Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 83171 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83171 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Smart girl. “Stickler for semantics, are you?”
She nods.
“Then you’re correct. I won’t.”
She’s still standing against her desk, and the tops of her breasts—visible in the low-cut, clingy shirt she’s wearing—are rosy. I imagine how soft and warm they’ll be against my fingers, my lips.
She’s holding back quivers, forcing her body not to respond to mine.
She knows how to stay in control. Damn, she’s good.
But I’m better.
“I… I’ll…think about it,” she finally says.
Think about it? It’s her right, of course, so I’ll make damned sure she has something to think about. Something long and hard that can give her another one of those orgasms she’s only begun to experience.
I crush her to my body, my erection apparent. I press it into her belly. “This isn’t a game, Skye.”
“I never said it was.”
“There’s nothing to think about.”
“There’s a lot to think about. I’m not someone’s toy, Braden. I have some self-respect, you know.”
“Of course you do. Do you honestly think I’d want to bed a woman who has no self-respect?”
She steadies herself. “Honestly, I don’t know what to think.”
“Think about this.” I cup both her cheeks and smash my lips to hers.
She opens, letting her tongue wander out to meet mine.
The intensity of the kiss surprises me.
I feel like I’m drugged, aware of nothing else but Skye’s lips on mine, her tongue tangling, teasing mine. Her kisses are addictive, and I want more of them. More of everything Skye Manning.
Her body splayed out and bound, her skin red from a riding crop, her nipples sore from a clamp. Better yet—sore from my lips and teeth.
I want her any way and every way.
But first I have to get her back to my bed.
She deepens the kiss, groaning into my mouth, pushing her breasts into my chest. Her nipples are hard. She rises on her toes and rubs against my bulge. Yes, yes. I feel her begin to surrender, begin to need this as much as I do.
There’s only one thing for me to do.
I pull away, breaking the kiss with a loud smack.
She falls back against the desk, gripping the edge.
“I want you,” I say. “You do something to me, something I don’t quite understand but want to.” I grip her with my gaze. “Don’t think too long.”
Then I walk out the door.
Chapter Fourteen
I toy with the idea of going back to New York, to the club, but I ultimately end up at the gym working out for three hours. When my body finally reaches its limit, I head home and sit in my Jacuzzi listening to jazz.
When I’ve effectively turned into a prune, I get out of the tub, towel off, and head to the kitchen. It’s after ten p.m., and Marilyn’s off duty. She left me dinner in the refrigerator—coq au vin with French bread—but I’m in the mood for something else.
Something…spicy.
I order some Thai from a place that has all-night delivery, alert the night staff that it’s coming, and head into my office to check on a few emails. I have business all over the globe, so emails come in at all hours.
I expect mail from China, India, Australia.
I don’t expect anything from Addison Ames. She emails me a couple of times a year, reminding me how much I owe her. It’s all a crock. I read and delete. Really, I should just delete.
But curiosity is my downfall, and I open it. Weird. It’s blank, just her signature block. She must have accidentally hit Send before she wrote anything. Just as well.
Delete.
Easy enough.
I still do business with Addie’s father. The Ames Hotel is the best in Boston, so why wouldn’t I?
I’ve worked hard, and I deserve the best.
I deserve Skye.
Skye isn’t the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met, and she’s far from the most worldly. She’s a Kansas farm girl.
A Kansas farm girl who I can’t get out of my mind.
Skye is beautiful, though, in a refreshing way that most of the women I go out with aren’t. I seem to attract women who like to apply makeup with a putty knife and waltz around in Dolce & Gabbana.
I bet Skye doesn’t own any Dolce & Gabbana. I bet she shops at Target.
Honestly, I’m not a fan of Dolce & Gabbana, though I do love a nice Armani suit. For the most part, though, I’m still a boy from South Boston at heart. Hell, we couldn’t afford Target. We shopped at the Salvation Army thrift store and sometimes even had to get free food from the local food bank.
Skye grew up on a corn farm, so she most likely never had to take charity.
In her way, she’s more worldly than I am. She’s a college graduate. I’m not. Lack of higher education hasn’t held me back at all, though.
You had some help, you know.
I ignore the devil on my shoulder. It’s gotten easier over the years.