Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 45972 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 230(@200wpm)___ 184(@250wpm)___ 153(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45972 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 230(@200wpm)___ 184(@250wpm)___ 153(@300wpm)
She blushes, her teeth raking over her pouty bottom lip as she swallows.
“Beckett, we both know you’d be lucky for the chance.”
We’ll see who’s lucky, little brat, I grin to myself.
“You know what, Kempton?” I smile widely, my eyes still locked on hers. “Let’s settle this.”
Her brows go up. “Excuse me?”
“Tonight, right here at this party. I’m going to give you a chance to give up this little game and admit defeat.”
She barks out a laugh, her face red, her eyes wide, and a small amused smile on her lips.
“Admit defeat, huh?”
“Yep. I’m going to go upstairs. I happen to know that the second door on the left is a guest room. I’ll be there, and whenever curiosity gets the better of you, and whenever you decide you’re done playing games with your little boy toys and want to see what a real man can do, you come find me.”
Her jaw drops, an amused grin on her face as she shakes her head.
“You arrogant little—”
“Nothing little about it, sweetheart,” I purr, leaning down and letting the words murmur into her ear. She shivers, her breath catching, I groan, somehow resisting the urge to grab her right there and yank her against me.
“So, that’s where I’ll be. You know, for when you decide to make the right choice.”
She stares at me, biting her lip and slowly shaking her head.
“Fine.” She lets the word drip seductively from her lips. “Two can play this game. How about this. You can sit in your room hoping I come to you. Or you can just admit that you’re just jealous and sour about not ever getting a chance with me and come find me. I saw an office on my way in near the front door. I’ll be there, waiting for you to admit defeat.”
The air sizzles with heat as we stand there, inches apart, her sassy little face looking up into my hooded eyes and clenched jaw. There’s a thin smile on my lips, and a bratty little grin on hers, and I swear you could cut the air between us with a fucking chainsaw.
“Deal,” I growl, putting my hand out. She swallows, hesitating before she takes it. Her hand is so small in mine, and so warm, and when my fingers close around hers, I can feel her pulse thudding.
“Deal,” she whispers. “We’ll see who cracks first.”
“Sure will,” I purr.
“But when you lose and crack first, and I make you wear a ‘I’m Kempton’s bitch’ shirt every day for the rest of the school year, you’ll wish you never took this bet.”
My hand tightens around hers, and I pull her close to me. She gasps as she almost falls into me, her hand landing on my chest as my lips brush her ear.
“But when you’re saying ‘wait, Beckett, there’s more?’ when I’m only halfway inside that bratty little pussy of yours, we’ll see who’s laughing.”
She gasps, her face blooming with heat and a shiver trembling through her before her hand slips from mine. She swallows, panting quietly before she steps away, biting her lip as her eyes lock on mine. She gives me one last sizzling look before she turns on her heel, her red hair fanning out around her and her skirt lifting up high on her long, tantalizing legs before she melts into the party.
“See you soon,” I growl, giving her one last look before I turn and push my way through the crowd.
3
Porter
“So, like, you must be rich!”
Godamnit.
Shit like this is why I never lead off with my history on Wall Street when talking to a girl. I guess maybe I should, because it weeds out the money-hungry diggers like Ellen here, who’s probably gotten the background on me from Justin. Justin, by the way, who has zero problem leading off with how much money he’s made when he’s chatting up girls. It’s not my thing though, and honestly it just turns me off.
Ellen isn’t picking up on that though.
“So how many houses do you have?”
I could tell her about the enormous nest egg I’ve got stashed away from my Wall Street days. And of course, the trust I have, just the same as Beckett does, from our dad. But I don’t. In fact, Ellen’s blatant attempt to see how well off I am makes me just want to mess with her.
“No houses, actually. I’m renting an apartment in downtown Southworth.”
She frowns. “Oh, uh…” she smiles at me with a creased brow, like she’s trying to peer into me.
“Oh, you’re joking!” She giggles, throwing her head back and slapping my arm. “Renting! That’s hilarious. Justin said you were funny!”
There is no chance on this earth that anyone who knows me would call me “funny.” I like to have fun but crunching statistics and numbers hasn’t ever made anyone “funny.” You might describe me more as gruff. Maybe a little stern.