Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 24257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 121(@200wpm)___ 97(@250wpm)___ 81(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 121(@200wpm)___ 97(@250wpm)___ 81(@300wpm)
None of that matters. All I know is that I want Frankie Fordham, possibly more than I’ve ever wanted anyone before.
* * *
When we get back to our house, the neighborhood is quiet. It’s funny how these quaint little suburban houses can hold such dirty secrets, but I guess that’s part of the fun of this whole sex club thing. They’re a chance to cast off your everyday life and be someone else for a while. Someone adventurous and filthy, with no holds barred. It’s like a game.
Dad goes upstairs, but I linger in the living room, staring at the fireplace and thinking about the meal. I know that unfinished work is piling up as I sit here, and I’m going to have a headache to deal with in a day or so if I don’t address it, so in a desperate attempt to think about something other than Frankie for a few minutes, I pull out my laptop and begin to absently check my email again. It’s the least I can do, I figure.
I listen to the ticking of the grandfather clock in the front room as I work, throwing myself into it, and soon, the moon’s rising in the sky outside the window. Before I know it, it’s going up on ten, and I can feel myself starting to nod off as I look over invoices, order confirmations, and meeting dates. I really need to get a secretary, I think. God knows I can afford it.
It’s as my head is dropping against my chest, my eyes starting to drift close for the umpteenth time while I try to finish the last few email responses, that my cell phone rings. Frowning, I glance over at the seat next to me, where it’s vibrating over and over again. I don’t recognize the number on the screen, but that doesn’t mean much; it could be any one of my business contacts or colleagues. Shaking the sleep away and stretching for a moment, I reach over to pick it up and hold it up to my ear.
“Hello?”
“Hi!” It’s a female voice that sounds vaguely familiar, but I can’t place where I recognize it from. “Is this Hunter Martin?”
“Yeah,” I say, taking a deep breath and rolling my shoulders. “May I ask who’s calling?”
“Right to business, I see,” the woman says, laughing. “Well, I should have figured. I’m Cassie Princeton - I think we met briefly at my party last night.”
“Oh,” I say, and it all clicks into place. Cassie. The flirty, slim brunette woman who let me into the house when I arrived yesterday night. “That’s right. Sorry, Cassie. I, uh… I ran into a lot of people last night. It’s hard to keep them all straight.” I leave out the fact that the real reason I’m having trouble focusing is one person in particular.
“Don’t sweat it,” Cassie says nonchalantly. “That’s kind of the point, right?” She chuckles again, a light, tinkling laugh that might once have had me intrigued, but it doesn’t do much for me this time. “Anyway,” she says, her tone turning businesslike, “I wanted to tell you how happy I was to have you show up. You’re famous in these circles. Or should I say infamous?”
I laugh at that.
“The pleasure was all mine, really.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” she says, “because I’m having another get-together tonight, and I was wondering if you’d be interested in coming.”
“Tonight?” I ask, raising my eyebrows. “Same place?”
“Same place, same time,” she answers without missing a beat. “Maybe this time you and I could get to know each other a little better,” she says slyly.
The corner of my mouth twitches a little. This could be just the distraction I need, something to get a sense of normality back in the aftermath of everything that’s happened with Frankie. The truth is, I’m reeling a little after finding out that she’s going to be my step-sister, and even though that’s not stopping me from fantasizing about everything I still want to do with her, maybe another party could be good for me right now.
I open my mouth to tell her yes, but then stop myself. Then something twists in my breast, and I find myself saying words that even I can’t believe.
“I’m sorry, Cassie,” I growl, “but I actually have something I need to do tomorrow. I can’t afford to be out too late.”
What the hell? Since when is too late an issue for Hunter Martin?
“It doesn’t have to go on late,” Cassie laughs, bargaining. “Just an hour? I’m sure the rest of my friends would love to have you there.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, shaking my head, “but I can’t. I’ve still got a ton of work I need to catch up on. Maybe some other time, yeah?”
“Okay,” she says, still very merry. “I’ll let you know the next time we’re having one, I guess. Don’t be a stranger, Hunter.”