Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 56169 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56169 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
“You’ll never find someone else,” Byron fumes. “This is your last chance to come back to me. We all know nerds like you don’t get many dates.”
“Nerds like me?” I snort derisively.
I could go on about nerds like me supporting bums like him, but it would be a waste of good air, and I plan to spend my breath on something that matters, not on vile assholes with undersized weenuses. I just shake my head, catching a glimpse of something tall, dark, and manly a few steps behind me. I guess my pride is a little bit wounded because I do something irrational even though I never act impulsively. I’m a thinker, and I usually move carefully before I act.
“Actually, I’ve already moved on, thank you very much. I just needed a push in the right direction. I’m very, very happy.” I bite out the bit about wishing him good luck with moving back to his mom’s place.
I pivot at exactly the right moment—irrational, spur of the moment plan in place. The rational, normal Emily would never just step into a guy’s path, grab him off the street, cup his solid jaw and corded neck, and tug his face down. The careful Emily would never lock lips with a stranger, hoping the guy’s indignation could be staved or laughed off after Byron goes sputtering and storming away in the opposite direction.
I guess this is the reactional, pissed off, with something to prove Emily because I do all of those things. I’m not athletic, but somehow, the timing all works out, and my lips hit a pair of the softest, hottest, most delicious lips I’ve ever encountered. Stubble scratches my cheek and grazes my fingertips as heat floods through my body, and a frantic pulse flutters where my fingertips rest on a total stranger’s perfect throat. At the taste of deep and mysterious masculinity, as well as when the scent of spicy cologne invades my nose, an overwhelming urge to moan overtakes me as my heart explodes into a frantic rhythm.
I nearly pull back, an explanation and one heck of an apology at the ready, when the stranger tangles a strong hand in my hair, tugging gently so that my face tilts back and he can deepen the kiss.
The whole frantic pace of St. Louis freezes around me. The world stops, time ceases, and for a moment, I think I might be living one of those classic romances I love so much, except they don’t usually end so happily because people back then didn’t buy into the notion of that—the whole happily ever after. Regardless, I do know for a fact that this is THE BEST KISS I’ve ever had in my life.
Never, in all my thirty-one years on this earth, have I ever been kissed like this.
This puts all other kisses to shame.
When my poor ambushed stranger, who kisses like the devil coming straight from hell to claim my soul, releases me, he chuckles low in his throat. The rumble seers right through me like I just stuck my head in a cannon, and someone fired it. Minus the ball, because my head is the ball, I think.
I don’t know, as my mind has blanked, and the whole world is spinning crazily. I realize I’ve just done something very, very stupid. And that’s before my vision clears, everything comes into focus, and I realize the perfect stranger I just grabbed and basically tongued right in the middle of the street like a shameless strumpet is none other than Asher Paris. My new boss.
Holy blasted bleepers, what have I done?
CHAPTER 2
Asher
I know it’s a bad sign when Granny calls me before six in the morning. In case I had any doubts about her displeasure and thought she was calling to wish me well in my new venture, she starts the conversation with a hoarse growl.
“Your mom was a spoiled brat, and so are you. You’ve both given me hell. I mean giving. As in, still doing it. Both of you.”
I groan and roll over in bed. It’s a king-size bed since I’m staying at a hotel. I haven’t even started my house hunt yet. All of this—the new company, putting me in charge—all of it was my Granny’s idea, and apparently, she’s already regretting it.
“For once, I have no idea what I’ve done.”
There’s a sound on the other end of the phone. It sounds like someone choking on a grape followed with fly being wrathfully swatted, but I know better. The choking is my grandma at a loss for words because of the inherent stupidity of that denial, and the whack is the sound of scandal. Okay, so it’s actually the sound of a rolled-up magazine hitting a countertop or some other hard surface, but seriously. This time, I have no idea why she’s mad at me.