Total pages in book: 14
Estimated words: 12872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 64(@200wpm)___ 51(@250wpm)___ 43(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 12872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 64(@200wpm)___ 51(@250wpm)___ 43(@300wpm)
He doesn’t bother to react or acknowledge my anger. Instead, he holds the fabric out and waits for me to slide my arms through it. I only do it because there’s a slight chill, making my nipples hard and visible through my bright pink top, or at least I’m blaming it on the chill and not this sexy asshole in front of me.
I pout. “Better?”
“It will do.” He reaches down and takes my hand, leading me over to the dance floor. The sun is starting to set along the beach and it’s beautiful, but I can’t think of anything else when his hand tightly grips mine. Electricity shoots from the connection point through my entire body.
Senorita plays as the tiki torches are lit and the crowds gather. We don’t have a lot of space, so Cameron pulls me close to him as we move to the rhythm like he’s protecting me from the other men on the dance floor. My chest is pressed against his, and I let the music move me.
A couple bumps us and I spin around, giving Cameron my back as my hips sway and my arms run up my neck and into the air. His head bends down just at my throat as his hands caress my thighs. I rest my head on his shoulder, and our bodies start grinding to the song. It turns into another song like it and his hands begin to roam under my wrap, skimming the edge of my bikini bottoms, and that’s when I feel the length of his cock pressed against my ass.
I let out a gasp, and then he spins me around to face him. “As if I’d let you dance with another man like this, his dick getting hard from your pert, young ass grinding on it. It’s natural to be in this beautiful place and want to take you down in the sand and feel my way down your body.” He presses his hand to the small of my back, slamming my lower body into his so I feel exactly what he means.
“I can handle men,” I bite out. He’s the one I let my guard down with. He’s the one I’ve saved myself for, which is foolish as hell. I hold back the tears because I want to scream at him for making me feel this way when he should just leave me be to deal with my heartache and this lonely, painful crush that can never be.
“I doubt it.” I attempt to shove him but he pulls me closer, his nose running along the column of my throat. “I’d have to kill every single one of them.”
My heart’s cracking. “Why—because my brother hired you?”
“No, because you’re mine, Elena. You’ve always been mine, and if you think I’m going to let anyone else take what belongs to me, you’ve got to be out of your damn mind,” he whispers with his lips inches from my hungry ones.
“Liar,” I say, swiping my tongue over mine to wet them.
“I don’t lie.” He says it with such conviction that I want to believe him, but everyone lies in one way or another, even if it’s a lie of omission.
“What about Elle?” I challenge.
“She’s staying with friends.” My stomach lurches, and my skin burns at his touch.
“I can’t.” I push him away and run. I don’t get more than ten feet on the sand when he catches up to me, throwing me over his shoulder like a savage beast and carrying me away.
“Put me down, you big jerk.” I beat on his back which only earns a chuckle from his sexy chest.
“Not yet, Elena. Not until we get some shit straight.”
“Mr. King, do we have a problem?” a waiter says. Shouldn’t he be calling security to help me?
“No. Mrs. King has had too much to drink and needs to go to bed.” I’m so stunned that I can’t even respond to that bullshit.
“Congratulations,” he offers, not even questioning the liar. I can’t believe this man. He’s smooth as hell and so cool under pressure that his lies come naturally.
“What? We’re not married. You just said you had a fiancée,” I say, my head bobbing as he carries me through the sand and up the walkway toward the grand hotel.
“I never said such a thing.”
“I read about you living with Elle,” I inform him.
A deep rumble of laughter comes from him and I get pissed, jabbing him in the side. “Elle is my cat,” he grunts out.
I lift my head slightly turning it because maybe the blood has rushed to my head, and I heard him wrong. “Cat?”
“Yes. I don’t have a fiancée.” I try to think about the article. Did I read it wrong? No. I don’t understand. Well, it still doesn’t explain why he just called me Mrs. King to that guy.