Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 62509 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62509 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
He answers my mother instead of me. “We had drinks one night.”
I cough loudly, feeling a large lump has caught in my throat.
My father’s sharp eyes turn to me and glare.
“Sorry,” I say while shaking my head.
“Corton, you said your name was?” my father asks.
Corton? How did I not know that?
Probably because I was too busy wanting what he could give me to be concerned about his actual name. And all he gave me that night was Whiskey. As he answers my father with a short, “Yes,” I let my eyes wander to see he hasn’t changed much.
Tall. Even with me in heels, he’s taller. Well over six-foot. Dark hair perfectly styled and just begging for me to run my hands through it to give it a perfectly just-fucked look. His eyes astute and the color of whiskey. His lips are thin as he watches me. I remember kissing those lips and what they could do. I also remember running my fingers over his sharp jaw, admiring the fact it was so perfect with its slight stubble. Tonight, there’s no stubble, he’s clean-shaven. He’s dressed in a suit, which is black with a white tie. It’s a white tie event, after all.
“I would love to steal you for a moment.” He offers me his hand. Those hands have roamed my body. Last time I was touched by them, it was the best feeling in the world to have them and him all over me.
Whiskey was the first man to make me feel like I’m a superstar. That I was everything he’d dreamed of, and I was beautiful. Not that I don’t think of myself like that, I do. I’m a strong believer in all women need to love themselves. But to have a man look at you that way, it’s empowering, and it was terribly hard to walk away from a connection like that.
“Carla, you have people to meet.” My father’s voice breaks my stare.
Looking down at Whiskey’s out-stretched hand, I don’t think twice as I place mine in his. “I’ll be just a few,” I tell my father as Whiskey starts to pull me away. His warm, firm grip holds my hand, sending multiple butterflies fluttering in my stomach. I like the way he makes me feel. I like it a lot.
I pay no attention to where we’re going until the cold air hits my shoulders. He drops my hand and steps closer to the edge of the balcony. Whiskey’s strong hands, one of which was just on my hand, now hold the edge, gripping it hard.
“You walked away from the ball and your father with me,” he says, still not facing me. “Why do you think that is?” I don’t step closer to him. Heights, even if we are not that high, scare the living daylights out of me. So I stay where I am near the door.
“You asked.”
He tsks at me, then turns around.
“You lie.”
What the fuck? I’m shocked by his words.
“You came because I fucked you, and you’re hoping I will again.”
My mouth drops open, and I blink my eyes a few times while his words sink in. I spin around, checking behind me to make sure no one overheard his statement. Thankfully, no one did, and from what I can see, there is no one close by either.
“You seem to care about your father’s reputation quite a bit?”
I nod, it’s all I can do. He’s made me speechless.
“Do you think that’s healthy? Watching your every move and everything you say, because it might hurt the reputation of your father?”
Whiskey knows this about me because when we first fucked—believe me, there were many times in that one night—I told him how I felt trapped. At the time, he had asked why, and I didn’t hold back. But I honestly never expected to see him again, so disclosing all that information was easy at the time.
“I didn’t watch my every move with you that night,” I say back.
His lip quirks at my words, like he didn’t expect me to say them.
“I assumed you’d be angry at me tonight.” He leans over the edge of the balcony, now looking down, and my heart stutters at the thought of him falling.
He spins around, looking at me differently. Why is he looking at me like that? It’s not smug, it is almost defensive.
“For that night?” I shrug. “Clearly, I never said no. Plus, it was well over a year ago now.”
He pushes off from the balcony, and back in its place is a man who’s not defensive but smirking.
He’s hot and cold.
I’m getting whiplash just watching him.
“Yes…”
We fall into silence while simply staring at each other. He doesn’t say anything more, just stays where he is, smirking at me.
“So…” His lips turn up into a smile, and he shakes his head as if clearing it from his thoughts.