Total pages in book: 17
Estimated words: 15515 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 78(@200wpm)___ 62(@250wpm)___ 52(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 15515 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 78(@200wpm)___ 62(@250wpm)___ 52(@300wpm)
Until I see Olivia Lang.
Free-spirited, kind, and always armed with a smile, she foiled my plans from the first time I laid eyes on her. I’ve seen her photos, yes, but nothing prepares me for what she looks like in the flesh.
How warm and welcoming she is.
How untainted by the world.
How utterly captivating.
I’m supposed to come here and offer her a sweet deal, so our company can acquire her land and a few others and build a massive luxury resort on it.
But… Negotiating with her is the last thing I want to do.
Right now, the deep recess of the animalistic part of my brain screams one thing, and one thing only.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
1
OLIVER
“How many times do I have to say no to you bastards?! What do I have to fucking do to make you all stop coming and harassing me? I am not selling!”
Olivia Lang rears her arms back and throws a couple of things from inside a basket. Something small and black flies through the air without warning and lands on my face. The silk fabric is cool and smooth, caressing my skin.
I fully expected different kinds of welcome. This is not one of them.
I stand there blinking, the ‘thing’ tickling my nose.
When the moment of disorientation clears, my fingers brush against it as I reach to take it off my face.
Her thong. Her fucking sexy, covers-barely-anything thong. It’s smaller than my pocket square, making me wonder what kind of purpose this serves.
I’m more partial to having her pussy cover half of my face, but I guess this is the next best thing.
The first thought that springs to mind is that silk feels so good on the skin. I knew that because my housekeeper insisted on nothing but the eighty-dollar-apiece silk pillowcases for my bedroom. But I always sleep on my back, so I never got to feel it on my face … until now.
The second thought I have is … it’s clean underwear. Weird that part of me feels disappointed because I much prefer something she’s used. Something that smells like her.
I fist the tiny garment before shoving it into my pocket.
Olivia’s breath catches in her throat, her eyes wide and unblinking and her face a mask of sheer terror. Blood drains from her cheeks, leaving her tanned, freckled skin looking almost ghostly pale.
The laughter threatening to burst out of me catches me off-guard. There’s nothing funny about this situation. Not her anger or shock. Not my sudden, unexplainable attraction toward her.
For the first time in my years of tough negotiating, I’m overcome with what I can only describe as amusement. I have to press my lips tightly together and glance around her wraparound porch, the array of plant boxes, a rickety rocking chair on one side, and a swing on the other.
“W-why are you pocketing my panties?” she stutters, her eyebrows knitted together in disbelief or confusion or both.
“It’s mine now.” I don’t know where those words come from, but it feels right to say in the moment. Mine. Hmm. It slides off my tongue easily, and I don’t even take my eyes off her when I say it.
Everything about this interaction so far has me mentally reeling, like I’m unsure of where I stand, like the ground sways underneath me.
I don’t dislike it.
Olivia seems to find it as bizarre as I do, but it doesn’t take long before her fire comes roaring back. She stands to her full height—all five feet of her in a loose shirt and men’s shorts no less—and raises her chin defiantly at me. She has to tip her head back a bit more because I’m a full foot taller.
Cute.
“You can take those panties, but not our land. I speak for everyone else when I say, ‘Go to hell.’”
A sweet turn of events, I must say. “Miss Lang, I’m here to negotiate. My company doesn’t ‘take’ things. We buy them.”
Her face flushes, making the smattering of freckles across her full cheeks and button nose more prominent. Her eyes flare, and for someone small, she manages to make me want to stagger back.
Damn, being on the receiving end of her ire is not my idea of fun.
“You say ‘negotiate’ like I haven’t said no multiple times to at least five lawyers. You come here with your lawyer jargon and think, ‘Oh, these island people are stupid. I just need to throw them some money, and they’ll be on their merry way to the mainland.’” Olivia’s chest heaves, and she jabs a finger at me. “I am not selling. My family isn’t selling. Our neighbors aren’t selling. You can take your money and shove it up you—”
“Olivia, don’t say ass.”
The one speaking is an older version of Olivia hovering by the doorway. Her hair is a mix of black and gray, but she has the same eyes as Olivia. She’s also just as short.
Olivia whips her head to the older woman. “Mom, I’m twenty-three. I can say ass whenever I want.”
“Okay, but not in this household.”
Olivia snaps her eyes shut and breathes through her mouth, her hand pushing her curly bangs from her forehead. “Listen, sir. I’ve tried to be as civil as I could, but every few days, your men show up, tell me I’m making a wrong decision, and promise another one will be back. Doesn’t that count as harassment?”
“It does.”
She’s surprised I agreed with her. I had no idea, though. When my older brother, Paul, told me to negotiate her prices, I didn’t know he’d already sent the whole acquisition team beforehand. For some reason I can neither understand nor explain, rage bubbles within me. I know those guys and some of them I’ll gladly punch in the face.