Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 111610 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111610 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
Chance. From last night.
He looks furious and terrified all at once, like he might shove me to the ice, grab Gracie, and make a misguided run for it across the slippery ice because he’s actually on the ice without skates.
What is he doing here? And why is he with Carter and Zack? And most importantly, how the hell does he know Gracie’s name? Because she might not be my actual niece, but I’ll fight to the death before I let somebody kidnap her, even if she is a monster sometimes.
“What’s going on?” I ask sharply as I skate closer, keeping a tight hand on Gracie, whose confidence is better than her ability.
Chance is wearing dark blue jeans, a black button-down shirt opened at the neck, and dress boots. I’m guessing this is his version of casual because this outfit doesn’t include a tie. His hair is slicked back, his blue eyes are flashing, and his jaw is clenched tight.
“Come here,” he repeats, and my body automatically responds to the order.
“Not you,” Chance says, his narrowed eyes not missing my reaction. “Gracie, come here.”
Luna skates up to my side, and Carter walks onto the ice, demanding, “What’s wrong?”
“Get your hands off her,” Chance orders, reaching for Gracie. He pulls her away from me, sliding her behind his back, effectively putting himself between Gracie and me.
“Hey!” I yell sharply. “What the hell, Chance?”
“You know him?” Luna asks me. “And you know her?” she asks Chance.
“We met yesterday,” he tells her flatly, though his eyes never leave mine.
“Wait. You’re the . . .” Luna gasps, turning toward Sam. Sex god, she mouths, putting two and two together instantly. “Oh, my God! Sam, do you know who he is?”
“Chance?” I answer uncertainly, feeling like that’s somehow the wrong answer.
“Yeah, Chance Harrington. My brother-in-law.”
The world stops spinning, time stands still, and if it wasn’t for my knees being solidly locked, I’d probably fall to the ice.
“No, he’s not,” I argue, hoping this is some joke. I did not sleep with Carter’s brother, especially considering how very little sleeping we did.
“Guys, let’s take this over here to discuss without an audience,” Carter suggests. “Grace, can you skate with Zack for a minute?”
Zack blinks, glancing down at his non-skate covered feet, but then seeing Carter’s grim expression, he nods and says, “Sure thing, man. C’mon, Gracie girl.”
Once they walk-skate off, with Zack holding Gracie’s hands so she can show off some new trick skills, Carter looks from me to Chance. He’s a little slower at putting it together, but realization is dawning on his face too. Chance speaks first. “What are you doing here?”
Offended, I inform him, “I was invited by my best friend.” Then I throw out an accusation of my own. “You didn’t tell me your last name. And especially not that it’s Harrington. I never would’ve . . .” I trail off, not saying what we did, but saying it all the same. Not that anyone needed confirmation when it’s this obvious.
“I don’t make it a habit to give out my whole resume . . . name, address, net worth, and social security number. Especially to women who run out in the morning.”
Fire flashing between us, chests rising and falling with accusations and words unspoken, I’m confused as hell. It seems like Chance is too.
“Did you know? Is this some sort of stunt?” he asks quietly, and I can sense that this is his true concern.
“I had no idea who you are,” I say as I shake my head wildly. “Falling on stage amid a sea of penises in front of a room full of people wasn’t on my bingo card. Neither was going to your hotel room,” I confess quietly. “Luna, I’m gonna go,” I tell her, and then, as fast as I can, I skate off toward the far side of the rink where the lockers are.
I left Chance this morning, and now I’m leaving him again. Chance Harrington, I think, filling in his last name and trying to match it up with everything Luna’s told me about the man. There’s not a lot—businessman, started his own company, mentors young men, and is a good soldier type with rules, responsibilities, and expectations at the forefront of his mind at all times.
Except last night, that wasn’t who he was at all. He was flirty and sexy, gentle and then rough, worshiping my body one minute and then pushing me to my limits the next.
Chance has taken the circular route that doesn’t involve ice and meets me in the locker area. “Sam . . . Samantha?” he corrects himself. “If you’d said your full name, I might’ve realized, but Luna never calls you Sam. At least not to me. I didn’t . . .” He shakes his head regretfully. “Can we talk?”
“About what? You’re a Harrington. I sell sex toys. There’s nothing to discuss,” I summarize neatly.