Total pages in book: 21
Estimated words: 19507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 98(@200wpm)___ 78(@250wpm)___ 65(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 19507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 98(@200wpm)___ 78(@250wpm)___ 65(@300wpm)
My very, very naughty fantasies.
Fantasies that I’ve never told anyone about.
The frilly pink underwear I’m wearing beneath my skirt feels so tight all of a sudden. So much more meaningful than when I put it on this morning. I definitely didn’t put it on for Clyde. He’s never seen my underwear, let alone touched me in a sexual way. No man has. I might be a serial dater, but I’m a virgin to the bone.
Sebastian Cove’s name is still lingering in the studio when he walks out from behind a black curtain and I almost drop to my knees. My pulse spins out of control. It’s him. It really is him. He’s here.
His silver hair is lit by the television lights, his handsome features arranged in their signature bored expression. He’s the surly head angel, come down from the heavens to check on the mortal proceedings. And oh, the way his back and shoulders flex as he prowls to his chair, rolls up his dress sleeves in very precise motions and sits down and—
He looks directly at me.
The breath evacuates my lungs.
I have the most insane urge to play with a lock of my hair and peek at him through my eyelashes, like a shy girl. The way I would in my multitude of fantasies.
Briefly, his attention strays to Clyde and a muscle pops in his jaw.
Sebastian goes back to watching me as the host moves on and introduces the next two judges. I’m barely listening, but apparently one is a professional hockey player and the other is a restaurant critic. She’s a petite woman with huge eyes, which she can’t seem to tear off the tattooed contestant to my left. Similarly, the hockey player seems quite interested in the redhead contestant—and his interest is surprising and pissing him off in equal measure.
Wasn’t I leaving a second ago?
Yeah, I was, but now I can’t seem to move my fingers. Sebastian Cove almost looks like he’s daring me to walk off the set. His dark eyebrow arches at me and then he does something that makes the ground tremble under my feet.
He shakes his head at me. Just a quick tweak of his head. Just one. He’s telling me no. That I can’t leave.
That he isn’t allowing it.
I feel the certainty of our communication down to my toes and automatically, my fingers leave the strings of my apron. I press my thighs together as tightly as possible so the resulting wetness doesn’t run down my inner thighs. Thank God my lower half is hidden by the worktable. Based on the way Sebastian’s blue eyes darken, however, he knows very well the effect his silent command is having on me.
My hands fold together on the table in front of me and I do what comes naturally, so naturally. I bow my head contritely and look up at Sebastian Cove through my eyelashes. As if to say, “Yes, sir. I’ll stay.” And my heart races faster when satisfaction settles him back in his chair.
Ten minutes ago, I thought I was having a nightmare.
Now, it feels like I’m trapped in one of my secret dreams—and I have no interest in escaping.
2
Sebastian
Why can’t I take my eyes off this girl?
She’s an abysmal baker. As a master of the craft, her lack of skill should be a deal breaker for me. But I’m barely aware of the other two contestants. Or judges. Or even the cameras and lights. I can only see her. Every bite of her lip or tremble of her finger has a butterfly effect on my entire being. Each action from her ripples through me and seems to go on forever.
What is it about her that has my hands gripped together on the table, zero blood left in my fingers? I hear the rasp of my breath. I hear the quick intakes of hers.
I hide my wince as she cracks an egg into a bowl, losing half of the shell in her mixture. There is flour in her blonde hair, on her pink-stained cheeks. It’s on her backside, as well—a fact of which I’m extremely aware. Every thirty seconds, she wipes her hands on the back of her skirt, leaving white handprints and by God, I think I’m jealous over the fact that she gets to touch herself.
The host called her Alice.
I drop one of my hands beneath the judges table and fist my erection through my trousers, saying her name one more time in my head.
Alice.
As if I’d called to her, she looks up at me through loose strands of blonde hair, red lips and one green eye peeking up at me. Fuck. I squeeze my cock until it hurts.
To say this reaction to Alice is unusual would be a laughable understatement.
As a young man, I had a series of unsatisfying relationships that ended much the way they started, with little fanfare. As a man in his forties, I’ve long given up on the notion of settling down. I’ve never been sure what to look for in a relationship. I only know there’s always something…missing. There has certainly never been this wild energy, this hunger inside of me at the very sight of a female. As a well known bastard, I’m usually already wondering what the hell a woman wants from me.