Total pages in book: 192
Estimated words: 183663 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 918(@200wpm)___ 735(@250wpm)___ 612(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 183663 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 918(@200wpm)___ 735(@250wpm)___ 612(@300wpm)
I prefer self-assured over bossy. I’d prefer this kiss to never end.
Soft and coaxing, this slow, lazy exchange of lips and whisky-flavoured tongue makes the blood in my veins sing. Makes me thirst for more, so much so that I find myself pressing up onto my toes to be sure I don’t miss one bit of it.
“Bossy.” This time his assessment is more growl than word as his hard body presses me back against the wall as though he intends to kiss the hell out of me. Small, exploratory kisses test and tease before becoming deeper. Hotter. Wetter. I moan into his mouth because, oh my God, this is—
I don’t get to finish that thought as his hand cups my butt, closing the space between us. My knees go weak as hard meets soft, my body yielding and moulding to his as though I’m part of a puzzle that is meant to fit.
“Wait.” I lift my head, my breath ragged, and my resolve instantly weakened as his kisses transfer to my neck. “Not here. Someone might see us.” Like someone who thinks we’re cousins. Wouldn’t that just be weird?
“I really don’t give a fuck.”
I gasp as his dark whisper coasts my ear, the images flashing through my brain not flustered but X-rated instead. And there goes my resolve again as he flexes into me, his big hand pressing me impossibly close. Words, reasons, answers seem to have been swept away on a wave of need as his warm lips press against my neck and jaw, the brush of his stubble an abrading thrill.
“My God. If this is the way you kiss—”
His deep chuckle is a puff of warm air against my skin as, for the second time tonight, I choose to ignore the part where I said that out loud. Sweeping the hair from the side of my neck, he presses his lips there. “That sounded like a question.”
“I-it was rhetorical.”
“It was unfinished. Which is exactly the opposite of the way I’d leave you.”
The vibration of his words ripple through me, their promise a temptation too great.
“Alexander,” I whisper. “I think it might be safe to go back to my hotel now.”
In answer, his lips slide across mine with a quiet groan. My hands ball in the back of his shirt as his kiss deepens, and he steals my breath only to feed me his. This is not the kind of kiss meant for public places but the kind usually reserved for darkened spaces. For bedrooms.
“I think you should get your jacket,” I whisper. The suggestion of a smile appears against his mouth without quite giving in. I feel like I’m missing something. “What did I say?”
“Nothing.” He shakes his head as though deciding against an explanation, but then opens his mouth anyway. “It’s just a strange British pick-up line. It’s been a while since I’ve heard it.”
“Get your jacket?”
“Get your jacket, you’ve pulled.” His delivery is suggestive, but I still feel like I’m missing something. I guess that must read on my face. “It means you’re claiming me.”
“Good, because I am.” Even if it feels like the complete other way around.
As we approach the table, I’m kind of surprised to see Lewis still there, though there’s no sign of Nikki. I guess it feels like so much has happened since I left, yet it can’t be more than fifteen minutes or so.
My grip on Alexander’s hand tightens. “I didn’t think he’d still be here.”
As we draw nearer, Lewis looks to stand. “I thought you’d snuck off without me.” His smile has a very short shelf life as Alexander stalls him with a look that’s as effective as any hand. He lowers himself back into the chair again.
“Do I strike you as the furtive type?” Alexander’s tone is icily unpleasant, and I’ll be honest, a bit of a shock to more than just Lewis.
“But I thought when you left—”
“I really can’t be held responsible for your thoughts.” He says thoughts like you might cesspool, as he holds out my blazer, helping me to slip it on. “We won’t be taking you up on your invitation tonight.” He pulls on his own jacket.
I’m about to make some quip about families when Alexander slides his hand around my hip. “Really, Olive. Like I’d let you leave the bar with a strange man.”
“You mean another strange man.”
“Are you saying you’ve developed a habit?” Our eyes lock, his dancing with suggestion as he steers us in the direction of the exit.
“No way you are cousins,” Lewis calls indignantly.
“Several times removed?” I offer, my attention unmoving.
“Including continents,” Alexander’s low voice rumbles. “We happen to be a very close-knit family.” His attention flickers to the angry little man. “Very close indeed.”
And it certainly feels like it as his hand tightens against my hip. He leads me to the exit and back out into the cool, dark streets of London.