Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 113699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 568(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 568(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
“I guess your dad wouldn’t appreciate it if I joined you, would he?”
She laughs, her breath fanning against my lips. “Probably not.”
Her gaze drops to my lips, and when her tongue darts out over her bottom lip, I groan. “What about a kiss?”
“Okay, but only a kiss.” She smiles, and I swallow up that smile, pressing my lips to hers. I’m greedy with her, hungry for more.
She kisses me back, threading her gloved hands into the hair at the nape of my neck. When I press deeper, swiping my tongue between her lips, she meets me stroke for stroke as if she’s been just as needy as I’ve been since the first time we had sex. And I’ve been so fucking needy for her.
I push gently to ease her onto her back, but her hands come to my chest to stop me. When I break the kiss, she’s panting against my mouth. “We can’t … not here.”
I take a deep breath and glance down at my hard dick outlined in my jeans. She looks, too, and for some reason, that turns me on more. “Go before I decide I can’t let you.”
She sighs and gathers herself. “I’ll be right back.”
“I’ll count ceiling tiles until you’re ready,” I promise.
Her smile is small but real. “Forty-seven in the living room.”
“Forty-eight if you count the half tile by the window.”
“You noticed that?”
I don’t tell her I notice everything about her now. Don’t tell her how deep under my skin she’s gotten. Don’t tell her that none of this feels fake anymore.
Instead, I just nod and start counting tiles while she gathers up the dress and gloves.
Both of us pretend this is normal.
Both of us are lying.
Of course she’s perfect in the dress, and I can’t stop looking at her. She changes back, and we spend the day lying around her bedroom, me watching her while she studies and easing her panic when it arises about the event. I wish I didn’t have to bring her tonight. It feels too fast when she announces we have to get ready.
I help her prepare, ignoring the way my body responds to every flash of her milky-white skin. The memory of the taste of her on my tongue. I don’t even try to resist planting a kiss where her neck meets her shoulder. Don’t even fucking try.
When we leave, her parents wait by the door, phones in hand, to take pictures like it’s prom. She’s embarrassed, but I hold her beside me proudly.
We spend the car ride in silence, her gloves whispering against one another when she clenches her hands instead of squeaking.
“No need to be nervous. I’ll be there with you every step of the way,” I remind her.
“I know. I trust you.” She smiles over at me, a few of the worry lines disappearing from her face. The Grand Hotel looms before us, all marble columns and old money pretension. I feel Salem tense beside me in the car.
“Remember,” I murmur, “we have a private entrance. And the quiet room I showed you on the hotel layout is just three rights and two lefts from the ballroom. Thirty-seven steps exactly.”
She nods, but her breathing has gone shallow. The burgundy silk of her dress shifts like wine in the moonlight as she starts to count.
“Wait.” I reach over, careful not to wrinkle her dress or disturb her gloves. “Let me?”
Another tiny nod.
“One diamond in each marble tile,” I start, giving her something to focus on. “Two doormen at the entrance. Three separate exits I’ve mapped out. Four sealed water bottles waiting in our private area. Five minutes minimum for any social interaction before we can excuse ourselves.”
Her breathing steadies as I continue, and I pretend not to notice how perfectly her hand fits in mine.
The valet opens her door, and I’m around the car before he can offer her his hand. She takes mine instead, silk against skin, and we both ignore the spark that jumps between us.
“Ready?” I ask, though I’m not sure which of us I’m really asking.
“No,” she whispers, then straightens her spine. “But I’m with you.”
The words hit me like a punch to the gut. She trusts me. Actually trusts me to keep her safe in this shark tank of society vultures and family expectations.
We make it through the private entrance without incident, the hotel staff maintaining perfect distance as instructed. I’m hyper aware of every person, every potential threat to Salem’s peace of mind. She stays close to my side, head high despite her anxiety.
And then my mother appears.
“Darling!” Katherine Sterling descends upon us like a perfectly coiffed storm front. Her eyes scan Salem from head to toe, cataloging every detail. “And this must be—”
“Salem Masters,” I cut in before she can say anything cruel. “My girlfriend.”
The word feels simultaneously wrong and right. Not enough and too much.