Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 58992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 295(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 295(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
The woman’s got a swing in her hips and a pouty fullness to her lips. She looks like a piece of candy, all effortlessly delicious in tight jean shorts, cut off and raggedy sexy, and a purple halter top that shows off her pierced belly. I’d like to peel that top off her, lick a path between her tits and down her stomach, then tug on her belly ring with my teeth.
Even though I totally shouldn’t be thinking about that.
As I stare unabashedly a little longer, she starts to look damn familiar.
She reminds me vaguely of picnics, barbecues, Thanksgivings. Then, a Christmas party. A moment under the mistletoe, maybe.
Wait.
Hold the hell on.
Is that…?
No fucking way.
Another memory flashes before me of Ellie Snow. One of the times I babysat her.
THE END
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Harlow…
I move closer, jutting out a hip against the side of his desk.
Like he’s fighting not to but can’t resist, his eyes travel up and down my legs. Good thing I like wearing skirts as much as he likes looking at my legs. “Did Carlos get you that intro? To Fontaine?” I ask, prompting him.
“He’s still working on it.”
I smile, but it’s a small one so I don’t let on how thrilled I am that Carlos hasn’t quite come through. “Then, what are you doing tomorrow night?” I ask.
For a second, he startles. I’ve surprised him. Good. He’s the most pliable when he’s off-kilter. “I’m working,” he answers.
I shake my head, then pop up on his desk, perching my butt on the edge. “No, we’re going to the Petra gallery. There’s an exhibit. Allison Fontaine is a silent partner in the gallery.”
It’s like watching a sunrise, the way his smile spreads, slow and unstoppable. “You’re too indispensable,” he says, like he’s amazed with me.
Good. I want to amaze him.
“I got us on the VIP list,” I add.
“You did?”
“I did.”
“You’re incredible.”
I go for the kill. Crossing my legs. Leaning a little closer. “I wanted to do this for you.”
His breath comes in a staggered breath. “Harlow,” he says, a low warning.
“We can go together,” I say, pushing more. I’m not letting this chance pass me by.
“Together?” He asks, like he’s never heard the word, never uttered it.
I slide my palm further across his desk. I’m at a sharper angle now. The kind that shows off hips, and curves, and breasts. All the places he wants to touch me. “Yes, like a date,” I say, and I should be nervous.
But I’m not. I’ve been working up to this moment for more than three years. I’m simply ready for my gift.
“This is a bad idea,” he warns.
He’s wrong. It’s not a bad idea at all. “Are you sure about that?”
Another harsh breath. His eyes close. The man is at war. Well, some men need to chase. I sit up, hop off the desk, head to the door.
The wheels of his chair squeak.
In no time, he’s up too, grabbing my wrist, yanking me around, and jerking me against him.
My wrist tingles. My body sings.
He glares at me, fire in his eyes. “You have done nothing but tempt me for the last two weeks,” he hisses.
An accusation. And also the truth.
“Good,” I whisper, in a taunt.
“Why the fuck are you tempting me?” He bites it out, but it’s not a question for me. It’s for the universe. It’s rhetorical.
Portrait of a man breaking. It’s happening. Before my very eyes. This is art, and I love it.
My pulse beats wildly fast.
But I’ve been patient. I’ve waited for my chance. I stay patient.
He will bend. He will break. “Am I, Bridger? Am I that tempting?” I ask.
And I wait for his reply…
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