Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 77046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
While picturing sex with the very gorgeous author of said novels.
“Fantasies for women?” I asked, pausing just outside the elevator.
“Well…yes.” She turned to face me, the depth of her brown eyes drawing me in like a fucking magnet. “I write men the way women want them to be, not the way they actually are.”
My eyebrows rose. “The way we actually are?” I couldn’t wait to hear what she thought the differences were.
“Oh, come on, Asher—” She winced. “—I mean, Mr. Silas. It’s not like guys are walking around doling out three orgasms before asking their partner if they’re ready for round two,” she scoffed.
Holy shit. She really just said that.
I took her elbow gently and stepped backward, guiding her back into the elevator, where I hit the button to close the doors with the corner of my portfolio. They slid shut, leaving us cocooned in the small space, where no one else could hear her asinine comments about the failure of men.
“Okay, Daisy. I’m pretty sure that if we’re going to discuss the number of orgasms men are doling out, or the schedule on which I bring my partners to bed, then you can call me Asher. Hell, my friends even call me Ash. Then again, even my friends don’t ask me how many times I can make a woman come.”
“Oh.” Her lips formed a kissable O.
“Now, before we’re about to walk into a room full of my business associates, who I can promise you, do not want to hear about my sexual exploits, or the state of my desk, is this really the reason you wanted to shadow me? To ask me about my sex life?” My brow lowered.
“No!” She shook her head vehemently, her curls bouncing off her shoulders. I had the most ludicrous urge to wrap one ringlet around my finger, just to test how soft it was. Fuck, I wondered if she tasted as good as she smelled, like lilacs and vanilla. “I told you, I wanted to get a feel for how you spend your time, both in business and socially, just to be sure that I made my character as authentic as possible. I just assumed sex was a part of that life.”
“It is most definitely a part of my life, Daisy.” What the hell did she think I was? A monk? And who the fuck had she been sleeping with who couldn’t string her out on a multiple-O binge and then dish out seconds? “But I keep work and play very separate.”
“I’m getting that now,” she said softly.
A thought tripped into my head, and my gaze narrowed slightly. “Please tell me you don’t need to shadow me into the bedroom like you do in the boardroom.”
“Absolutely not!” Her cheeks flamed. “I just wanted to know when you had time for frolicking, not how you frolic. Trust me, I’ve got all that”—she tapped her temple with her pen—“up here. All imagination and no facts required.”
“And exactly how many times would your main character…frolic in this book?” I asked, because I was apparently incapable of keeping my mouth shut around this woman. Fuck, I’d even go as far as to say she frazzled me, which was a definite first.
“About six…maybe seven times.” She shrugged. “I’m still working that all out.”
I blinked. “Six…seven times in a single book.”
Now she was the one with narrowed eyes. “Don’t you dare start making assumptions about romance novels based on the amount of frolicking! Sex is a huge part of a relationship, but that’s not all that happens in one of my books. They’re about heart and flawed people, and finding love despite all the odds!”
“And having sex along the way,” I muttered, a corner of my mouth lifting into a smirk.
“Well, it would be boring as hell if they didn’t!”
“Not arguing with you there.” My thumb grazed the super soft skin of her bare elbow. Even my fingers seemed unable to control themselves around her. “Look. I think you and I may have some preconceived notions about each other.”
“That’s…” She sighed. “Entirely possible.”
“Right. So how about we start over and take each other at face value?”
“So you won’t just assume I’m a sex-obsessed writer who only cares about frolicking?” Her mouth curved into a smile.
“And you won’t assume that my money does all the work for me.” I stroked her elbow again. “And honestly, I’d gone with the whole reclusive writer vibe, not the pinup,” I admitted, tapping the door’s open button with the corner of my portfolio.
The doors opened, and I strode out of the elevator.
“Pinup?” she called after me.
“Let’s go, Daisy,” I said over my shoulder. “We’re already two minutes late.”
“The world might just fucking end,” she muttered, catching up.
Considering I’d just hauled her back into an elevator to discuss my sex life, I thought that was a distinct possibility, because she was flipping my entire world on its orbit.