Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 147733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
“What will I do with you?” he asks, his hot breath falling against my skin.
Heat throbs through my body. I close my eyes.
“Anything you want.”
Growling, he hovers over me, grabbing one breast.
I close my eyes, savoring the warmth and worshipful strokes of his tongue. He sucks until I’m in my glory, panting, my legs open and pleading.
I can’t wait.
I reach up, desperately unbuttoning his shirt.
He stops touching me just long enough to help.
And he’s not half-bad himself—not bad at all—as his nude chiseled body falls against mine.
He takes my hand and holds it over his heart. It’s beating so furiously under his ribs.
“There. Feel it. That’s all yours, woman. Tonight and tomorrow and forever.”
My breath catches.
I’m dead.
Slayed by a single animalistic look and words too sweet for life.
I can’t stop smiling as his heart drums under my palm. After a minute I ask, “Just your heart, Miles? Nothing else?”
“Slide your hand down, kitten, and see.”
I do, and I take my sweet time, tracing his rock-hard body until I find his cock and squeeze.
“Fuck,” he rasps, lapping at my breast as I stroke him.
When I circle my thumb over his swollen tip, he stops licking me, his focus broken.
“Jennifer,” he sighs. His fingers work, pushing my legs apart and finding the nub above my opening that’s almost gone electric.
I’m breathless at the first sweep of his thumb.
“Oh, God. Miles!”
His hand slips downward and a finger dips in.
My mouth pulls open in one long moan.
He climbs over me then, leans down, and our mouths meet.
I don’t want the way his tongue moves over mine to end, but I need more. So I lock my legs around his waist and rub my body against his.
He deepens our kiss, slurring it into a growl as he thrusts into me.
This is what I love about this man.
His greed.
He always makes sure every inch of my body is pressed to his as he moves inside me. So close, but never close enough.
His intensity floods me with emotion, and soon, I’m overloaded.
I come so hard I see stars without glancing at the window.
His chest swells as his breath quickens, thrusting hard and deep, and when he groans and empties inside me, my vision blanks out and the rest of my senses go with it.
Heat.
Heart.
Miles.
Why does he make it so heartbreakingly easy to love him?
When it’s over, I collapse in his arms, and he still doesn’t allow any space between us.
“What are you thinking about?” I whisper in the darkness.
“That I should have done this the first time you were on this boat with me.”
I laugh. “C’mon. What are you really thinking about?”
“Mostly what it’ll take to tie you down and spend a whole damn week like this. You?” His eyes are smiling so sweetly when he looks at me.
“How safe I feel when I’m in your arms.”
“You are,” he whispers. “I’ll never let anything hurt you, kitten.”
I believe him.
I’m also more tired than I thought because before I know it, I’m dozing off in his arms. Though this has happened a hundred times, when I wake up next to him in the morning with the sunlight spilling in, it’s euphoric.
I’ve fallen asleep before with Miles in my head and every emotion that comes with him, happy and angry and just confused.
I’ve fallen asleep in his arms after making love many times.
But last night was different.
There was something too raw. Too real.
After a lazy brunch on the main deck with Pippa and Brock, the yacht docks again at the marina and we say our goodbyes to the Winthropes.
Miles doesn’t let me out of his sight for the rest of the day.
When night falls, the passion we trade in his bed is just as intense, and I’m so high on this strange billionaire painter man that I might just float away.
But if and when I do, I hope it’s gently.
I hope he won’t let me fall even harder than I already have.
20
No Good Deed (Miles)
I’m at my mother’s grave, clutching a bouquet of purple roses to my chest.
There’s a woman crying over her tombstone. I’m not sure who she is when I can only see her back.
She’s definitely in mourning, though, wearing a sweeping black dress that almost scrapes the ground and a black hat with a silk scarf poking out behind it.
I wait for what feels like forever with a face-ripping wind cutting into my cheek.
One minute.
Five.
Ten.
Sighing, I march forward, clearing my throat loudly to get her attention.
It’s like she’s one more cemetery statue here, this dead, lifeless thing rooted to the ground. No movement except for the slow, shaking slump of her shoulders.
Is she crying?
As much as I sympathize, I can’t wait all day.
“Miss, are you okay?” I reach out and tap her shoulder gently.
Before I can blink as another biting gust of wind slams me in the face, she pivots around in a violent, startled movement.