Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 94874 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94874 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Read Online Books/Novels: | King of Hawthorne Prep |
|---|---|
Author/Writer of Book/Novel: | Jennifer Sucevic |
| Language: | English |
| Book Information: | |
From USA Today Bestselling author Jennifer Sucevic comes a sexy, new bully romance. Welcome to the world of Hawthorne Prep. A seemingly idyllic school where ivy clings to the thick stone walls and a wrought iron gate keeps out the townies who can’t afford to foot the hefty price tag. A couple of months ago, the idea of being ripped away from my life in Chicago and plunked down in the middle of nowheresville, Wisconsin was unimaginable. Laughable, even. And yet, here I am, forced to wear a short plaid skirt and navy blazer to school every day. The only silver lining is the brand spanking new G-wagon parked in the weathered brick drive. All I have to do is make it through senior year and then I’m off to college. Shouldn’t be a problem, right? Wrong. In a school like this, flying under the radar is impossible. There’s a king who presides over the kingdom and he’s set on forcing me to my knees so I can kiss the crown. Unbeknownst to me, being a Hawthorne in this town comes with a price and he’s going to make damn sure I pay what’s owed. ******King of Hawthorne Prep is a mature bully romance intended for audiences over the age of 18* | |
| Books by Author: | Jennifer Sucevic |
Chapter One
My gaze wanders over the water as white-capped waves roll rhythmically toward the sandy shore. When the wind picks up, a warm breeze rustles through my hair and I tip my face toward the sun before stretching.
Could life get any better than this?
Doubtful.
A family friend was kind enough to let us borrow their beach house in Door County for the week. Mom and Dad surprised us with the impromptu vacation a few days before we were supposed to leave.
The house we’re staying at isn’t one of the newly renovated million-dollar monstrosities that flank us on both sides with their gargantuan square footage, swanky pools, and perfectly groomed lawns. But it’s steps from the beach and has breathtaking views of Lake Michigan. This house is fifteen hundred square feet with three cramped bedrooms, an outdated kitchen, and a ton of seashell decor. Even so, there’s something charming about it.
Sweat beads my forehead as I haul myself from the chair I’m sprawled on and saunter to the water’s edge. It might look as inviting as the Caribbean cast in varying shades of cerulean and turquoise, but it doesn’t feel like it. Especially when my skin has been crispifying for hours beneath the sweltering sun.
A breath hisses from my lips as the frigid liquid rushes past my ankles. The first couple steps are the worst. As soon as numbness sets in, it gets better. Braving the water, I continue forward as the waves swirl around my calves. I do a little dance, bouncing up and down on my toes, trying to get used to the cold as it sinks into my bones.
I force myself to move deeper until the water reaches my hips.
It’s now or never.
With that brief pep talk, I suck in a breath and dive beneath a wave as it peaks and curls. Water rushes around me, instantly chilling my overheated flesh. After a moment, I break through to the surface and expel the lungful of air from my body.
It’s easier to submerge myself the second time as I dive to the bottom before trailing my fingers through the fine-grained sand in search of clamshells. When my lungs burn, I pop up again before floating on the surface so the sun can warm my skin. With my eyes closed, I stretch my hands and legs, allowing the waves to rock my body. My mind drifts as the rhythmic motion lulls me to a contented place. Every once in a while, I lift my head and search for our little blue one-story cottage to make sure I haven’t drifted to far down the shore.
My plan is to make the most of our little beach vaca before returning to Chicago next weekend. There’s so much that needs to be accomplished before senior year begins in the fall.
A couple of months ago, I registered for an introductory astronomy class at a local university about thirty minutes from the house. Next on the agenda are campus visits. I’ve scheduled tours for the University of Chicago, Northwestern, and the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor. Those three are my dream schools. All have impressive astronomy programs. To round out the summer, I’ve snagged a volunteer position at the Adler Planetarium. I’m scheduled to start next Monday at nine o’clock sharp.
Long after my fingers turn pruney, I drag myself from the water. As I trudge toward shore, a bleached clamshell glints in the sunlight from the bottom and catches my attention. Stilling my movements, I bend over to inspect it. A wave crashes over me, stirring up the sand and covering the shell. Once the debris settles, I turn, brushing my fingers across the bottom until they land on it again.
“Nice view.”
I yelp and swing around, straightening to my full height only to come face-to-face with the most gorgeous boy I’ve ever seen. My breath gets lodged at the back of my throat as his mahogany-colored eyes pierce mine with unwavering intensity. Rooted in place, it’s all I can do to take in the thick slashes of his eyebrows before my gaze slides to the slant of high cheekbones, and then on to a perfect cupid’s bow of a mouth.
Damn.
He’s seriously hot.
Like...way out of my league hot.
My heart riots painfully against my chest as I continue to stare. His brows rise as humor sparks to life in his eyes.
Is he waiting for a response?
Did he ask a question, and I wasn’t paying attention? I hit the mental rewind button and quickly sift through our limited conversation.
Nice view.
Nice view?
Wasn’t I bent over at the time with my ass in the air?
Heat slams into my cheeks with the force of a tsunami. That’s exactly the pose I’d been striking. When he had said nice view, he’d been commenting on my behind. The very same behind barely covered by a thin strip of fabric because the beach has been fairly empty since we arrived on Saturday. This guy is one of the few people I’ve seen.