Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 83912 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83912 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Just Nick.
Just passion.
Just escape.
Nick and I cross through the center of the gallery, thankfully without delay, the crowd no longer a crowd, using the back employee exit I’ve been granted access to, and other than a few people milling around with no interest in us, we are undeterred. We exit to the dimly lit parking lot, a cool breeze lifting my hair and then traveling straight up my dress. I shiver and squeeze my thighs together, reminded not just that my wrap is in the car, but that Nick ripped away a crucial piece of my clothing.
“Apparently, panties serve a purpose outside of looking pretty,” I murmur, hugging myself.
He laughs, a deep, sexy sound, and suddenly that cold spot between my legs is hot. “It’s not funny,” I chide, shivering again, deeper this time.
He halts our progress and surprises me as he shrugs out of his tuxedo jacket. “This should help,” he says, wrapping it around me, but he doesn’t move away, his hands gripping the lapels as I had earlier, his big, broad, wonderful body crowding mine. The chilly air around us is suddenly as warm as that spot between my thighs. “Better?” he asks, his voice gravelly, sexy, the overhead light catching the warm heat in his blue eyes.
“Yes,” I say, the intimacy of me wearing his jacket doing funny things to my stomach. I swallow hard. “Thank you. But I thought you weren’t a nice guy?”
“I’m not a nice guy,” he says, his voice that hard steel I’ve already come to know from him. “But,” he adds, his eyes lighting with what I would almost dare call mischief, “I am a very polite guy. Remember?”
“Your bad manners are why my panties are in the trash and not in your pocket,” I say, finding his teasing rather charming, despite the way he tormented me in that bathroom.
His full mouth, which I now know feels really good on my mouth and other parts of my body, curves. “As long as the panties are off, I’m a happy man.” He slides his arm around my shoulder and turns us toward the cluster of ten or so random cars.
“I’m on the right far row,” I say, and we quickly walk in that direction while I dig my keys from my purse and unlock my car. Proving he’s polite all over again, he opens my door, which has me biting back curiosity about his mother, but if I ask questions, he’ll ask questions that I don’t want to answer.
I step into the alcove created by the car and door, and when I turn to face Nick to determine our plan for travel, once again I’m trapped between hard steel and this hot, hard man. But unlike last time, I don’t want to escape. I want to get lost in the way he smells and the way he feels and… “Where are we going, Faith?” he asks.
I wet my lips, jolted out of a fantasy that was headed toward him naked, and me enjoying the fact that he was naked. I’m now back to a hard reality: the decision between inviting him to my private space and personal sanctuary or daring to go to his hotel, which isn’t much of a decision at all. “Small towns have wagging tongues,” I say. “And I really don’t need that right now, with all I have—I don’t need that.”
“I’m in a private rental house,” he says, seeming to read my thoughts. “We can go there if you’re worried about your staff.”
A private rental house should be a safe zone, but in that moment, I know I need the known of my home, to balance the unknowns and the powerful force that is this man. “I own a house also close to the winery, and I’m staying there this weekend. We can go there.”
He considers me for several beats, a keen look in his eyes telling me he’s read my need for control, and I wait for him to insist he retain it all. Maybe he’ll push me too hard. Maybe this is a bad idea—but that isn’t what he does. Instead, he does the exact opposite. He arches a brow. “Interesting. I thought you’d pick my rental.”
“Why is that?”
“It fit your hard limit of one night.”
“My space. My control.”
His hand slides to my hip, and he pulls me to him, his hips aligned with mine, my hand settling over his heart, and I am surprised to find it thundering beneath my palm. “Sweetheart,” he says. “I’m going to demand control, because that’s who I am and what I need. I can read you on this, just like you do me.”
He’s right. I do. Because I’m drawn to men with his type of appetites. Because apparently, that’s who I am. “I do know that about you. But ultimately, I have control. I say yes or no.”