Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 92743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
But I’m not a hero.
And I’m not a good man, a fact I prove by remaining on top of my intruder once I realize he is actually a she, and that she’s probably one of Mark’s chaotic group of friends.
Or one of the many girls he’s fucking…
She looks like his type.
As I roll her onto the mattress beneath me, her long, wavy blond hair spills across the sheets. The moonlight reveals plush lips parted in an “O” of surprise, cheekbones a princess would kill for, and big eyes I’m guessing are blue, though I can’t make out their color in the darkness.
Mark’s conquests are always blondes with blue eyes, girls who look like they could use a sandwich and an intervention with whatever they use to dissolve the filler dermatologists pack into women’s lips these days.
But this woman’s lips aren’t artificially plumped, they’re too soft-looking for that, and she isn’t his usual waif. When she shifts beneath me, trying to wiggle free, I can feel the strength in her long frame. She’s in amazing shape, but not strong enough to buck me off when I grasp her wrists and pin her to the mattress.
I’m not like the other Wall Street lifers at my investment firm. I don’t rely on my power or money to make me attractive to the opposite sex. I wake up every morning and hit the gym at five a.m., exorcising my demons and honing my body into a loaded weapon in the process.
I’m obviously not going to hurt this woman with my superior strength—I’m not my father—but I’m not above pressing an advantage.
“Who are you?” I demand.
“P-please, I’m sorry,” she says, her breath coming in swift, shallow pants. “I thought you were Mark.”
The words disappoint me for some reason. I guess a part of me was hoping this girl was different in other ways, too, that maybe she was intelligent enough to realize my nephew is a self-centered idiot, unworthy of her time and attention.
But that doesn’t seem to be the case.
Unless, of course, she’s lying…
She looks like she’s lying, her eyes darting around the room before returning to mine. “Please.” She gulps. “Just let me go? I’ll leave and never come back. I promise.”
“Do you always sneak in to join Mark in bed dressed all in black?”
She gulps again, and her voice is wobbly when she says, “I like black. There’s nothing illegal about black.”
“But there is something illegal about trespassing.” Higher education gave me tools I’ve used to make myself rich, but at the end of the day, my gut calls the shots.
Right now, my gut is screaming that this woman has something to hide.
Something big.
“What do you say?” I nod toward the bedside table, where my phone sits next to the darkened lamp. “Should I call Mark? Ask him if you have permission to board The Merry Way?”
She chews her bottom lip for a moment. “Please…”
I arch a brow, not saying a word or moving a muscle.
She sighs, searching my face for weakness she isn’t going to find.
When she apparently realizes neither of us is going anywhere until she gives me an answer, she whispers, “Please…don’t call Mark. I don’t have permission to board, but I can explain why I’m here. I’m not trying to hurt anyone or take anything, I promise.”
“Then explain.” I ignore her pointed glance up to her wrists, still pinned in place by my much larger hands. I’m not letting this woman up until I get some straight answers.
After a beat, she sighs again. “I texted Mark a picture earlier tonight, after I’d had a few drinks with a friend. It was a…suggestive picture.”
“A sext,” I supply, wondering how old this girl thinks I am. I may be a decade or more her senior, but I’ve received my share of racy texts. I have a few on my phone right now, in fact. An ass shot from Raya, my hook-up in the city, and an artistic nude from Angeline, my fuck buddy in Paris.
But it isn’t Raya or Angeline I’m thinking about as my captive shifts beneath me again, making me even more aware of her strong thighs and the full breasts beneath her hoodie.
“Right, a sext,” she says, and I swear I can see her blush even in the dim moonlight. “As soon as I sobered up, I was mortified and texted him again, begging him to delete the photo, but he didn’t answer. Then, I realized his number was still traceable on my ‘track my friends’ app. I saw he was spending the night here. On the boat. I thought if I could just sneak in and delete the texts myself, while Mark was sleeping…”
I hold her gaze, trying to decide if I believe her.
Her tongue slips across her lips, making them look even more plush and kissable. If she weren’t one of my nephew’s lovers, I would definitely consider it. Her shyness over sending a sext is cute, and her body is built for the kind of athletic fucking I haven’t enjoyed in a while.