Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 77309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
“I also want you to swear you won’t try to sleep with me.”
He licks his lips. “I don’t think I can do that.”
“No sex. Stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re going to rip my robe off and fuck me against this wall.”
“Ask me to. No, tell me to. Go ahead.”
“Stop. No sex.”
He grunts. “Fine, but I’m not putting it in writing.”
I grind my jaw. “I want separate bedrooms. Separate lives. And I’m not your assistant anymore.”
“You’ll have to help me find a new one, but I can accept that. I’ll really miss working with you.”
“No, you won’t, because I’ll be your freaking wife.” I put my face in my hands. Am I really going to do this? For money?
No, not just for money.
For the chance at an entirely different life.
What would Dad have said about this? Would he have been angry with me? Like I’m selling myself to this man?
No, I think he would’ve wanted me to go for it. Maybe not in this specific way, but this is the kind of opportunity that won’t ever come again.
“One year,” I say, reaching out my hand.
“One year,” he agrees, taking it—and pulls me closer to him. His other hand touches my hip and it’s like my body’s submerged in warm, salty water. “Should we kiss on it? Seal it like a real married couple would?”
“No,” I say, wiggling against him. “I said no sex.”
“A kiss isn’t sex.” He moves closer. “You’re not curious? What me and you would be like?”
“Not really.” Except I am. I’m so freaking curious I could scream. Only if we do this, if I kiss him, there goes my whole no` sex thing, because I won’t be able to stop myself.
“You don’t have to deny yourself something that feels good.”
“Maybe you should try denying yourself once in a while.” I pull away, breathing hard. “Now get out of my room. I need to get dressed.”
“You’re going to touch yourself in that room, aren’t you? I’ll stay out here and listen.”
“Conlan.” My cheeks are burning bright because yes, that’s what I plan on doing, mostly so I can get this stupid feeling out of me. “Get out.”
“I’m going to do the same thing. I could stroke myself right out here listening to you moan.”
“You’re going too far.”
He shrugs and moves toward the door. “We should catch the general before he leaves and tell him the good news.”
“Fine. Whatever. Just go.”
“Enjoy yourself.” He smirks at me. “I told you, I’m really funny.”
“Get out!”
He slams the door behind him.
I lock the bedroom bolt, close my eyes, and picture myself commanding him to fuck me, over and over again.
Chapter 11
Conlan
I have never been so sexually frustrated in my entire life.
The instant I get back in my room, I stroke myself in the shower thinking about Isabel in that robe looking at me like she wanted to get down on her knees and swallow my cock.
What the hell is wrong with me? Trying to fuck her like that is only going to make this more difficult than it needs to be.
Her words echo in my head. I’m selfish, I’m shallow. Attractive, but empty.
She’s not wrong.
I’ve always been this way. One step away from broken.
And marrying Isabel’s not going to fix it. I know that, even if a part of me wishes it would.
It won’t. She won’t. This marriage thing is a temporary deal to make another one of my stupid fuck-ups disappear.
How many more times can I get away with murder?
After finishing up with the image of Isabel in her robe, I put on clean clothes and text Will. He tells me where I can find the general.
Isabel answers the door, but this time she’s wearing a pair of jeans and a simple black t-shirt. No jewelry, barely any make-up, hair down. “You look good,” I say. “Though I liked you better when you were still wet. Or are you still wet?”
“Like I said, you aren’t funny.” She steps into the hall, all business now. That hungry look’s gone. Did she really head back into her room to take care of herself the way I just did? “What’s the plan?”
“Leyland’s still in the casino playing slots before he leaves. We’ll go talk to him, explain the plan, then get on a plane to Vegas.”
“Where we’ll get married.” She makes a face. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
“Yes, you can. It’s a lot of money.” I offer her my arm, but she ignores it. “Suit yourself, but we might as well get used to being a couple.”
The ride down’s tense. Isabel’s not in the mood to chat, and I can’t blame her. I think about marriage, about making Isabel my first wife knowing that we’re getting divorced in a year. Why does that bother me so much? I never wanted to get married—I’ve always been up front about it—because the idea of making a permanent decision that involves another person feels like too much. And divorce is like cheating. When I make a promise, I mean it.