Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 77452 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77452 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
“Then I want you to be front and center. I’ll be singing to you, Emily.”
“You’d better not tell Heather that.” She glances downward. “Or anyone else here, for that matter.”
I reach down and tip her chin up so she’s meeting my gaze. “Why? Did you think we wouldn’t choose our favorites tonight?”
“How can I be your favorite? You haven’t talked to anyone else. Other than Heather, of course.”
“Heather is sweet.”
“She’s a lovely girl, and quite talented. I didn’t like the trim Evangeline’s stylist gave me, so Heather touched it up. Don’t tell Evangeline.” She brings a finger to her gorgeous full lips.
“My lips are sealed.”
Emily takes another sip of champagne and then licks her lips as she trails her fingers around the stem of the flute. She rises, her blue eyes blazing. “Are they now? That’s a shame.”
My cock is on fire. Proper English rose? Or naughty English vixen? Emily seems to be both, and I want her so much I fucking ache.
“I’m happy to open my lips for you,” I tell her.
She laughs then, shaking her head. “You’re a tease.”
“Who says I’m teasing?”
“Because you and I both know you’re supposed to talk to all the women this evening. We can pair off later, but tonight is for mixing.”
I trace her lower lip with my finger. “Tonight is for whatever we want.”
“Oh, for God’s sake.” She drains her champagne flute and sets it down. “Let’s get on with it then.”
“Get on with what?” I ask, my brows raised innocently.
“You know very well what. But we’d better make it quick. If Evangeline sees one of you missing—”
“You’re forgetting who pays Evangeline.”
“Oh. Right. Brilliant.”
“Brilliant?”
“Excellent. Outstanding.” She leans in closer to me, brushes her lips lightly against my earlobe. “Come with me, Sebastian Tate, before I pull that cock out of your bloody trousers right here.”
EPISODE 5
NOTHING TO DO BUT ADMIT DEFEAT
Ariel
I open my eyes…and stare into two so blue that for a moment I wonder if I’m looking out at the ocean.
That gorgeous voice that sings to my soul belongs to Brett Dawson, the entrepreneur—the richest of all four billionaires.
And he’s asking me—Ariel Tanner, hayseed mermaid—to have a drink.
Is this happening? Truly? Seven other amazing and beautiful women…and he chooses me?
I glance over my shoulder. Surely he meant to ask someone else.
Except he used my name. He’s read my biography, seen my photos. He knows who I am.
I’ve seen his photos as well, and to me, Brett Dawson is the handsomest of all four. He’s tall, six three, and his gorgeous eyes are fringed with long brown lashes. His hair is the color of corn silk on a stifling midsummer day in Alabama. His nose is straight and narrow and light-brown stubble graces his sculpted jawline.
“Ariel…”
My God, that voice makes my insides turn to mush.
I meet his gaze.
“The drink? Would you like to join me?”
I paste a smile on my face, show some teeth this time, though I’m still going for a demure look. Evangeline says we aren’t supposed to be too excited at first. We should let the men come to us.
I’ve done that.
Brett came to me.
And I’m not excited.
I’m nauseated.
Seriously. I could lose the lunch I ate earlier right here on his shiny black shoes.
Breathe in, Ariel. Exhale. Answer the man’s question.
“I’d love to,” I say, my voice slightly squeaky. I clear my throat. “That’s kind of you.”
He offers his arm, and I clutch his elbow, the fabric of his jacket soft under my fingers. His masculine scent of citrusy musk wafts toward me as he leads me to one of the cocktail tables. Nearby is a full bar. Alex Maxwell leaves the bar holding a drink. Looks like bourbon or something else that’s light brown.
Heather and Rachel are chatting together at another table.
“Something more interesting than I am?” Brett says.
I jerk back toward him. “Of course not.”
“Good. Because I’d like your undivided attention.” He grabs two champagne flutes from a passing server. “Do you like champagne, Ariel?”
“Of course.”
If you call the cheap stuff I drink on New Year’s Eve champagne.
He hands me a flute and clinks his glass to mine. “To beginnings.”
I nod. “To beginnings.” I take a sip. “Wow, that’s good.”
“It is,” he agrees. “What’s your favorite wine?”
I raise my eyebrows. Seriously? I could tell him about the Strawberry Blush that Jazz and I used to get drunk on after the football games in high school. Other than the cheap sparklers we drink on New Year’s, that’s the only wine I know.
“I don’t drink a lot of wine,” I say.
“Oh? Do you prefer cocktails?”
“I’m just not a big drinker, to be honest.”
No lie there. It’s never been my thing, not since I left high school and had to work for a living. Most bosses don’t take kindly to their employees showing up hungover. My Strawberry Blush days are over.