Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
I quickly rise as he offers a hand to help me up. “Who are you? How do you know my name?”
The dark stranger’s mouth engulfs mine, his hands seemingly everywhere—all over my ass—skimming the side of my breast.
Attempting to push away, I accidentally thrust my core against his raging cock. He grips me tighter as if I’d offered an invitation. I push at his chest. My palm resounds across his chiseled jaw.
“Are you out of your fucking mind?” I glare at the man.
Unaffected by my assault, dark promise gleams in his eyes. “You've soft lips. I’ll definitely try that again.”
“Do it. I’m going straight for those British balls.” I flex my fingers for emphasis, attempting to repel a sudden feeling of sickness. “Where I’m from, that’s sexual assault.”
“Cheeky too. I love a chit who talks back. I’m glad I could help.”
“Help?” My voice grows squeaky, incredulous. “You rapey bas—”
“You were jaded.” A wind flurries between us.
The weather has changed.
Drastically.
Darkness brews behind him. He’s so friggen tall. As I look up at him, the crown of his head seems to graze the gray, clouded sky.
And he made me speechless.
I run a hand over my mouth, recalling how he’d called me jaded. “Stay the heck away from me. I’m telling the duke!”
Victor isn’t the sort to take credit for his actions. The Russian. Or, most recently, the guard who grabbed me, who I noticed has disappeared. Now, the others treat me like royal blood rushes through my veins. Nevertheless, the stranger laughs, marble green eyes aflame with interest. “Pray tell, Miss Luxury, when you say ‘duke,’ who are you referring to?”
“The Duke of Arlington!” I snap and wave my hand around as if this idiot should’ve caught the inference.
A fat drop of rain smacks me on the forehead. Then a sudden downpour drenches my scalding body. I quickly reach down for my diary, and it’s like déjà vu when Victor plucked up black roses before I could.
The man clasps the diary, placing it in the inner pocket of his jacket. With a wink, and a tone as smooth as satin, he says, “So, it doesn’t get ruined, Miss.”
“Give it . . . Whatever.”
I start to reach down for the blanket, but the basket goes tumbling away with the wind, and the picnic blanket joins it, soaring across the meadow.
Again, the man’s eyes caress every ample curve of my body as he disrobes from his jacket and hands it over. His white button-down is soaked through, rendering it transparent. It's clear the older man is in his prime.
“Allow me to escort you back to Arlington,” he replies with a twinkle in his eyes.
The rain pummels my skin. Goosebumps line my skin, and my nipples draw rigid beneath my shirt. Prideful, I clasp my arms over me. “No, thank you. Just get away from me.”
What if he and Victor have done bad business together? I don’t know much about the duties of a duke, but the man has no respect for the female race.
He holds out the jacket. “I understand my word means nothing at the moment. Please allow me to escort you to Arlington. I promise no further harm.”
Stomach curdling, I take the awaiting jacket, offering the faintest murmur of appreciation. The meddling stranger helps me shrug into the finest silk lining. The warmth of his body and the pleasing scent of this stranger envelops me as I button up the jacket. Before I can object, the man takes my hand.
“Who are you?” I ask again.
“Scum compared to the royal duke. Nonetheless, you will have no problems with me. I thought you were . . . someone else.” He guides me through the clearing of woods.
“No, you thought I was Victor’s whore. I assure you; I am not.” Beneath a downpour, I clutch the stranger’s hands as he guides us around a fallen branch. Almost thirty minutes later, the many spires of Victor’s estate are displayed ahead.
He stops and pushes back his hair, eyes searching mine. Apology weaves into his tone. “Well, Luxury, you know your way from here?”
I stop to sigh, bringing air into my aching lungs.
“Do you live nearby?” I ask, though we haven't passed any homes on the way. Besides, if he hadn’t been around, ages would’ve passed before I recognized the bends in the road and rolling green hills.
“Not really,” he replies, cool as a cucumber. His button-up is soaked through, molded to pure muscle, and the material strains against his massive forearm as he holds it out to a respectable length. If he were American, I could picture his previous life. A former golden boy from a small southern town where football players were above the law. Or a slimy politician.
I shrug an arm out of his jacket.
“Keep it to shield your book, candy lips.” A cocksure grin curves a seductive mouth.