Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 89878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
“I’m sorry,” I blurt, needing air, space—anything to break the tension coiling between us. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to use the ladies’ room.”
He leans back slightly, nodding as if he’s already won. “Of course. Do what you need to do. Come back refreshed.”
My eyes flick to his, searching for something—some indication that he knows exactly what he’s doing to me. Does he? Can he sense how turned on I am?
The thought of it heats my skin. I quickly stand and smooth my skirt, praying I haven’t left any evidence of my unraveling composure. Tucking my hair behind my ear, I force my legs to move, practically racing out of his office before I do something reckless—like beg him to test how compliant I can be.
Chapter five
Jackson
Istorm into Exquisite, Chicago’s exclusive gentlemen’s club. Entry wasn’t granted with a membership card but with reputation. Only the elite—the handpicked few who owned skyscrapers, commanded legacies, or moved the world with a single phone call were allowed past its doors. And once inside, you didn’t just indulge. You belonged.
“Good evening, Mr. Blake. Your usual table?”
I nod, and she escorts me to the back of the club, where all I need is a bottle of bourbon and a girl. Young, brunette, eager to let me destroy her…
“Bring a bottle of Pappy Van Winkle. I want a guest in my lap in fifteen minutes.” That should be enough time to drown myself in the bourbon and erase the image of her from my mind.
I pull at my tie and collapse onto the velour lounge chair. The waitress brings the bottle and sets down a rocks glass, pouring two fingers over a large cube of ice. My fingers twitch as I watch her. “Is there anything else you need—”
“No.” I dismiss her with a wave and shoot the amber liquid back in one smooth motion. I don’t know who that was today. It certainly wasn’t me. It shouldn’t have been me. That little girl was tempting me. Did she know how easily she was making me break? Those creamy thighs taunted me. And her lips? Fuck…
I pour myself another glass, and it’s gone just as fast.
Is Noah behind this? Is he setting me up, testing to see if I take the bait?
The worst thing is, I did. Hook, line, and sinker. She’s effortlessly seductive without even realizing it.
At the club, I can fulfill any desire imaginable. And I’ve come damn close to indulging them all. So why am I willing to cross a line I can’t uncross? To risk everything that still matters—my relationship with my son.
His girlfriend. No—ex-girlfriend.
When she confessed that, I almost dragged her over my desk, relieved I hadn’t been about to fuck my son’s girlfriend. But it had to be a trap—Noah’s way of proving he’d been right about what had happened last year.
My part of the house is forbidden to all guests—and for damn good reason. Noah hates me for so many things I’ve started to lose count, but I refuse to take the blame for being the cause of him cutting me out of his life.
When Noah had brought Tricia home, she’d come off as this sweet, shy, polite girl, but any time she’d make eye contact with me, she’d look away and fucking blush. That was all it had taken for me to see right through her act. When Noah wasn’t paying attention, she’d make advances and say things that would seem innocent, but I knew better. She baited me for months—even after I told her to stay the fuck away from me and threatened to tell my son what a scheming bitch his girlfriend was.
Needless to say, she hadn’t taken my rejection well. One night, when I came home, she was in my room, naked, and threw herself at me before I could process what was happening. Noah walked in seconds later, and the lies she spewed made me furious to the point of murder.
But it didn’t matter what I did. The damage was done. My son thought I’d tried to seduce his girlfriend. Not long after that, he left for school, and our relationship has been strained since.
I pour myself another drink as a girl walks up to my chair. “Good evening, Mr. Blake.” She smiles sweetly and perches on my lap when I sit back. I need more relief than the bourbon, so I discard my glass and tug her closer. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”
“Gail, baby.”
“Gail, huh?” I want to like it, but it tastes sour on my tongue. Georgia, like the peach. I need to get her out of my head. I grab Gail’s hair and tug, exposing her neckline. “Gail… tell me a little about yourself.” Fuck, am I seriously trying to roleplay what happened today?
“I’m just a small-town girl looking for someone to—”