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)
A thrill zips down my spine. “I’m not sure that’s exactly how things went.”
“Liar.” He presses a heavenly kiss to my neck, his tongue a deft flick over my thudding pulse.
“Sounds like you’re accusing me of being bossy,” I say as he pulls back again.
“I’m saying I’m pretty sure you can do anything you put your mind to.”
You. I want to do you.
“Also, I have an idea.” There’s that spark in his gaze again, a little bit of wrong wrapped up in all that nice. The fun kind of wrong. So this time, it doesn’t catch me by surprise as he takes my hand. He takes two backward steps, and I see the flash of a grin as he turns. He strides in the direction of the check-in desk, pulling me along for the ride.
“I’d like to book a room.”
“I’m so sorry, sir, we’re fully booked,” answers the first available desk clerk.
“A hotel this size?”
“We have several functions this evening,” she offers apologetically.
This is New York in October. The hotel is likely overbooked rather than just booked. But then I notice the way her gaze flicks over him.
“However, we do have several suites available.”
Obviously, I wasn’t as astute in my observations as she was. Though it’s not like the expensive cut of his tux would’ve marked him out as an escort. My God, an escort. A thrill courses through me with the thought. Maybe I’ll get a taste for it. And maybe one day I’ll be wealthy enough to be a sugar mama in my own right.
“That’s fine.”
Shit! I yank my head out of the clouds. A suite in the Pierre? That’s gotta be like a down payment on an apartment.
“No, honey. There’s no need,” I put in, using the smile I perfected early in my adult life. The one that accompanies the lie This refusal comes as a choice, not a lack of one as I tug on Matt’s hand. “We just need a room. We can—”
“A suite is fine,” he says, half amused, half bemused, and already reaching for his wallet. “A bed’s a bed. Darlin’,” he adds, with a little bit of the devil again.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I whisper hotly.
But then he puts down a credit card, and I do a double take. It’s dark, sleek, and exclusive looking.
“Matt,” I whisper harshly, tugging on his hand.
“Excuse us for a moment.” He glances the desk clerk’s way before allowing me to move us away.
“Are you crazy? A suite is way too expensive,” I say before he can speak. What kind of an escort has a black Amex anyway? One on a retainer? One with an expense account?
I feel like I’m missing something, and I don’t like it. Should I really want a part in this?
I want part of him, I think. Which is a lie, because I want every part of him. Every part of him over every part of me.
“Would it help if I said it’s tax deductible?” His lips twitch with amusement.
You pay tax on horizontal earnings? In case that falls out, I bite my bottom lip. Until I find his thumb pressed there. My breath gives a tiny catch.
“How is it possible to be jealous of your teeth,” he whispers, gently prying my lip loose.
How is it possible I’m about to swoon?
“I think there’s a kind of symmetry in this. You. Me. This wedding. This hotel.”
I feel my expression flicker. “I don’t . . .”
“That might’ve been you.” He tips his head, though barely. “The girl in the white dress, the one that should be pitied for tying herself to a fucknut like him.”
White dress makes me sad, while fucknut gives me pause.
“You had a lucky escape, while he’s already regretting his choices.”
“You don’t know that.” You don’t know him like I do.
“I saw it on his face. Saw it in the way he watched the places I touched you. Like he thought I overstepped. So here’s what I propose. Suggest,” he amends, his mouth curling at that irony. “You let me book the room—”
I open my mouth to protest again. To no avail.
“Then you let me take you upstairs and do what I’ve been dreaming of all evening.” The intensity of his words and the look on his face—it’s like my dress has already disintegrated. “Let’s make the walls of this old hotel shake with your pleasure. I promise I’ll fuck you so well the whole place will hear my name. But we don’t need the whole hotel to know, do we?” His touch is a fleeting brush to my chin. “Just one man. One man who deserves to know for good what he’s lost.”
“I don’t . . .”
“It’s a poetic kind of justice, don’t you think? Sung from the top of your lungs.”
“Maybe you should’ve been a lawyer, because that’s quite an argument you make.”