Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 71352 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71352 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
“Did Matthew tell you that?” she asks as her laughter fades.
“He did,” I acknowledge with a nod. “Matt’s the wild one, right? Roman is more rigid.”
“He’s a lawyer,” she reminds me. “He made a pledge to do right in the world, or something.”
“A pledge?”
She holds up her hand as if she’s set to give testimony in a trial. “I promise to not allow my siblings to have any fun, especially Delia.”
“Poor you.” I trace a fingertip over the bridge of her perfect nose. “You were denied fun.”
“I still had plenty of fun,” she whispers. “Don’t tell Roman, though.”
I lift a finger to cover my lips. “Your secret is safe with me.”
Her gaze follows the curve of my mouth. “Are all of my secrets safe with you?”
It’s my turn to raise my hand as if I’m swearing to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth. “I promise that all of your secrets are safe with me.”
She moves slightly until our lips almost touch. “I’ll want to sleep with you when I see you at my brother’s wedding. I know I will since I want it so much right now.”
I move to stand and extend a hand to her. “We’re going to my stateroom now.”
She drops her hand in mine. “That sounds fancy and fun.”
“I guarantee you’re going to have a hell of a good time, Delia.”
She allows me to help her to her feet. I look down into her beautiful face grateful that we both ended up on this ship.
“You will, too,” she whispers. “I do this thing with my tongue that I think you’re going to really like.”
My cock hardens abruptly, almost to the point of pain. “I can’t fucking wait.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Donovan
I close the door to my stateroom as Delia takes in her surroundings.
“This is gorgeous,” she says with a broad smile on her face. “Look at that view.”
Since we’ve been day drinking, the sun has yet to set and the view is spectacular, but it pales in comparison to her.
This room, with all its added bells and whistles, was one of the main reasons I went ahead and booked the cruise. It’s spacious, the bed is so fucking comfortable that I can’t help but wonder if some of the passengers who came before me spent their entire voyage in it.
The fact that the room had a separate seating area was a bonus. Even at home I make time each day to read after I wake up in the morning. It’s an integral part of my day, so I packed up two of Nicholas Wolf’s new detective novels as a treat to myself. His sister-in-law works for me. As tempted as I’ve been to ask if she can get her hands on a personalized and signed copy of one of his books for me, I haven’t done that. I don’t want her to feel obligated to do it.
I saved his two most recent releases to read for a special occasion. This cruise is it although it was damn hard to focus on the book in my hand this morning because my thoughts kept jumping back to Delia.
“I love this room,” she whispers as she turns to face me.
I do too now that she’s standing in the middle of it.
“I’m going to order room service.” I hear myself say the words and I’m as surprised as she is, judging by the look on her face. “What are you in the mood for?”
The lures a soft laugh out of her as her gaze darts to the bed.
“Don’t mistake my desire to eat a sandwich as anything but that,” I explain. “I’d much rather be eating you until you scream, but I want you to be sure that you’re here of your own free will and not because the mojitos made you do it, Delia. Some food and coffee will help with that.”
She squirms in place, her tanned thighs pressing together. Since she didn’t bother slipping on her cover up before we made our way here, the small scraps of fabric of her bikini are the only things covering her beautiful body.
“I’m not drunk,” she says, stepping closer to where I’m standing. “I’m here because I’ve wanted this for a long time.”
I close the remaining distance between us with a few steps of my own. “How long?”
“Months,” she confesses. “I stalk your social media.”
I let out a hearty laugh. “Bullshit.”
“Three weeks ago you posted an image of you holding a fuzzy orange kitten.” She taps her chin. “I think her name was Pearl.”
“Perla,” I correct her, stunned that she’s seen that post.
I took the image because one of my vet assistant’s couldn’t stop fawning over the kitten. He told me it reminded him of a cat he’d adopted when he was a kid. We posted the image mid-afternoon and by the time the clinic closed in the evening, it had thousands of likes and comments. Since I tagged an animal rescue I volunteer at in the post, their donations shot up that day.