Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 138287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
“Money, Money, Money” started. Hell slapped a hand onto the kitchen counter and hollered, “This my jam!” He whooped. “Turn that shit up, Emmy.”
I did, and I did it fighting a giggle.
Connor was going to be so mad.
When he stepped out of the bathroom, a towel around his waist, and heard the song blasting through the suite, he glowered then stalked to his room. Before he shut the door, we all heard him. “Fucking weak.”
The suite was, somewhat suddenly, filled with laughter.
“Never?” Connor asked from his position beside me.
My arms were folded behind my head and I stare up at the plain white ceiling. “Nope.”
He turned onto his side then checked his watch. My eyes narrowed suspiciously. He peered over at me with eyes full of mischief. “You wanna go?”
I started to chuckle but he waggled his brows and I quickly realized he was serious. He was ridiculous. “Now?” My expression uncertain, I used my elbow to prop myself up. “Right now?”
“Sure.” He said this like it would be a piece of cake for a touring rock star to sneak out of his hotel. “Why not?”
An amused sigh escaped me. “Connor Clash, you are exactly the kind of man my Nanna warned me to stay away from.”
“I don’t blame her, baby. I’m not a nice guy.”
That surprised me. “Are you kidding me?” My eyes met his. “Connor, you’re one of the nicest guys I know.”
His body shook and he muttered a laughing, “Fuck, Emmy, you have to get out more, because if you think I’m nice, we got some real problems. Also—” His eyes narrowed. “—what guys? You don’t know anybody, baby.”
That stung a little but he was right. “True, I don’t know many guys and, yes, you’re brash and crude and sometimes make me want to rip my hair out of my head one strand at a time, but you’re here.” I averted my eyes and quieted my voice. “With me.”
“Well.” Connor seemed to think about this. After a while, he stated a matter-of-fact, “You’re Emmy,” as if that meant something.
I didn’t understand. “What does that even mean?”
“You get what I am. You get what this is. Most girls would have taken my proposition and run with it, virgin or not. But you—” His face was solemn. “You’re smarter than that. I like that you aren’t compromising yourself for me, just because people know me. It wasn’t even an option, you know? You got morals.”
He said morals like it was a bad word.
My heart turned gooey like melted caramel.
Before I could get all mushy on him, he went on. “Emmy isn’t gonna try to prick tease me or blackmail me. She’s not gonna go fuck one of my band mates just to try and make me jealous.” He held up a hand. “Don’t get me wrong. I am not the jealous type but this shit happens. I know. I’ve been there.” He exhaled quietly. “Emmy doesn’t make my life hard. She makes my dick hard.” His eyes searched my face and his fingertips skimmed the softness of my stomach. Connor watched in fascination as my skin broke out in goosebumps. He was quiet a moment before he added, “Emmy’s my friend and probably the only honest female I know.”
I love you, Connor Clash.
Then I thought about what he said.
The only honest female he knew? “That’s sad.”
“Not for me.” We were quiet a short while and Connor clearly didn’t feel as comfortable in the silence as I did. He sat up. “Are we doing this or not?”
I blinked up at him and thought all the things I could never say out loud.
You could lead me into the very fires of hell but with you by my side, I’d happily skip into the flames.
“Let’s go.”
His head snapped around. “Yeah?”
At his surprise, I smiled. “Yep.”
“All right.” He flung himself off my bed and pulled me up, grinning like the depraved human being he was. “We’re gonna have fun.”
Of course, we were.
We always did.
The strip club was busy, and that surprised me.
Connor held my hand, leading me to a table in the back, one that was almost hidden in the shadows. I knew why he’d chosen this table. It was the same reason he was wearing an unassuming black cap and aviators that covered half his face.
The woman on stage was almost completely naked apart from a tiny sparkling thong and matching heels. Her breasts were out, nice and perky. I was astonished at how inoffensive I found this entire situation.
The stripper danced slowly, sensually, and I watched her closely.
I felt that she knew the power she held over every man in this room and, in some ways, her power was my power. After all, I was a feminist and if this woman chose to do this for a living, who was I to be outraged on her behalf when she was undoubtedly loving her job?