Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Francesca weaves through the crowd, confident and graceful at the same time. She slips into the side corridor toward the restrooms, and I follow without hesitation.
They’re the gender-neutral kind—single occupancy, lockable doors, and she’s stepping into one when I catch up. I push inside right behind her, hear her gasp of surprise and click the latch before she can react.
Francesca whips around, eyes wide. “What the hell are you doing?”
I take a second—just one—to look at her. The sweep of her hair, the curve of her breasts, the fire in her eyes. Her back is to the large mirror over the vanity and all that golden bare skin from neck to the top of her butt mocks me. She’s gorgeous in her racing gear, but like this? Full-glam Francesca is lethal. And tonight, that weapon is aimed right at me.
“We need to talk,” I say.
“I can’t believe you followed me in here,” she snarls while crossing her arms over her chest, which plumps up her breasts and draws my eye. “Shouldn’t you be back with your date?”
The word date drips with disdain and my eyes snap back to hers. I can take Francesca’s anger, but I can’t have her disgust. I can’t come back from that.
So I deflect. “What about you and Carlos?”
Francesca frowns, and fuck if she doesn’t look genuinely confused. “Carlos? We’re just friends.”
“His hands near your ass didn’t look like just friends to me,” I snap.
Her eyes sparkle with vindication. “Ahhh… you’re the one who’s jealous.”
I scoff. “Please… what’s to be jealous of?”
For a moment, she looks unsure of herself, but it’s fleeting. Uneasiness bottoms out in my stomach as her mouth curves into a wicked smile. She tries to step around me, sounding all light and breathy. “In that case, I think another dance with Carlos would do a woman good.”
Yeah… that’s not going to work for me.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I take a hold of her upper arm and spin her into me. My hands catch her waist, and I kiss her—hard.
She stiffens for a moment, pushing at me. I kiss her deeper, tasting the faint bite of strong liquor under the sweetness of champagne, and for a second, she melts. Her mouth opens to me, her hands clutch into my shirt, and her fight falters.
Yes, I might not be able to reason with her or adequately explain my actions, but if I can keep her compliant like this, maybe none of that matters. I slip my fingers into her hair at the back of her head, grip hard and kiss her deeper. Francesca groans and my entire body tightens. I’m thinking about grabbing her by the hand, leading her out of the bathroom, out the back door of this hotel and right to my flat here in London where I’d give her so many orgasms, she’ll never think of Carlos or any man again.
But then Francesca shoves me backward with such force, the kiss breaks. She glares at me, breathing hard, eyes flashing. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare kiss me when you just had your arm around another woman’s waist.”
Little hypocrite.
A sharp laugh escapes me—more a bite than humor. “What’s the problem, Accardi? Didn’t like the view from the dance floor?”
Her chin lifts. “You think I’m jealous?”
“You seem to be awful mad I brought another woman here tonight,” I shoot back, because the alternative is admitting how seeing her with Carlos boiled my blood.
She scoffs, but the color brightening her cheeks tells me I’ve hit a nerve. “Okay, fine… I’m pissed because you left my bed in the middle of the night without saying goodbye and showed up with her like last night meant nothing.”
“It didn’t mean nothing,” I retort.
For a second, we stand there, breathing hard, the air between us charged. She narrows her eyes. “Then what did it mean?”
I rake a hand through my hair, wishing I had a clean answer. “I don’t know. This is new territory for me.” I’m not about to admit to her that I didn’t like watching her wrapped around Carlos. She already called me out on my jealousy once and it’s a feeling I’ve never had before.
Her mouth parts, surprise registering before it hardens again. “So, it’s fine for you to play escort, but I can’t dance with a friend?”
“It’s not the same.”
“Because you don’t want me with anyone else,” she says, voice low, “but you still get to keep your options open?”
The accusation hurts because she’s not wrong—not entirely. I step in closer. “I don’t want you with anyone else. And I’m not keeping my options open.”
There’s a beat where her gaze softens slightly, like she’s hearing me for the first time.
“She’s not my date,” I say, low and certain.
“Oh, really?” Her arms cross tighter, chin lifting. “Because it sure as hell looked like it when you helped her out of the car and into the event like a perfect gentleman.”