Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 43749 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 219(@200wpm)___ 175(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43749 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 219(@200wpm)___ 175(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
This is a bad idea. I shouldn’t have come, but here I am. Marcus has some kind of strange pull that always lures me to him. I tried to get away from him when I moved out of the city, but then, poof! He appeared right around the corner, and now there’s no escaping him. I need to suck it up and face this situation head on. I can be an adult! I stiffen my shoulders before pulling open the front door and stepping inside.
"I thought I was going to have to come and get you." I let out a scream as the lights flicker on.
"For cheesecakes! You almost scared my soul out of my body." I glare at him. "You won't get it that easily."
When I bring my hand to my chest, I can feel my racing heart. It’s definitely because he scared me and not because he's so handsome. Always so dang handsome. It's maddening, really, and for half a second I wonder if he sleeps in his suits.
“I always get what I’m after.” A slow, sexy smile plays on his lips. It’s wicked, and he knows it. Worse, my body knows it.
“Well, with the fees you charge, I would hope so.” I raise my chin. “I would think you’d also be able to keep the lights on too.”
“Easy, teapot. I only just got here.”
His response has me wondering where he lives. This is a small town, and I know all the houses. At least I think I do. I was gone for a few years, but there’s not exactly a lot of new construction.
“Where’s my office? I’d like to set up.” I tap the giant bag I have on my shoulder. It’s freaking heavy, and I want to put it down.
“Does that thing weigh more than you?” Marcus tries to take the bag from me, but I have a death grip on the strap. “Are you sure you want to play already, teapot?”
“I’m not playing anything.” Or am I? I’m starting to wonder myself. I could let his comments roll off me like water off a Maine Coon's back (I’ve heard their fur is water resistant), but for some reason I can't help myself. Marcus pulls at the bag, making me fall right into him. I should step back, but this feels like a challenge. “What are you doing?”
“I want the bag, but you won’t let go. It seems you leave me no choice.”
What does that mean? My inner thought is answered when Marcus lifts me right off my feet.
“Ah!” I squeal, and then I’m unable to form words. “You, you, um...” I struggle to think of a name to call him, feeling too flustered with my body pressed into his. The man is hard all over and smells so good.
“Do you have something you want to call me, teapot?” he asks as he carries me toward an open door. “I can give you a few options. How about ‘lover’?” I scoff and roll my eyes, pretending to be annoyed. “Okay, what about ‘husband’?”
“What?” I whisper, and my body stills. Did he really say that?
“You heard me.” He puts me back on my feet. “Welcome to our office.”
Marcus pushes my glasses back up my nose for me, and I have to force myself to ignore what he wants me to call him. And what he makes me feel.
Glancing around the room, I raise my chin stubbornly. "Do you need help moving your belongings out of here?"
"Oh, teapot. You should know better than anyone that the devil is in the details. You said you wanted my office. Now it's yours.” He smirks. "And mine."
Marcus sets my bag down on the desk, and I’m so discombobulated that I didn’t realize he slipped it right off of me. Then my pink pen holder that has dancing hippos on it rolls out of the bag.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” I cross my arms over my chest in a challenge of my own.
I’m not above designing the entire office in pink and red, which incidentally are my two favorite colors, just to annoy him. Some people think the colors don’t go together, but they're dead wrong. I could toss a few pillows on the couch up against the far wall and maybe one of my knitted blankets. Once the windows are uncovered, I think some curtains would be lovely.
“There’s nothing else in this world I’d rather do.” He says it with an intensity that makes me press my lips together. I’d squeeze my thighs together too, but I don’t want him to see what he does to me.
“Maybe we should go over sexual harassment in the workplace. Did you miss that part of law school?”
It’s a stupid comment because I already know he attended an Ivy League school and subsequently clerked for a Supreme Court justice.