Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 45531 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 228(@200wpm)___ 182(@250wpm)___ 152(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45531 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 228(@200wpm)___ 182(@250wpm)___ 152(@300wpm)
The rage turns to a different kind of heat when I stare at the woman. There’s a quiver in my chest as if my heart is struggling to catch up with the woman I’m devouring with my eyes. Tension touches my groin, stiffness threatening as I take all of her in.
She’s got her brown hair tied up in a bun, neat and combed, but with a few rebellious strands here and there, giving her a sexy, slightly wild look. Despite wearing sweatpants and a hoodie, I’ve never seen a more attractive woman. Perhaps that’s not saying much, since no women attract me.
This is like an atom bomb of want, detonating deep within, spreading as I drink in the sight of her curvy hips, her thick thighs, and her voluptuous chest.
I remember what my business partner, Brad, said a few days ago. “We don’t want any bad PR right now. We need to stay focused. The deal is all that matters.”
I agreed gruffly since he was right, and he wasn’t talking about me. There’s nothing I do, in public or private, that would bring us any bad press. But falling for a woman who must be half my age—her cheeks are innocently flushed, her eyes wide as she stares—would definitely bring problems.
These thoughts suddenly flashing in my mind could lead us to ruin. I don’t understand how she can ignite this in me, a whirlpool sweeping up all my negative emotions and throwing out something surprising, certainty crashing into me.
This woman, whoever she is, is mine. There’s no doubt about it. She belongs to me. No other man can touch her or be with her ever. I push that down deep and stifle it.
It’s not just the PR. I’ve never let my feelings rule me. Cold facts, figures, statements of truth, but isn’t it a statement of truth to say I need this woman so badly it hurts?
She’s still just staring at me, not answering my question. As I approach, her body language stiffens … just like my manhood gets harder the closer I get.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I… uh, I was working late, and I got lost.”
“You work here?”
The company is large, so it’s not surprising I’ve never seen her before. I know I would remember her if I had. Already, every inch of her is tattooed on my mind.
“I’m… an intern.”
She bites her lip briefly when she pauses. She’ll bite it like that when I glide my hand up her leg, pressing so she can feel the desire through the firmness of my touch, her lip biting getting more exaggerated the closer I get to her sex.
Again, I push these thoughts away.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
“M-Michaela,” she says after a pause.
Perhaps I make her nervous. That’s the case with a lot of my employees who think I’m always on the verge of snapping. It’s my general demeanor, I’ve learned, that causes discomfort.
I’ve never cared about my reputation for grumpiness before, but with Michaela, I wish I could summon something else… an easy smile, perhaps some disarming words.
I need to keep the journalist in me alive and not rush ahead until I’ve got all the facts. Knowing everything about her, though, won’t justify these feelings. It won’t corroborate the evidence in my heart and my manhood. It won’t turn the future already brimming in my mind into something reasonable.
A flash, an image, a dream. Michaela lying in a large bed on silk sheets, cradling a baby to her chest, smiling at me with love swelling and…
No, Jacob. Shut up. Stop it.
“I’m sorry,” she says, after another pause, reminding me I’m just standing over her, staring like a freak.
“Why are you sorry?”
“I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
“There’s nothing to disturb. I had another meeting with Trent. He seems to think the truth is malleable. I was going to do a little more work and then head home.”
I’m not sure why I share this, except I want to share everything with her.
“Ah.”
“What about you?” I ask. “What are you working on?”
She waves a hand. The gesture is alluring with an air of forced casualness. Or I could be overanalyzing everything she does since it all fascinates me.
“Just boring admin stuff to keep the company afloat… no offense.”
I almost laugh at her sarcastic tone. There’s nothing mean in it. It’s a tone I can imagine bringing smiles to our children’s faces—a tone she’d use when saying something like, “Well, if you don’t eat your dinner, you’re going to make Mommy very upset.”
“My real passion is…”
“What?” I ask when she stops speaking.
She shrugs.
“You can tell me,” I say, then scramble for a reason. “I take an interest in all my employees’ side projects.”
There’s a reasonable explanation for my interest. The truth is, I’ve been too busy with the deal to think about anything else, but the excitement in my woman’s eyes is enough to get me listening. Again, I fight those thoughts. Not my woman. Slowing down is probably a good idea.