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)
“Tonight was certainly spontaneous.”
I stare down at all that beauty. A hundred things I want to say, and not one of them makes any sense. “And magical, don’t you think?”
“Yeah,” she agrees softly.
“Good. Because that’s why I think you should come back with me tonight.”
Chapter 8
Matt
Outside, the air has cooled, but I don’t think that’s the reason for Ryan’s shiver. If her blood is simmering half as much as mine, then it’s anticipation.
“Are we walking?” she asks.
“Cab, I think.” But there’s something holding me back. Something I need to do first. Need viscerally. It’s part of the reason I followed Ryan here in the first place, I realize. “I’ve gotta go back inside,” I say, not letting go of her hand. I tip my head in the direction of the doors, the doorman vacillating, his hand still on the door. “I’ve forgotten something.” Not a lie. Not exactly a lie. “I won’t be a minute.”
Her expression flickers uncertainly, so I make it right as I pull her into my arms and whisper something in her ear.
“Really?” Her incredulity hits the cool air in a chuckle. But with a dubious look, she allows me to pull her inside.
“Wait here, yeah?” I back her up against the arm of a couch only to find her fingers at the back of my neck.
“I can’t believe you don’t have condoms,” she whispers with a giggle that tickles my ear.
“I feel judged,” I say, pulling away with a grin.
“Well, I guess this is kind of a busman’s holiday.”
That again. My body kind of hedges as my brain weighs up the prospect of spilling my guts. Now or later? In public or when we’re alone? I know I’ll have to come clean—put her right. Admit I’m not someone who fucks women for a living. Not that I actually said I was an escort, but I’ve hardly disabused her of the notion either.
Because I’m an idiot, obviously.
“Hold that thought,” I say, holding up my index finger. There’s no easy way to pull myself out of the shit, but the best thing I can do is not tell her here.
“I’ll be waiting.” There is so much suggestion in her tone. Weird how it feels like there’s a lead weight in my stomach suddenly.
Three steps away and three back before I’m pulling her against me again. Kissing her. Whispering, “I can’t wait.” Fuck, I want her so badly, but I have to do this first. Even if what follows isn’t a night of unadulterated passion but a punch in the gob. “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back.”
“You’d better be.”
My gaze falls over her one more time. She’s all sass, her eyes lit from within.
Please, God. Don’t let me have fucked this up.
Through the hotel foyer, my rapid steps echo as I weave through residents and guests, taut jawed as I ignore the men’s room on this floor. I take the stairs—take them two at a time. Blood and adrenaline pumping hard through my veins, my desire for Ryan simmering just under the surface.
Out on the second floor, through the marbled entranceway. I pause as I reach the imposing ballroom doors. Straighten my jacket, then my cuffs, and slow my pace to sedate as I make my way inside and spot him almost immediately: One of the two men who deserve a little trouble.
I approach the table, keeping from his view, slowing my pace again as I draw nearer.
“I’m telling you, that bitch has some kind of pussy voodoo.”
I halt at the fucker’s words.
“You haven’t gotta chance with her,” one of the other men retorts. Jake, I think, his words slurred, thanks to the drinks. “She can’t stand the sight of you.”
“She’ll come around.”
“Bullshit.”
“She’d better,” he growls. “I want my turn.”
A fucking turn?
“Voodoo, I’m tellin’ you. She has all the best plays—I mean, where the fuck does she get her stuff from?”
“Instinct,” Dipesh says. “She pays attention to the little things.”
“And Brandon’s gotta little thing for her,” someone else quips.
“Fuck you,” Brandon retorts. “You don’t understand. Pete wouldn’t be where he is without her.”
“Pete got promoted because he’s marrying in. He fucked Ryan over!”
“Yeah, but she made it so he got noticed. Pussy voodoo, I’m telling you.”
I’ve heard enough.
I pass an empty table and swipe up a half-filled glass, then theatrically trip over an invisible chair leg. Oops.
“What the fuck!” Brandon jumps up, wearing his last drink of the evening.
“¡Disculpe!” I announce, throwing up my hands, my language a full-body experience now. “So sorry.” I point a finger. “Bryce, no?”
He glowers and mutters, “It’s Brandon,” as he presses a stray napkin to his soiled pants.
A tsk of teeth and tongue. “You look like you ’ave pissed yourself.” I give a chuckle, then move on.
I hit the jacks, the bathroom, as intended. Thankfully, there isn’t an attendant on duty. There is a condom machine, and while I really don’t have condoms on me, I do have them back at my hotel.