Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
“Get older?” I asked. “There’s no such thing in this line of work. There’s no retirement. You die young—as you should.”
“Dying young…that doesn’t scare you?”
“Not one bit.”
“So, a wife and a family… Not your thing?”
“Having me as a husband would be torture. And my kids would hate me.”
She watched me, her eyes dissecting me.
“Are we done with this conversation now?” I asked. “Because we have shit to do.”
“Yeah…I guess.”
7
LAURA
I was on the phone when a guy walked into the office.
I say guy because he definitely wasn’t a client. Just like Bartholomew, he was dressed all in black, like he worked the streets all night and was about to finish his shift at ten in the morning.
“Anne, let me call you back.”
Without saying a word, he placed a sealed package on the counter. There was no writing on the outside. Then he walked out and disappeared as quickly as he’d arrived.
I pulled out the papers Bartholomew had sent me.
The first was his medical clearance, results from his STI panel, proving that he kept his dick clean. The test had been performed at some lab facility, and I found it funny to imagine Bartholomew walking in there…looking like Bartholomew. He probably had his own doctor on staff, but to assure me he didn’t alter the results, he’d gone somewhere neutral.
There was also a note along with a hotel key.
Four Seasons
Room 822
8 p.m.
That was all it said.
This was such a bad idea. No matter how good the sex was, it wasn’t worth getting pulled into his darkness. It wasn’t worth having his cronies swing by my office. It wasn’t worth all the risk.
But I’d dated on and off for years, and only the bad ones knew how to do it good.
The hotel was the epitome of luxury. Flowers on every table. Gold elevators. Glass staircases. I stepped into the elevator and hit the button to reach the eighth floor, looking at my image in the sea of gold.
My heart was like a fucking race car.
I’d fucked this man twice, and yet, it felt like the first time.
No man had ever made me so nervous. Made my heart pump with adrenaline. Made me a little afraid to be in his presence.
The doors opened, and I stepped into the carpeted hallway. At the end of the hall was the room I was looking for, crystal chandelier on the way, low-lit scones along the walls that looked like singing angels.
I swiped the card over the door and stepped inside.
It was a master suite, with an entryway, a grand living room, and a private bedroom at the other side. My heels tapped against the hardwood as I made my entrance. I headed to the floor-to-ceiling windows at the back, the Eiffel Tower on full display.
I took in the view as I waited for him to arrive. I expected someone like him to be punctual, so I pulled out my phone to check the time. He was ten minutes late. I turned to set my purse on the counter but stilled when I spotted him in the armchair.
Knees wide apart. Elbows on the armrests. His big hands together. He’d been sitting there watching me the entire time, and judging by the intensity in his eyes, he’d enjoyed the view.
Something about this man made me go absolutely still. I had no voice. No control over my body. I never let a man take my power, but Bartholomew stole it straight from my hands. I did my best to keep my breathing even, to keep my stare hard, to pretend he didn’t affect me the way he did.
I hoped he bought it.
After a long stare, he rose to his feet. His jacket was already on the back of the chair, and he wore a short-sleeved shirt that showed all that arm porn. With the confidence of a Roman emperor, he walked right up to me, lowered his face to mine, his lips hovering just inches away, and then he stared.
I could barely breathe.
His hand cupped my cheek then slid into my hair, and as he spoke, his eyes dropped to my lips. “I’ve thought about you all day, sweetheart.” He cradled the back of my head as he kissed me, a gentle kiss that sent shivers everywhere. Each was soft and delicate, a quiet simmer on the stove, the heat slowly rising and bringing us to a boil. His mouth opened fully and took mine, his tongue entering my mouth to claim its victory.
At some point, my fingers had dug into his hair, and my hand clutched his strong shoulder. My heart raced in excitement rather than fear, and I fell into this sweet oblivion without reserve.
My hands gripped the bottom of his shirt and tugged it over his head. Once my palms felt his bare skin, it was like touching the sun. Searing heat moved through my extremities to my center, the transfer of heat happening at the speed of electricity.