Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 80932 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80932 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
But my entire body flames hot when I fully take in Regan. She’s got on a teal-blue dress that’s cut so low I’m surprised her belly button isn’t showing. It’s also cut wide, the inside swells of her breast on magnificent display.
For. Everyone. To. See.
My vision turns red, a phenomenon that has never occurred in my entire life, and I have the insane and overwhelming urge to throw a blanket over the top of Regan so no one can see how gorgeous and sexy she is.
“Easy there, buddy,” penetrates through the buzz that’s taken up residence in my ears, and I realize Bishop actually has a restraining hand on my arm. I’d taken three steps toward Regan. “I think you need to calm down and stay right here beside me for a few minutes until you get your shit under control.”
My head snaps his way, and I growl in fury and frustration.
He grins, poking me in the chest. “Dude… you have it so bad for her. Just give the fuck in and make something with her, okay?”
Returning my gaze to Regan, I stare. She’s fucking stunning.
And young and innocent.
She’s also mine if I just fucking take that last step.
My attention is interrupted by the bartender coming out from behind the bar to hand me a refill. I take it, graciously downing about half the drink in one swallow. I have got to get my shit together, so I don’t act like an idiot tonight.
CHAPTER 15
Regan
Subconsciously, I pull at the hem of my dress. I swear I feel air on my ass, but I don’t remember it being exposed in the dressing room mirror when I tried it on earlier today. Willow had talked me into this scandalous garment. She took me out to lunch, plied me with wine, and then took me shopping. I couldn’t have afforded the extravagance of a designer dress for one single night out on the town, but Willow could. She insisted she pay for it because she makes damn good money at her job and essentially has no bills to pay as she doesn’t even own a home. When she’s in between assignments, she just crashes at her parents’ house in Michigan and otherwise hoards most of her money.
I should have figured I’d be in trouble hanging around with Willow. It was the wine that ultimately led me to purchase the damn dress. In the safety of the dressing room, it hadn’t seemed that revealing. But as I take in the looks of the hungry hockey players checking out the new women who have entered their lair, I feel incredibly underdressed.
I also feel like a fraud. I don’t do sexy well.
“Come on,” Willow says with excitement as she takes me by the hand. “Let’s get a drink.”
We make it no more than two steps toward the bar before a large, hulking hockey player plants himself in front of us.
“Ladies,” he says in a smooth, honeyed voice. “Welcome to the fun.”
Growing up in a hockey family, I have learned to know the players. It didn’t take me long at all to pretty much memorize the entire Arizona Vengeance team just from some simple roster research before the game the other night.
Before us stands Trace LaForge, a third-line rookie defenseman. He’s more my age than Willow’s, but he looks between the two of us without a care as to such things.
I can tell by the sparkle in his eye and the leering smile on his face he thinks we’re part of his entertainment tonight. And I don’t mean that in an offended or prudish way. I’m a sister of a hockey player, so I’m well aware of what happens at these parties as I listened in on conversations between Lance and his teammates when I was younger. I don’t begrudge it.
But I’m not on the menu tonight, and he’s gazing at me like I’m the main course. He clearly has no idea Willow is a family member, or he would get that look right off his face before Dax takes it off.
“LaForge…” The deep, slightly cultured voice comes from behind me, and I turn to find an incredibly handsome man standing there. He’s tall with raven-black hair and even darker eyes. He’s dressed in an impeccably cut suit that’s obviously designer, although I have no clue about the label. I can tell just by his bearing he is big money. “They’re asking for you to go to the maître d’ stand. Something about your credit card being declined.”
Trace’s eyes bug out of his head, and he mumbles in apology as he brushes past us.
I glance at Willow, who is openly checking the man out in an overly appreciative away. When I turn to the man who just scared off the young rookie, he’s regarding Willow with the same open appraisal. I swear I can feel the sizzling vibe between them as they eyeball each other.