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)
“No one’s w-watching us,” I stammer. Because why would they? They better not be, or they might ask why steam is currently rising from my skin. I give a tiny clearing of my throat and make to move away as though my knees aren’t a little unsteady and my heart isn’t jumping out of my skin. I’d better get a hold on this thing—a hold on myself, more like. “There really is no—”
His fingers tighten. I don’t pull away because . . .
We’re just playing a part. Even if I really want to dry hump him right now.
“Maybe you should’ve gone for an escort,” he murmurs, sliding away a lock of my hair. “At least then you’d have control.”
That heat coursing through me suddenly drops to my center, warming the space between my hips. “You think I’m not in control?” Damn the tiny waver in my voice.
He gives the kind of smile that causes me a jolt. Devilish? Rakish? I don’t know what the word is, but there is something overtly sexual about it. I get the feeling that I’ve missed something. Missed something in him.
“It’s cute that you think you are. But you see, when we step into this room, you’re at the whim of a Latin lover. Your Latin lover,” he says, exaggerating his accent with extravagant rolling r’s. Well, maybe not his accent, but someone’s. Someone not at all Spanish and slightly comical.
“You’d better let me do the talking.” The man sure is pretty, but his Spanish accent is anything but. But there’s not a lot I can do about that now.
“I’m deeply offended,” he says, looking the exact opposite.
“Seriously, I appreciate your help, but—”
His expression flickers. Annoyance, maybe?
“—for the love of God, please don’t speak in here.”
“You’re dating a handsome mute. That’s the story you’re going with?”
“Better than Super Mario’s hotter brother!”
“Super Mario is Italian.”
“His Spanish cousin, then.”
“Fine.” His tone turns playfully flat. “I’ll restrain myself.”
“Good.” But I’m still hanging on to him like a lover about to be kissed. “Want to tell me why we’re still standing here like this?”
“A man without a voice. How else am I meant to get my point across?”
“I don’t know. Mime? Interpretive dance? I was kidding,” I tag on hastily when he moves a tiny inch. He wouldn’t, would he?
“That’s good, because I was thinking more along the lines of . . .”
My eyes fall closed as he draws closer, and his lips brush mine. It’s barely a kiss—more a fleeting glance—but it’s enough to register how soft his lips are. And how my body shimmers with the desire to curl into his embrace.
“. . . that,” he murmurs, pulling away.
Were his eyes so dark before? “That,” I repeat, whisper soft.
“Couples kiss, Ryan. And they touch.”
“Yes,” I agree, not really sure what I’m saying. What I’m offering.
“Couples who’ve been separated by land and seas. Well, they just can’t get enough. Do you think you can handle that?”
“Handle you?” Surely, I’d meant my retort to be full of derision, not want. Because despite his terrible Spanish accent, my fingers itch with his suggestion. Neurons fire, and my skin seems to tingle, every fiber of my being demanding more. More kissing, more touching . . . more everything.
But then I remember what Matt does for a living. It’s like a drenching of cold water that extinguishes all that. “You’re good at this. At pretending.”
“Because I should be so lucky, right?”
“I should think you get lucky a lot.” Even without the job.
“A compliment?”
“I do have eyes.”
“Very pretty ones. But the thing is, I don’t feel like taking directions tonight.”
“You mean the accent?” I ask, slightly confused, slightly worried, and still feeling like I’m missing something.
“I can play the strong, silent type.”
“Then I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know. And that’s what makes this fun. For me, at least.”
“Right. Fine.” See also: whatever. “You can let go now.”
“I don’t think I will. Got to keep up those appearances.”
“I told you. No one’s watching us. Not when there’s a bride and groom to moon over.” I turn my head toward the room, my gaze connecting immediately with Heidi’s. The accounts administrator looks thrilled, the two thumbs she holds up a pretty good indicator.
“Their moment’s over.” Matt’s voice brings my attention back. “You’re the big-ticket item now. The topic of next week’s gossip. And who would prefer to watch some insipid bride over you?”
“She’s beautiful.”
“I bet she doesn’t have a thing on you.”
I make a noise. Disagreement. Annabelle has money. Privilege. A family who adores her. And my ex, poor bitch.
“You’re a rare kind of beauty, Ryan. Your spirit is as captivating as your face.”
“I don’t need your flattery,” I say, fighting the instinct to lean into that concept. That seduction. I can’t remember the last time anyone said something so lovely to me.
Nice tits.