that she is the one in a see-through dress, yet I’m the one feeling completely exposed here. There is something about her that makes me feel uncovered. Like she can see straight through me. Maybe she really did fall from the sky? “Both,” I mutter, finally answering her question. “Do you always ask strangers such personal questions?”
She considers that. “I don’t really meet a lot of strangers.”
“Obviously not,” I snap. “You don’t recognize the danger they pose when you’re all alone, walking around in this…” I brush a finger along the short hem of her dress. “Scrap.”
When I drag my attention back up from her creamy thighs, I’m surprised to find her eyes pinched shut, her breaths coming in quick pants. Certainly not because I touched her dress…? “Oh, I don’t know,” she murmurs. “Not every stranger that drove by would be bad. One of them might be a kind man who shares his umbrella with me.”
“I’m not sharing my—” I glance up in astonishment to find I’m now covering her head with my umbrella. Putting both of us beneath it. Far too close for my peace of mind. She smells like fresh apples.
The girl giggles at the dismay I’ve failed to hide. “I won’t tell anyone you’re a softie. Don’t worry.”
I’m lecturing her on safety, but the twist she’s causing in my chest is twice as dangerous. This interaction might be nothing to her, but it’s the most I’ve conversed with anyone outside of my employ in years.
I don’t allow anyone to get close. I don’t like people. They are lazy, deceitful, opportunistic, selfish. Their true colors always show through in the end. It’s why I don’t feel a hint of remorse when I evict my tenants. No one is truly good or worthy of empathy. Not to mention, I’ve been at the bottom of the barrel without so much as two dimes to rub together and I’ve built a billion-dollar real estate empire. If they can’t come up with a thousand bucks for rent, they can cry me a river.
The fact that this slip of a girl got through my defenses is not sitting right. I don’t like having my indifference challenged. I especially don’t like the wisp of satisfaction I got when she called me kind. I’m not.
For some reason, I damn well want her to know it.
“You think I’m a softie?” My voice is deceptively gentle when the rest of me is so hard. “Do you know why I pulled over?”
“Why?” she says, seeming to hold her breath.
Don’t you dare. She’s innocent. I say the words, anyway, however. I want to drive her away. Now. She caught me with my walls down and that is the ultimate invasion, made worse because I crave it happening again. “I pulled over because I know tight pussy when I see it.” I frame her jaw with my right hand, tilting her blushing face up toward mine. “I’d like to fuck you on all fours, right here in the middle of the road, little girl. Rough as you can stand. Still think I’m a softie?”
“No,” she gasps, the green of her eyes deepening to a forest shade. “I don’t.”
I ignore the regret stabbing me in the neck. “Good.”
She tugs her chin out of my hold, skirts around me and continues walking up the road, arms stiff at her sides. I’m monetarily dumbfounded by the sense of loss I experience without her in front of me—and then I’m turning on a heel, going after her. “Get in the limo. Now.”
“Why would I do that?”
“How about so you don’t catch pneumonia?” I growl. “Or get kidnapped.”
“Or roughed up on my hands and knees in the middle of the road?” she inquires primly over her shoulder, hurt dancing in her eyes.
More regret piles onto my head. “I said I would like to do those things, not that I’m going to,” I say through my teeth, following on her heels. “Stop walking away immediately and tell me your name.”
“Since you asked so politely, it’s Shelby. Shelby Bishop,” she says, spinning back around to face me. “I don’t understand. Why would you want me to think you’re terrible and rude? Can’t you just be the man who shares his umbrella?”
“Shelby Bishop.” That name hits me with such an odd sense of déjà vu, I feel slightly dizzy. I shake my head to clear the sensation. “I’m Alistair Kent.”
She crosses her arms, pursing those bee-stung lips, and my cock turns harder than fucking steel in my slacks. “You didn’t answer my question, Alistair.”
Is it my imagination or does my name roll off her tongue as if she’s said it a million times? “You asked me a personal question. I don’t answer those.” She starts to turn again, but I catch her by the elbow. “If I make an exception this time, will you get in the limo? I…find myself wanting you warm and fed. Immediately.”