Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 94546 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94546 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
“What did you tell him?” I ask Jack when he slips into the plush leather seat next to me.
Before he can answer me, another gentleman joins us in the dark SUV. He’s attractive with burnt orange hair, a trimmed beard that’s more blond than ginger, and a twinkle in his eyes that exposes he’s nowhere near as stuffy as the suit he’s forced to wear day in and day out.
There’s no doubt he’s a security detail. His hand signal when he advises the driver to go announces this, much less his disclosure that the eagle is on the move into his suit’s cuff. He’s so on-point with preventive measures, I check the front of Jack’s car for foreign dignitary flags because aren’t they the only ones who get around with an entourage these days?
When I fail to find any, I lean into Jack’s side and ask, “You’re not the Crown Prince of Denmark, are you?”
Jack laughs before shaking his head. “No. Frederik is many years older than me.” He stops, swallows, then locks his eyes with mine. “Now, I’m curious to discover how old you think I am.”
“Not old enough to halt the constant wicked thoughts steamrolling through my head, so there’s no need to panic.”
Jack isn’t the only one who laughs this time around. His security detail gets in on the act as well. I’m glad he has a sense of humor—I doubt his day-to-day takings are welcoming of an upbeat demeanor—but it changes the dynamic between Jack and me in an instant. Instead of brimming with sexual chemistry and undeniable attraction, it is suffocating and dire. It reminds me of the last time I stood on the stoop of my family’s local church, breathing through what I was certain would be a debilitating panic attack, and it seems as if I am not the only one noticing.
A second after demanding the driver to pull over, Jack curls his hand over the door latch. I assume he’s going to toss his security detail out of the car in the middle of a bustling freeway, so you can picture my shock when he flashes me a flirty grin before he throws open his door, slips out of his now stationary vehicle, then bobs down to offer me a hand out of the car.
“We’re getting out here?” Shock is evident in my tone.
“Yep.” I can barely hear him over the cars roaring past him, but there’s no doubting his next set of words is a command, not a suggestion. “And they’re staying here.”
“Jack…” his bodyguard murmurs at the same time an exciting patter restarts my sluggish heart.
Ignoring the warning tone of the man with furrowed brows, Jack locks his eyes with mine. “Unless you want them to stay? The ball is in your court, Octavia.”
No offense to the handsome gent, but I shake my head before all of Jack’s question leaves his mouth. Then, even quicker than that, I slip out of the pricy vehicle the best I can without flashing his muted guest my panties to join Jack on the side of the freeway.
Giddiness hits me from all sides when Jack unbuttons his suit jacket and tie. I’m not just excited about his impromptu strip. I’m squirming like a pig eyeing a spit from the sparkle that ignites in his eyes when he encloses his hand over mine a second after dumping his restrictive clothes onto the seat we vacated.
With the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up to the elbows, his tie ditched, and his hair rumpled, he has the playful, mischievous bad-boy vibe down pat. He looks hot, so much so, I check I haven’t left a puddle in my wake when he races us toward the closest off-ramp like a five-star suite is hidden under the concrete pillars.
CHAPTER 4
JACK
After silencing Morris’s fifth call in the past fifteen minutes, I tug two one-hundred-dollar bills out of my wallet, then lock my eyes with the salesperson of a thrift shop half a mile from the off-ramp Octavia and I navigated like my bank balance is nowhere near as impressive as it is.
“She will need somewhere to shower and change once she’s made her selections.” I place down one of the bills. “This should cover the inconvenience of using your loft apartment above the shop.” I give him an intense stare while sitting the final bill on top of the first one. “And this shall ensure your discretion.” When his eyes drop to the credit card only a handful of Americans have access to, I close my leather wallet and stuff it into the back pocket of my trousers. “Do we have an agreement?”
The assertiveness my question is delivered with warns I will only accept one answer.
It isn’t ‘no.’
“Yes.” He almost stammers, but he regains some of the pigheadedness he bombarded Octavia with when she asked him where the dressing room was located. “We have an agreement.”