Total pages in book: 13
Estimated words: 11371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 57(@200wpm)___ 45(@250wpm)___ 38(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 11371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 57(@200wpm)___ 45(@250wpm)___ 38(@300wpm)
He immediately moved, crossing the opulent space and leaning forward, his mouth at my ear. “What are you doing, Stephanie?” He rested his weight on the bar on either side of me, caging me in.
I tossed my hair over one shoulder and inhaled the clean scent of his cologne. “I’m having a drink, Tripp. What are you doing?”
“At the moment? Trying to keep my dick from slicing a hole through my slacks.” He turned his head, meeting my eyes. “But you didn’t answer my question. What are you doing?”
I lifted my glass in response, taking a healthy sip of the bitter mixture.
“You play a slut well, but we both know what is underneath those clothes, Steph.” He tugged at the bottom hem of my dress, pulling it to my knee before turning to head back to his table.
“You have no idea what’s under my clothes.” I smirked at him, and he stopped his retreat, turning slowly on the heels of those expensive Italian leather dress shoes.
His eyes drug over the length of my body, and he smiled. “I have a little bit of an idea,” he said softly. “But that’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
Yeah, I knew what he meant. Straight Steph, that’s what they all knew me as. Goody-two-shoes. Little Miss Perfect. I’d heard every snide comment made over the last twenty-three years. For the most part, they’d all been right. I’d always followed the rules. Went to bed early. Turned in perfect reports early. Didn’t curse. Didn’t drink, not until I’d turned the legal age to. But it didn’t mean that I didn’t have a secret wild side—just that I’d never explored it before.
I was ready to explore it. Losing Dario made me want to do the opposite of everything I normally did, which is why I was right here, flashing the most intimidating man I knew.
His eyes dropped to the martini glass in my hand. “How many of those have you had?” He raised one deliciously dark eyebrow.
“Does it matter?”
His eyes cut to Clint, then back to me. “I gave the order to clear the admin floor several hours ago.”
“Which is why I’m not there.”
“What I’m trying to figure out,” he said evenly, “Is why you are here, and not getting to a safe place. We have a fucking hurricane fifty miles off the coast.”
“There are other things I’m more interested in.” I lifted the glass and took a sip, watching him over the sugar-dipped rim. Was this working? I’d never seduced a man before. I’d spend last night in front of the mirror, attempting a sultry look and found that—if I hid behind things—they came across a little better. Hence my glass in hand.
He rested one hand on the bar and leaned in, his other hand falling on my knee. “You’ve got to stop giving me those looks, Steph.”
A fissure of arousal ran, straight from his hand, to the place between my legs, and my confidence grew at the rough edges of his words. “Or else what?” I turned my head and met his eyes.
“Don’t test me,” he growled, and I shivered a little under his direct gaze. There was a reason the casino floor never had issues, why everything on the first floor ran with precision. It was because Tripp ruled by fear. Everyone quaked under his stare, and now, he was sliding his hand further up my thigh.
Between my legs, my body hummed, the bare skin sensitive and already throbbing at the possibilities of what was to come.
I thought of the rumors, all backed up by the folios I’ve processed for his suite. It’s the most interesting part of my day—typing in his room charges and attempting to create an explanation for each one. They were never boring. Room service charges at 4am, of only whipped cream. Explicit movie charges at two in the afternoon. A deep clean that took housekeeping six hours, with rumors of ripped curtains, a broken bed, and two naked women, still asleep on the porch lounges. Tripp Reinhart worked like an animal, but he partied (and seemed to fuck) just as hard.
And tonight, that’s what I wanted. I wanted something to make me forget everything. I wanted a man to look at me, and not turn around and run off with someone else. I wanted to prove to myself, and to Dario, that I didn’t need him to give me orgasms or make me happy. I wanted to prove that I had other options, and make him red with jealousy.
As if he could read my mind, Tripp’s eyes darkened. “Is this about Dario?”
“No.”
His mouth twitched, those delicious lips curving into a knowing smile. “Sure, it isn’t.”
Still, as if in defiance of his thoughts, his hand moved higher up my thigh, the action hidden from casino floor by his body. My legs parted, and I swallowed a groan at the possessive and confident sweep of his palm.