Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 142801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
“Oh, my good Lord,” I mutter. Please teleport me someplace else. Say, Timbuktu?
Less than an hour later, and my four-legged charges are all fine and locked away, except Bo, who makes it clear he’s not going anyplace he doesn’t want to.
“I see she had other jobs for you to do,” I say with a smile as Oliver appears in the shed again. His shirtsleeves are folded to the elbows, and the hems of his dark pants are mud splattered. My body prickles with pleasure that he helped. He isn’t the kind of man who takes orders well, as my orgasms well know.
“The pleasure is all mine.”
The echo of his words curls around my ear and bursts pleasurably a lot farther south. I’ve never had sex with a man like him, one who made my pleasure the aim, rather than a sideline to his. As movement catches my eye, I’m yanked from my smutty memories.
“I think she’s under the impression I’m here as community service.” Oliver whacks his hand against his elbow, as though it’s a successful means to clean.
“Yeah.” I blink heavily. What the hell is wrong with me? This is the man who’s trying to blackmail me.
“I’m usually paid for what I know, not for what I do.” Oliver stalks across the space, the smile playing on his lips suggesting he can see right into my head.
I give myself a metaphoric shake. “No one here gets paid. Ever.”
“I feel like I should ask you to take a picture for proof. My partners will never believe this is how I’ve spent my afternoon.”
“Getting sweaty?”
“That they’d believe.” He slides me a look that makes my skin sizzle. “Especially if I said I was with you.”
“It was Fin and Matt, right?”
“Yes.” He kind of frowns and smiles at the same time.
“You mentioned their names once. Their names also came up in association during my Google search.”
His smile deepens, and I feel like all my screws rattle loose. I might’ve lied to Riley when I said I don’t feel all heart-eye emoji when I look at him, because I do. Sometimes. And sometimes I imagine myself shaving off that annoyingly haughty eyebrow.
“Why would I need an actress?” he murmurs. “Someone to pretend they like me. When I have the real thing.”
“Stretching.”
“You’re saying your heart doesn’t skip a beat when I’m near?” His words are as hot as the devil’s whisper and twice as tempting. “Mine does when I look at you.”
Nope. Non. Nee. Nein and nyet. Do not listen to that.
“Ignore everything else. Labels, reasons, my methods of persuasion.” I snort at that, but he carries on. “To spend time together would be so good.”
My stomach dips at his sultry tone, but to give him his due, he doesn’t reach for me. Doesn’t pull me against him, making my wits scatter. I’m not sure if I’m happy or disappointed.
“Sorry, say that again.” Because my brain just checked out to happy humpy land, the place where you can have all the sex you want without the reasons, repercussions, judgment, and heartache.
“I said don’t do it for you. For revenge, or because I forced you to. Do it for good. Do it for Nora.”
“I . . .” Know she’d probably love to live vicariously through the tales of Evie and Oliver in happy humpy land, but that’s not what he means. My heart sinks—I know what he’s going to say before he even opens his mouth again. Dammit, this right here is the trick the universe loves to play on all her unsuspecting children. Lead the suckers down one path, then pull the rug out from under them.
“Fifty thousand pounds, deposited to Nora’s bank account. For the benefit of the animals.”
“Bribery, Oliver?” My response brims with disappointment. He just had to prove the stereotype, didn’t he, the rich, exploitative fucker?
“Think of it as an act of charity.”
“This is not a sponsored walk you’re inviting me to.” And sadly, not a sponsored screw. “You’re asking me to move in with you, to pretend we’re in a relationship. I think you’re also suggesting I lie to the authorities about my visa.”
“Yes, to the first. No to the latter. I’ve spoken to my lawyer, and she’s already engaged an immigration specialist.”
“I didn’t say yes!”
“She’s very experienced, I’m told.”
“I don’t care.”
“And extremely optimistic regarding your position.”
“Then I’ll hire her.”
“You’d have to find her first.” He smiles like the devil. “She generally deals with oligarchs and the ultrawealthy. She keeps a very low profile.”
“You mean she works for the corrupt. I guess she must if she’s working for you.”
“It means she works for those who have the means,” he replies without bite. “I hope you have a heavy piggy bank if you want to retain her services yourself.”
“You are such a—”
“All in all, her fees are well worth it, especially as she’s confident your visa doesn’t have to be dependent on a relationship with me.”