Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 63311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Who the fuck had taken control over my mouth? This was not me. At all. I didn’t proposition men for sex. I didn’t have to. I was charming, remember?
Or not.
I stepped away from the exceedingly sexy bear of a man and dug my phone from my pocket. My jeans were as snug as a wet suit on a sweaty summer day, so…that was a look. I slunk into the shadows under the eaves and scrolled through my Uber app, acutely aware of Graham speaking to someone on his cell. A lover, a spouse? No, he didn’t give off married vibes, but what the fuck did I know?
I furrowed my brow at my screen, dismayed at the rates for a freaking ride to my hotel. These numbers couldn’t be right. I could see the Palazzo sign from here…well, sort of. I switched to a different app, same results. I couldn’t spend forty bucks for a ten-minute drive. No way.
Maybe a taxi would be cheaper. I scanned the mostly empty lot just as a black Escalade pulled in front of me. A tinted window in the rear rolled down a moment later.
“Hop in. I’ll give you a lift to your hotel,” Graham offered.
“No, that’s okay.”
“I insist, Raine.”
I studied his cool blue eyes and weighed his invitation, realizing how ridiculous I was. I wouldn’t have hesitated to get into his car if he’d been interested in me, but now that I knew this was a G-rated taxi service, I was nervous. And embarrassed. But my bank account begged me to set pride aside and reconsider.
“Thank you.” I bit my bottom lip and inclined my head. “I’m staying at The Palazzo.”
Graham nodded. “Very good.”
2
RAINE
Iclimbed into the SUV and greeted the driver as I buckled my seat belt and settled against the lush leather upholstery.
“I appreciate this. You wouldn’t believe how much the rideshare apps are charging,” I stated awkwardly.
“Highway robbery, I’m sure.”
“Yeah.” I shifted to face him, wondering how to continue. “Um, hey…I’m sorry about earlier. I’m not in the habit of throwing myself at strangers.”
He raised a hand and cast a sharp look my way. “Don’t apologize. It’s not you. It’s me.”
“That’s a breakup line. Are we breaking up?” I snarked, hoping to add a note of levity.
Graham chuckled. “That would be a shame.”
“Damn right. I’m a catch.” I wrinkled my nose, holding my hand up like a stop sign. “That was a joke. Obviously.”
“I’m sure it’s true. I don’t know you, but I can tell you’re a good person.” He paused a beat. “Too good for me.”
Color me intrigued all over again.
“You’re bad?”
“Very,” he assured me with a solemn nod.
“On a scale from one to ten, how bad are you? One to three forgets to pay parking tickets. Four to six is a scrub…lives with his parents, never has a dime to his name. Seven and eight is a shark…one of those Wall Street money-grubbers who works sixteen-hour days and constantly brags about his extravagant lifestyle with his fancy cars, houses he never visits, and vacations he doesn’t appreciate. He never even stops to pet a dog. Ugh. Or…are you a nine or ten? They’re villainous creepers, felons, and abusers. The worst of the worst.”
Okay, I was a mouse poking a lion. Graham’s features were impassive, and that spark of humor had been replaced with something measured and unyielding. Talk about mixed signals. He’d bought me drinks, chatted for over an hour, and offered me a ride to my hotel…all nice things. However, I suddenly wondered if he really was dangerous. I didn’t think he was a nine or ten on my bad-boy scale, but what did I know?
Fuck, I should have stayed in, FaceTimed my mom, double-checked my travel itinerary, and indulged in room service. But no…I’d gone with the impetuous option and ended up with a hot guy who praised me for being “nice” before hitting me with the world’s worst breakup line.
I stared out the window, unseeing, feeling small, impotent, and more aware than ever that I was completely alone again. I had no home, no car, no savings. Just a stubborn hope that a move halfway across the globe would turn my life around.
Not exactly off to a winning start.
A rumbled chuckle yanked me from my reverie. “You’re daft. Or perhaps I am.”
“I’m not daft, I’m cool,” I hissed, sounding incredibly uncool to my own ears. “What the hell does daft even mean?”
He laughed aloud now, his eyes twinkling merrily in between the flashes of bright lights as we neared the Strip. “It doesn’t matter. You’re—”
“Don’t say nice. I’m tired of being nice,” I intercepted.
“I was going to say lovely.”
“Wow, that’s equally sucky. No one wants to be nice or lovely in Vegas.”
“What do you want?” Graham asked, his voice laced with easy humor.
“Your dick,” I snapped.
He sobered immediately.