Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107917 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 540(@200wpm)___ 432(@250wpm)___ 360(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107917 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 540(@200wpm)___ 432(@250wpm)___ 360(@300wpm)
“What would you have said?” he asks as he signs the receipt and pushes it back to her.
I lean back a little, making an exaggerated motion of looking him up and down. It’s too dark to see all of him, but what I can see is very nice.
Being a kid in the foster system, I never had nice things. But I was really smart and did well in school, so because of that I was almost always surrounded by privileged kids. I was raised around Manchester, Connecticut, in a lower-middle-class neighborhood. My foster home didn’t have a lot, but the people who took care of us were nice and tried to make sure we all had a good education. Being around rich people, I saw what nice things were. I may have never owned them, but I’m not ignorant to what money can buy.
Looking him over, I see the shoes he’s wearing cost more than a month’s rent in our Lenox Hill condo. My eyes travel over his fitted suit, which can only be custom tailored, and he reaches down, unbuttoning his jacket and opening it slightly as if to let me get a better look. His dress shirt is crisp white, and his tie a deep purple with little white flowers. His hand comes up to smooth it down, and I notice he’s wearing cuff links that are the same color as his tie. I also catch a glimpse of his watch, and I’m sure it’s something expensive to go with the ensemble.
When I look up, he’s come into the light a bit more, and I see that he’s got dark blue eyes, like sapphire stones. He watches me watching him, and the area around his eyes crinkles as his smile widens.
“So?” he asks, leaning in a little more and waiting for my answer.
“Definitely not,” I say, taking a sip of my whiskey and letting the warm flavor hit my tongue.
I look at him over the rim of my tumbler, and he lets out a small laugh. He looks like the type of man that smiles a lot. Which is very sexy. His dark wavy hair is cut short, but looks long enough to run your fingers through it. There’s so much wave on top, I bet if he grew it long, he’d have gorgeous curls. It’s not fair for a man to be so pretty.
“Good thing I didn’t ask,” he says, and his scent travels toward me as he shifts in a little closer.
He smells like warm amber and honey, and I move toward him unconsciously.
Reaching between us, he takes the glass from my hand but doesn’t make contact with my fingers. I’m mesmerized by him, and I easily let him take it from me.
I watch as he turns the glass, placing his lips where mine were, and takes a drink of the whiskey. My eyes move to his throat, where his prominent Adam’s apple moves and he drinks the liquid down. Once he’s finished, he pulls his lips away slightly, then licks the remaining drop left on the rim of the glass.
It’s erotic and sexy, and I’ve never been so weak at the knees from something so simple.
“I thought since I paid for it, I should at least get a taste.”
He turns the glass so that the same spot is facing me, and places the glass gently back in my hand. This time, though, his fingers make contact with mine. I don’t speak as they linger there, the two of us locked in an invisible embrace as his fingertips travel to my wrist. He holds them there lightly as he smiles at me again.
This man’s smile could knock down a building.
Bringing the glass back to my lips, I taste where his mouth was. I don’t know what possesses me in this moment, but seeing him do it makes the need to do the same that much greater. I’ve never behaved like this before, never been this flirtatious with a complete stranger.
I down the whiskey, drinking what’s left in the glass, and it burns the back of my throat. His hand moves from my wrist and takes the glass from me. He sets it on the bar, and then looks back at me, smiling.
“Tell me your name.”
He’s demanding something I’m not sure I want to give. If I tell him, then we’re no longer strangers and the spell may be broken. He’s ungodly gorgeous and obviously has money, but this isn’t the type of guy I want to get tangled up with.
He’s the type of man I saw all over Yale. He’d take me out and go on and on about his bank account commas while I tried to talk about Fermat’s Last Theorem. He’s entirely too charming for my taste, and a man in a place like this isn’t the kind of man I’m looking to settle down with.