Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 109286 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109286 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Fighting the urge to stare at her is more challenging than I expected. As we walk down the hill, several boys make hooting calls that cause her to flinch and drive her closer to me. I take her in surreptitiously. Only the lights from the homes and the occasional streetlight illuminate our path. The dirt and poverty looks more like quaintness than squalor. And Regan Porter looks like the shiniest rock in the diamond mine. I can’t fucking take my eyes off her.
Maybe she’s been sent to me as karmic punishment. You can look but don’t touch. Or worse, you shouldn’t even be looking.
Despite all that she’s gone through, Regan is magnetic. Her blond hair has dried in a cloud around her face, and neither the dirt nor the trauma can disguise the oval perfection, high cheekbones, and full lips. My hand rises of its own volition to tuck a few strands of hair behind her pretty, pale little ear. She jerks back from me, wide-eyed, nostrils flaring like a scared wild mustang I’ve brought in to tame.
And then my dick takes over and my thoughts go on an inappropriate detour thinking about all that pale pinkness riding me and that long blond hair brushing my bare chest. And those plump lips making a perfect circle for my—oh fuck. I am such a fucking asshole. Clenching my hand, I force myself to back off. Time and place, Daniel, time and fucking place.
“Hurry the fuck up,” I bark out. She flinches, and that helps to suppress my ill-conceived desires. I’m not into chicks who don’t want me and particularly not those who are scared of me.
But I’m not the only one drawn to her. I should’ve asked for a paper bag to place over her head, but you’d still see those long legs, the sexy indent of her waist and the thrust of her tits against the tissue-thin coat. It’s a good thing the night air is warm because between the swimsuit and the napkin that we’re calling a coat, she doesn’t have much protection from the elements. I can’t even take off my suit coat because I have a brace of guns underneath, but I can do something about her lack of shoes.
Her feet are dirty from both Gomes’s place and the unpaved roads. I hadn’t expected her to run through the favela. I figured I’d hustle her into the taxi, drop her off at the embassy, and be done with it.
But now we’re walking in the back alleys, drawing all kind of unwanted attention, and I can’t stop thinking about those tender feet being eaten up by the dirt and stones. Stopping abruptly, I swing around to face her. She makes a small sound, like a wounded animal. I wonder what she thinks I’m going to do out here, throw her down and mount her? Heaving a frustrated sigh, I kneel down to unlace one shoe and pull off my silk dress sock. Shoving my foot back into the rich leather of my shoe, I repeat the action on the other side. Raising one knee, I gesture for her to lift her foot up. “I’m going to brush the bottom of your foot off, okay?” I ask, patting my knee so she knows to rest her foot against my leg. Peering up at her, I can see her big green eyes wide with wonder. Or suspicion. “Look, doll face, I don’t have some weird sock fetish.”
Her lips are trembling and her eyes are beginning to water. Oh shit. She’s going to start crying, and I don’t need that. Holy fuck do I not need that. So I pull out the asshole because I sense that she’ll snarl back at the asshole but weep at a nice guy. “I’m tired of hearing you snivel while we walk, but if you’re going to sit there and cry, I can put it back on.”
Just as I suspect, the steel rod returns and she’s rigid again. She lifts her foot, pressing two fingers against my suited shoulder. And despite the suit coat, dress shirt, and beater underneath I can still feel the heat, and it’s burning a path from the shoulder right down to my groin. I hate myself. I really fucking hate myself.
It gets worse when she lifts her high-arched foot to place it gently on the edge of my knee. My finger itches to trace the curve and fondle the delicate skin behind her ankle bone. My whole body feels on fire. I deserve her disgust, because her back isn’t the only thing that is turning stiff as a steel rod. There are so many things I like doing on my knees between a pretty girl’s thighs. Things I haven’t done in a long, long time.
Carefully I brush off the dirt and pebbles from her foot. I take the time to run a finger, a quick one, between each toe. This ankle has no marks around it but I do a quick once-over around her lower legs before pulling the socks on. From my pocket I pull out a zip tie that I normally would use for restraints and pull it around her calf to hold the sock up. Above me I hear a gasp of breath, and her fingers press into my shoulder. For a moment, I think she’s going to take flight, but I don’t look up. Not once. Because if I do, I’ll have to look at her soft thighs, the hidden V between her legs, her breasts, and by the time I get to her face she’ll see the lust in my gaze and have a good reason to run away. So I keep my gaze on her feet.