Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 61758 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 309(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61758 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 309(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Read Online Books/Novels: | (Beauty in Imperfection #1) Imperfect Intentions |
|---|---|
Author/Writer of Book/Novel: | Charmaine Pauls |
| Language: | English |
| ISBN/ ASIN: | 9782491833152 |
| Book Information: | |
A DARK ROMANCE I never dreamed of getting married. I dreamed about freedom. When my stepfather promised Leon Hart a partnership in his clandestine software company, he offered me as part of the package deal. It’s a win-win situation for both men. My stepfather gets rid of his damaged stepdaughter, and Leon becomes second-in-command of the biggest underground IT operation in the country. I’ll do what I must to escape my fate. Even if it means turning my powerful and dangerous betrothed into my worst enemy. Note: Imperfect Intentions is Book 1 of the Beauty in Imperfection duology. Violet and Leon’s story concludes in Imperfect Affections (Book 2), which releases on 21 June 2022. Beauty in Imperfection is part of the Diamond Magnate Collection. You don’t have to read the other books to follow this story. | |
| Books in Series: | Beauty in Imperfection Series by Charmaine Pauls |
| Books by Author: | Charmaine Pauls |
CHAPTER 1
Leon
Nobody looks up from their computer screens as the young woman wheels a trolley with cleaning products through the swing doors into the basement. To them, she may as well be invisible, but to me, the clack of the doors that announces her arrival is like a blaring alarm.
She comes on at six every weekday and leaves after midnight. The nightshift allows her to clean when the employees clock out for the day. After six, the desks are supposed to be vacant, and she can make noise with the vacuum cleaner without disturbing the programmers and breaking their concentration. The only people left at this hour are the workaholics, which is just about the entire floor.
She strains under the weight of the trolley, leaning her slender frame into it and weaving with a slight limp around the desks in the open plan space. Today, she wears ripped jeans and a pink T-shirt. The denim hugs her shapely ass, and the cotton of the T-shirt molds snugly over her breasts. The curves of her feminine shape are neither big nor small. Her body is perfectly proportioned, except for her right leg that’s a few centimeters shorter than her left. If not for that unique characteristic, she would’ve been a doll, and dolls are plastic. Reality has flaws, but that’s what makes it real. Real in all its raw, authentic beauty is much more attractive.
With every movement, her muscles shift under her clothes. Each pose is flawless from every angle. She’s not skinny, but there’s not an ounce of fat on her body. Like the rest of her, her smooth, honey-colored skin begs to be touched. Her oval-shaped face gives her a soft, delicate look while the determined set of her full lips hints at self-assurance. Her eyes are the most unusual color of blue, a deep violet that reminds me of lavender. Long brown hair is piled on top of her head in a messy bun. A few tendrils that escaped stick to her temples and nape despite the AC that works on full blast down here. Perspiration shines on her forehead. That means she’s already been cleaning upstairs. Her father—my boss—sometimes makes her come in early to clean the kitchen and meeting room on the ground floor.
The trolley creaks under the burden of a bucket filled with water. Drops slosh over the sides as she pulls on the handlebar to stop the momentum of the wheels. She leaves the trolley in the corner and walks with an uneven gait through the doors. A moment later, she returns with a vacuum cleaner. She pops in ear pods, takes her phone from her back pocket, and swipes a finger over the screen. Not sparing any of the twelve men in the room a glance, she switches on the vacuum cleaner and steers the power nozzle over the varnished concrete floor.
My coworkers continue with their work. We’re all on a deadline. More accurately, we’re all chasing a promotion, and even in a clandestine software company like Gus Starley’s, a pay raise and private office must be earned.
Taking my empty mug, I push to my feet and head toward the coffee maker. I go the long way around, passing by her so closely I can smell the faint scent of caramel and clean, female sweat on her skin. She hums to herself, her husky voice making my scalp tingle in a pleasurable way, like when my hairdresser cuts my hair. It’s not a tune I know. I memorize it as I fill my mug with burnt coffee from the glass flask on the hot plate. After adding creamer, which doesn’t change the color of the coffee much, I stall by taking a sip while watching her through my lashes.
Done with the vacuuming, she kills the noise and carries the vacuum cleaner away. By the time I’m back at my desk, she reappears through the doors and makes her way with some difficulty but no less determination to the trolley. Her actions are as fluid and natural as those of someone who doesn’t realize she’s being observed.
She needs to be more careful.
When she lifts the bucket to the floor, the effort sketches her arm muscles in a stunning portrait of human perfection. After dunking the mop in the bucket, she squeezes out the excess water and starts to wash the floor. The dance of her body is rhythmic as she paints the concrete with wet brushstrokes of soapy water. It’s hypnotic.
I must be staring for too long, the usual clacking of my keyboard silent, because I’m attracting attention. My nape pricks with awareness of being watched. I feel my neighbor’s eyes on me before I turn my head and catch him looking.
Elliot Starley’s lips curve into a smile as he slides his gaze from me to Violet. The boss’s son or not, I feel like punching that smirk off his face.