Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 67518 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67518 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
I stand my ground. “Sounds harsher when you say it. You’re a mean one. I tried to save you. You fought off my gentlemanly efforts.”
Her arms fold, accentuating breasts that are too tiny for a tit fucking but deserve my palms. “You’re forgetting something, Victor. After our little tug of war, I agreed you saved me from another suit.”
Little tug of war? Tosh! One side of my mouth tips. I won’t allow any defiance out of Luxury, only her full submission.
I glance around the lovely world I could never be a part of. “Anyway, I did a simple search of the area.”
Very simple. You’re young. College-educated. The deceased mother must account for some form of low self-esteem. Impressionable to a vulture like me. I reach into a basket of pinecones, touching one in thought.
Luxury smiles softly. “I take it you’ve only picked roses, right? You’re a long-stemmed kind of guy?”
“Picked up? Rubbish, sweetheart.” I glance around, having never ventured to a flower shop. “I make a quick call, and yes, long-stemmed roses.”
“Yeah, they are timeless. Anyway, give it a sniff. I call this fragrance Harvest Spice. The Purely Pumpkin sold out this morning. If you’re a holiday guy, our winter spruce has an earthy, masculine hint. It’s a December favorite.”
Shite, she’s measuring if I’m sticking around. Releasing the pinecone, I drop my hands in my pocket and inform her, “Luxury, I’m taking you to dinner tonight.”
To smooth over her slight undertone of nervousness, Luxury coils her finger around a tendril. “I, uh, have a hair appointment.”
“Hair appointment?” Little liar.
“Yes, and stop laughing at me.”
“I’m not.”
“Your eyes. Either your eyes are laughing or—”
“Or?” My eyebrow lifts, but a second later, what I assumed was nerves looks a little like fear. Why?
My gaze flickers over my attire. No blood. Nothing blaring. Not even a tiny thread out of place.
“Victor, you look like . . . I’m sorry, but I’ve got the feeling you tell people to ‘do this’ and ‘do that.’ ” She emphasizes “do this” and “do that” in a commanding and stately tone.
I’d say I bodged this one. But if Luxury’s comparing me to a royal, perhaps I should take her home to the Queen. Here, Grandmummy, proof I’m no wanka like Father.
“We won’t mesh.” Luxury looks me over, subconsciously darting her nervous, pink tongue over plush lips.
I step closer to her. “I’m confident we will come together under a certain agreement.”
Bollocks. My domineering causes Luxury to lengthen her spine. Or she could’ve become taut because of her employee, who seems rather chummy and has come outside to prune the flowers. Luxury glares at the nosey woman, folding her arms. “Well, Dr. Finch, I would rather consume an entire bottle of rubbing alcohol and chase it down with bullets than be told what to do.”
Good ol’ bullet reference. I will bless your forehead with my cum for that one.
Eyes dark with desire, I pitch a brow. “Are you done judging me, Luxury.”
“Well, yes, and I was merely saying why dinner would be a disaster.”
Her lanky friend takes Luxury’s shoulders from behind, kneading them, and gives me a wink. “Lux’s free tomorrow night.”
“No.” Luxury jerks a shoulder.
“Great,” I reply, “I’ll have a driver pick you up at seven.”
“She’ll be ready,” the taller one adds.
“Aliyah, bye!” Luxury grits out. Grumbling, the other woman strolls into the shop.
“Dr. Finch, I never said ye—please stop.” Her lips pinch.
“Stop what?” I cut in, aware of precisely what she means. Luxury’s rattled by my stare.
My presence.
Me.
Luxury’s instincts warn that a predator is not only nearby but prepared to devour her in one succulent bite.
With a grin as sharp as a razor’s edge, I add, “What do you mean?”
“Doesn’t matter. I didn’t say yes.” Luxury scoffs. “You’re insistent. If I were to take you up on your offer and score a free meal, theoretically speaking, where are you taking me?”
“Delacroix.”
“I’ll pass.” Luxury chuckles, embarrassment creasing her brow. “Isn’t that a hotel?”
7
LUXURY
Day Five
How did I get myself into this? A date at a hotel. Only God knows how long I’ve been celibate.
Dr. Finch is older, commanding. His dreadfully sexy, unnerving stare can read me from cover to cover.
As I stand in my bedroom wrapped in a sheen of dew after my shower, I inspect myself in the mirror. What was Victor seeing? Through his eyes I was . . . beautiful?
“Whatever, girl, he wants ass.”
I want a candle-lit dinner at the prime steakhouse in Hotel Delacroix. Not to sound entitled, but I’ve drowned in him during each encounter. Because of my unease, I deserve a juicy piece of meat, bone included. Shit, I was honest about my intentions too.
“You won’t be teaching me a lesson, baby,” I murmur, placing a blue mini dress back into its glossy black box. I discard Victor’s callous request to “wear this” with his measured signature on the bed. While fanning a green tea mask on my face, I consider the designer heels, which were miraculously my size. A bike courier delivered both items. After realizing there would be no way I’m six inches taller, not ever, I put them back. Six inches is lethal. In the end, I settle for a simple black cocktail dress, the hem of which grazes my mid-thigh, and my best pair of kitten heels.