Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 125140 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125140 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
I have no idea what’s wrong with me. This isn’t who I am.
He gets our dinner and puts it in front of where we are sitting at the table and then goes back to the bar and gets two more Scotch and Cokes without a word. My eyes watch him across the room, wearing tight blue jeans and a white t-shirt that hugs his every muscle. His tattoos are peeking out from under his shirt. He towers above all the men at the bar and I feel myself flutter as I watch him. Hell, this is ridiculous. I am not sure if this dominance show is for the people around us or to let me know how badly my body wants him… and it really does. Either way, I’m totally screwed. While he’s gone, Chelsea and Angela get their dinner and sit down next to me at the long table.
I’m brought back to reality with a thud. One glance of her big slutty tits in my face and my arousal instantly dissipates.
“Hello.” Chelsea fakes a smile.
“Hi,” I reply as I cut into my chicken.
Angela smiles warmly as she puts her hand on my leg. “God, Mac is like an animal with you. I’ve been watching him.”
I swallow uncomfortably. I’m a ho.
“Mac is an animal with all women. You should see him with me,” Chelsea murmurs sarcastically into her wine glass.
Angela and my eyes meet and I continue to eat in silence. I know this shouldn’t piss me of, but it fucking does. Mac comes back and takes his seat and my angry eyes flicker up to him. I imagine the girls on the ship all lining up to fuck him and I feel sick. What in the hell goes on around here when they are all alone at sea?
This is not who you are, Roshelle.
I’ve already shared one man. Why in the hell would I willingly share another?
A European looking man walks over and talks to a blonde man. Mac looks up and glares at him, his jaw clenching in anger, and my eyes follow the man across the dining table.
“Who’s that?” I ask Angela.
“Stucko,” she whispers as she drops her head.
“Who’s he? I haven’t seen him before.” I frown.
“Be grateful. He’s a nasty piece of work.” She whispers.
I glance over at Mac who is openly glaring at him across the room. I can tell there is no love lost between these two.
“So, twenty-one days until Puerto Rico.” Angela smiles as she tries to make conversation.
“Oh, I can’t wait.” Chelsea smiles and then she looks over to Mac. “Mac and I have had some pretty wild nights in Puerto Rico, haven’t we?”
He keeps eating with his head down. He doesn’t answer and he doesn’t acknowledge what she has just said.
I get a vision of them fucking in a nightclub and my blood boils, even though I know I am being utterly ridiculous. I am unable to control it.
“What have you got planned for me at this port Mac?” She smiles sexily over the table.
I chew my food in silence as I stare at my plate.
“Enough, Chels. Cut the fucking shit.” He snarls.
Angela widens her eyes into her wine glass. “Awkward,” she mouths at me.
We continue to eat in silence and eventually Chelsea gets up to go to the bar and Angela starts talking to a man who sits down next to her. Mac casually puts his hand on my upper thigh and I flick it off discretely under the table. He glares at me and raises his brow in a silent dare.
I lean over and whisper into his ear, “I don’t appreciate your scratching post boring the fuck out of me with her sleazy tales about you. I’m going back to the room.”
“The hell you are,” he growls in my ear as he grabs my hand.
“Stay here and fuck her on the pool table,” I whisper angrily as I rip my hand from his grip.
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” he fires back.
I sit back and fake a smile as my eyes hold his. I hesitate for a moment, shocked that he just said that. Shocked that anyone would even say that. “This is why I’m out of your league, but thank you for the reminder.”
His face drops and he sits back in his seat. I know I’ve got him.
“Stick to your whores.” I stand and throw my napkin onto the table and walk out of the common room and down the hallway. I feel my heart beating hard. I know he is going to lose his shit, but I can’t make out with him—or should I say pretend to make out with him—knowing full well she is waiting to take her turn after I go to bed. What kind of fucked up situation is this? Why do I even care? It’s seriously pissing me off that I do.