Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 47279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 158(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 158(@300wpm)
I’m still staring open-mouthed at the décor when a low voice startles me.
“You really have grown up,” Carlton’s growls, his body so close that I can feel his warm breath on my neck.
Steadying myself, I turn around, our faces nearly touching once I do so.
“Carlton,” I murmur as I let my eyes roam over his muscular body. “How are you? You look nice.”
It’s true – Carlton James is the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen. His suit is obviously expensive and tailored to hug his muscles just right. Its soft gray hue highlights his naturally tan skin, and his blue eyes pop, despite the dim lighting at the bar. I realize as I stare at him that I’m holding my breath. I exhale softly, suddenly knowing that it will take all of my resolve to stick to my plan, because he’s exactly the kind of man I could fall hard for.
He steps back and flashes that boyish grin I remember so well.
“I should be the one complimenting you, sweetheart,” he rasps. “It really has been a long time.” Then, his eyes roam the length of my body, pausing ever so slightly at my cleavage, hips, and butt. He doesn’t even try to hide what he’s doing and I blush at his candid appreciation for my figure. I’m also suddenly embarrassed by how form fitting my dress is, and wiggle a bit, only making things worse. Those blue eyes flick up to me with knowing amusement.
“You look beautiful,” he says with that deep voice. “Shall we?” Carlton makes a gesture with his hand to walk further into the room, and I feel my entire body shiver with sudden and intense longing.
But before we go too far, the hostess approaches us with a wide smile. “Mr. James,” the leggy redheaded woman practically drools, “we are so pleased you are joining us tonight. Come let me show you to your table.” The woman’s eyes flicker to me and I think I read resentment in them.
I raise my eyebrows at Carlton who nods with a smirk.
“I don’t think she likes me very much,” I whisper in his ear.
“Her loss,” he whispers back, his lips nearly brushing my neck. I shudder, feeling completely taken in by this charismatic man. But determined to control my desires, I square my shoulders and follow the hostess to our table, swaying my hips ever so slightly for Carlton’s benefit as he walks behind me.
A moment later, we’re settled into a large leather booth. The design is such that once sitting, it’s as if we’re ensconced in our own little world. A candle – tastefully decorated with pressed flowers – flickers on the table in front of us, providing a little more light and setting a romantic mood. The table itself is made of deep oak and shines brilliantly against the candlelight.
I smile at Carlton, truly impressed with his location selection. “Do you come here a lot?” I ask.
He smirks good-humoredly. “What makes you say that?”
I grin back. “Well for one thing, the pretty redhead at the door knew you by name.”
At this observation, Carlton chuckles easily. “It comes with the territory,” he says with a shrug.
I decide to press him on it, wanting to get to know the man I haven’t seen in twelve years. “What territory might that be? Wealth? Power?” I let just a hint of sarcasm slip into my voice, so he knows that I’m teasing him.
Carlton chuckles, the sound coming from deep within his broad chest. “Yes, those would be two of them. But the actual reason is much less interesting.”
I raise my eyebrows again, my way of asking for an explanation.
“I own the building.” He shares this detail so nonchalantly that I almost don’t believe him. My lashes flutter and then I blink.
He’s a billionaire, I remind myself. He probably owns half of Chicago.
“But you still didn’t answer my question,” I tease instead. “Do you come here often?”
Carlton chuckles. “Only when I have to impress a date,” he assures me with a wink.
“Oh so this is a date?” I quip, already feeling heady and I haven’t even had anything to drink yet.
“It could be,” Carlton retorts lightly. “It depends.”
Our conversation is interrupted by the approach of a waiter. Once we place our drink orders – a glass of red wine for me a whiskey for him – we both lean back further into the booth and observe one another for a moment. What is he thinking? I know I’m godawful attracted to him, but maybe he still thinks of me as an annoying brat. One wrapped in a curvy package now, but still annoying all the same. He drags his eyes up from my breasts to meet mine, and his expression is a bit dazed.
“Has it really been twelve years?” he asks, shaking his head in wonder.