Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 59939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
What the hell is going on here? I have no clue who this chick is, only that she’s the sexiest sight I’ve seen in a while. Along with those magnetic emerald eyes and knockout figure, she has high cheekbones, a dainty nose and a sensual mouth that’s just a little bit crooked. I like it, that small imperfection. It makes her all the more…real.
I wish she’d wipe that deer-in-the-headlights expression off her flushed face, though. I’m not a serial killer, for fuck’s sake. And she’s in my bed, not the other way around.
“I’m so sorry,” she says again as she edges toward the side of the bed, still clinging to the blanket. “I must be in the wrong room.”
I open my mouth to answer, but for some inexplicable reason the power of speech completely eludes me. What the fuck am I supposed to say anyway? No problem, thanks for giving me this stiffy?
As I watch her stumble off the bed in her blanket-toga, my confusion gives way to suspicion. Is she really in the wrong room? Sure, the skinny dude downstairs was totally incompetent and could’ve screwed up with the keys, but how likely is that? A much likelier possibility would be… Damn it, is she press? Did she purposely sneak into my room and try to seduce me in hopes of getting a juicy story to sell to the tabloids?
Shit.
I scramble to cover up the goods with one of the flat pillows on the bed, then narrow my eyes as the redhead scurries around the room, collecting items of clothing.
“Who are you?” I growl. My tone means business.
She falters for a moment, a black T-shirt clutched between her fingers. “What?”
“Are you a reporter?”
“Why would I be a reporter?” She appears frazzled as she stares at the shirt in her hands and then shoots me a pleading look. “Could you…could you just close your eyes for a minute while I get dressed?”
Oh, so now she’s all prim and modest? Sure hadn’t been that way when she was stroking my dick.
Deciding I’m entitled to a little peek, I pretend to close my eyes while watching her through slitted eyelids. I get an out-of-focus glimpse of her hooking up her bra, and my cock twitches with disappointment when her full breasts are finally covered. Is asking her to come back to bed inappropriate?
Probably.
“Okay. I’m dressed.”
Yes, she is. But the tight T-shirt and short denim skirt that does amazing things to her legs only confirms she looks just as good clothed as she did naked.
“I’m mortified,” she murmurs.
Then, as if she’s offering a scrap of meat to a feral lion, she steps forward and hands me the blanket.
I drape it over my lower body as she continues to ramble on. “I was supposed to meet…a guy. He said this was his room number and…I guess I got it wrong. I…” She stammers, “I don’t usually break into strangers’ hotel rooms, I promise. I just…” She drifts off, her cheeks growing redder by the second.
Strangers?
The word hangs in the air, bringing with it another dose of confusion. She doesn’t recognize me?
She actually doesn’t recognize me?
I’m not conceited enough to think that all the women on the planet know who I am, but my face has been splashed on every Hollywood rag, every entertainment show, all over social media, for weeks now. Even the elderly couple who does my dry-cleaning have heard of me, and they haven’t been to the movies since the ’50s.
“I’m just going to leave now, okay?” she says. “I’m sorry. I can’t apologize enough for…this. I, um, I work at a bar called The Olive Martini, near the corner of Broadway and 45th, so if you’re ever in the neighborhood you can pop in and the drinks will be on the house.” She sucks in a deep breath. “I know a free drink doesn’t make up for…um, this, but it’s all I can do.”
Then she clamps her mouth shut and looks at me with wide, shameful eyes, and the humor of the situation finally settles over me. A complete stranger just slipped into my bed, kissed the hell out of me, got me harder than granite, and now she’s offering me free drinks to make up for it?
Laughter lodges in my throat as I try to formulate a sentence that might make the situation seem a little less insane.
I never get the chance.
With an awkward smile and another look of terror, the redhead hurries for the door.
A flash of pink from the carpet catches my eye.
“Wait,” I call as she reaches for the door handle. “You forgot your—”
She slides out and closes the door with a soft click.
“—panties,” I finish.
And then I give in to the urge and start to laugh.
5
Maggie
I tear down the street in a full-throttled run, sucking in the night air as if an overdose of oxygen will erase the pure humiliation sticking to my throat. I glance over my shoulder, half expecting to find the sexy stranger I just mauled chasing after me. Nope. All I see is the slow rush of people flowing out of one of the theaters, chattering about the show they’d just seen.