Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 122382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 612(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 612(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
“Again, I truly appreciate your help. And again, I will pay you for your time.”
“Help. Sure, let’s go with that.” I shoot her a look. “I would’ve gone with coercion myself.” The rest I ignore. I’ve no intention of taking money from her. I’ll have my payment in amusement, I reckon.
“You just said you wouldn’t run away.”
“That’s not to say I haven’t considered it. Along with putting you in a sack.”
“Is that an Irish thing?” she asks, amused.
“Yep. It’s what we do to women in pubs who won’t take no for an answer.”
“What about men who won’t take no for an answer?”
“You might just find out when we get to this wedding. Anyway,” I add before she can interject. Or argue again. “If we’re not staying long, you can take me out for a feed as payment.”
“A feed. Are you a horse?”
“It’ll ease your conscience, I reckon. For hijacking my evening.”
“My conscience?” she trills. “Now who’s being bold?”
“I’m taking a leaf out of your book.” How is it she’s gotten prettier since we left the pub?
“I’d say your book gets enough action of its own.”
Maybe. Maybe not. But I’ve never had an evening like this.
Chapter 5
Ryan
In the empty marble entryway, music resounds, glasses clink, the sounds of conviviality and happiness pouring from the room beyond. I blow out a breath, slow and steady, as I try to ignore my sweaty palms and rotating intestines. Despite what I’ve said, despite all the trouble I’ve gone to, I do not want to be here. But as with a dose of bad-tasting medicine, I just have to take it.
I pause at a glittering sign nestled in an ostentatious floral display, announcing the marriage of the happy couple. Curse their lineage. But not really. I’ve got nothing against the bride. I kind of feel for her, not that it makes any sense, considering all she has. But I guess she also has a cheating asshole of a husband now, so curse his ass because he deserves none of this.
“All good?”
I nod, resisting the urge to look at the man to my left. He is a whole lot of man. I’ll admit I was a little shocked when I first set eyes on him. I almost swallowed my tongue. I thought Carl from the Cuddle Collective must’ve used some very unflattering photos on his business profile, because the man in front of me was plain gorgeous. I could even see that making sense in my head, the reasons for underplaying his attractiveness. Don’t want the ladies booking a platonic cuddle appointment thinking they’d get down (literally) to more than that.
In short, Matt is a snack! He’s fire. He’s so freakin’ hot that, in other, less dire circumstances, I’m not sure I could be so blasé about being on his arm. His hair is so dark it’s almost black, and his eyes a deep forest green shot through with summer gold. He has the kind of chin that belongs to a comic book superhero, and I bet I could slice ham on those cheekbones. His shoulders are broad, and his thighs are thick. The man is country strong, yet he looks like he was born to wear a tuxedo. Like a modern-day Cary Grant—thanks for introducing me to the archetype, TCM—so debonair, with oodles of charisma and kindness. It’s a reluctant brand of kindness, but it’s there. Or else he wouldn’t be here.
He’s a good man. Maybe the last one in Manhattan.
Not that I recognized any of that as I stood in the run-down bar, coming to grips with the realization that he wasn’t Cuddle Carl. Feeling my plans, feeling myself, unravel. It was blind panic and a sense of desperation that made me latch on to him. Despite my earlier bravado, I would’ve chosen just about anyone. He might’ve been eighteen or eighty, as bald as a billiard ball, or possessing the kind of face that only his mother could love. It didn’t matter in that moment. I needed a man, and he was it.
I needed a man, and I was somehow blessed with a whole lot of one. A man whose job is kind of a mind fuck. And an actual fuck. A man who is a purveyor of pleasure, I suppose. At the thought, my stomach flips. Not at all unpleasantly.
I wonder what kind of money a night with him costs. No, I don’t, not really. What I wonder about is what a night with him entails. I bet he’s worth every penny.
I give myself an internal shake because it’s not like he’s doling out freebies. Besides, that’s not why he’s here. We have other fish to fry.
I turn to the table plan embedded in another ridiculously sized floral display. You can find your seat here, it reads, but your place is on the dance floor.