Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 67967 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67967 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
Her words trail off and all I want to do is kiss the sadness from her mouth. Make her feel loved and wanted, the way she deserves to be.
But I’m only a fun fling to her, right? The rich guy showing her a good time for a few days, then she’ll be back to her life, and me to mine.
She doesn’t want to talk any more about the past, but I suddenly feel a deep need to know her better, to know everything about her. I ask about the present.
But that seems to make her sad too.
“Oh,” she says vaguely. “I’m a writer.”
I’m surprised by her answer. I don’t know that I’ve ever met an author before. “A writer? Fascinating. Tell me more.”
She laughs easily, but she’s hiding something. I can tell by the way she looks away. Is she embarrassed about being a writer? “Not as fascinating as it sounds, I promise. I was just a little girl with an overactive imagination, and it led to me being an okay storyteller—at least one that could make enough to pay the bills.” She stretches, yawning almost as if from stress. “Now your turn.”
I want to know more about her career, what she writes, but talking about it didn’t bring a smile to her face, and all I want for her is happiness, so I choose not to press for more information. Not now, at least. “My turn?”
“Mhm. I should know at least a little bit about you if I’m going to be pretending to be your girlfriend, no?” She gives me a teasing wink.
“Ah, suppose that’s a fair point.” I hold her close for a moment, just enjoying the way her heart beats against my chest, the way her naked skin lays against mine.
I shrug. “Pretty good childhood, I guess. I grew up in a small town in Georgia, was raised by my Gran.” I don’t offer much more at this point. We aren’t a real couple; we aren’t in this long-term. She doesn’t know about the accident that took half of my family from me.
“Ah,” she says with a nod. “The one we’re going to visit?”
I smile. “The very same.”
“You? From a small town? I can’t imagine.”
“That I’ve ever been away from the bright lights of Vegas? I understand.”
She smiles and rolls her eyes. “I didn’t mean that. Just that… well, you look so natural here. Like you belong.”
Have I really felt like I belonged since I left my home? I move on as if she didn’t just say that.
“I worked hard in school. Studied, graduated top of my class, went to Notre Dame on a full football scholarship.”
She sits up and smacks my chest. “No way!”
I can’t help but chuckle, even as I grab her wrist and hold it so she doesn’t do that again. “Be a good girl,” I warn.
She smiles up at me. “Yes, daddy.”
“I swear you do that just so I get stern with you.”
She shrugs a shoulder and doesn’t deny it. I shake my head. So cute.
“So I played college football and studied business, but I sustained an injury my senior year…” my voice trails off, as the pain of that memory surfaces. I thought I’d made peace with the trajectory of my life, with how things turned out differently than I planned. But somehow, talking to her, I guess that I haven’t.
“What kind of injury?” she asks, concern written across her features as her brows draw together.
“Severely broken leg, in several places. Sidelined me for the entire season. Others went on to be drafted to play professionally, but I never recovered. By the time I was better, I’d gotten an interim position managing this string of hotels here in Vegas, and I couldn’t resist.”
“Resist what?” she asks.
I like how direct she is, even if I don’t want to answer the question directly.
“Something new. A chance to still succeed, even when the plans I had to do just that fell short.” I grin and give her a teasing smack to the rear. “Now enough about me. Today’s about you and all your shopping fantasies come true.”
She snorts. “You mean you’re going to find me a bra that makes my boobs look better, jeans that make my waist look slimmer, and shoes that are sexy as hell and don’t pinch my toes?”
“Consider it done.”
“Well then, Mr. Morrow,” she says, in that soft, sexy purr of hers that makes me melt. “You’re magic at more than granting a girl orgasms.”
“Is that right?” I ask. I roll her over on her back and pin her arms above her head, capturing her wrists between my fingers. I kiss my way down her neck until her head falls back on the pillow and she emits a low, sexy groan. Within minutes, I’m hard as granite, gliding between her folds and rocking my hips until her screams of ecstasy spur on my own.