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’m not sure I do,” I answer, sweet as saccharine.
“Come now, you know a hedonist rarely resists pleasure.”
The sound that leaves my mouth is more breath than an actual laugh as his purring response twists and coils and blooms in places it has no business being. The man has big dick energy—wrapped in silky, seductive coating of high sexual energy—and I think I’m getting a contact high from the fumes!
“Thanks for the invite.” I turn, quickly addressing the kinky folk on the couch, who seem a little too stunned to respond. “Raincheck? I’m sure you understand, family should always come first.” And with that, I take the arm my stranger doesn’t quite offer and get the hell out of Dodge.
I almost drag him from the bar, not quite able to move away from the situation quick enough, almost dragging him out through the stylishly minimalistic foyer, down the front steps and into the afternoon spring sunshine all before you can say “straight acting Cousin Lyle to the rescue”.
“Oh my God!” I turn wide-eyed to my would-be saviour as we round the corner. “Can you believe that just happened?”
“I can’t believe you made me leave my cup of coffee.”
“I’d say sorry except . . . I didn’t make you.”
“No? It must be my good nature to blame.” His lips quirk with amusement.
“Well, I, for one, am pleased you did. I can’t believe that just happened. I mean, I know it’s Wednesday and all, but . . .”
“I’m not sure what the day has to do with the situation.” The man’s head tilts as though to study me.
“Hump day?” I offer ridiculously, though not in invitation. Not yet, at least. But he just stares back without offering anything more. “Come on, Lyle, it’s not even three o’clock!”
“I’m also not sure what the hour has to do with it.”
“Are you telling me you’re regularly propositioned before weekday afternoons?” My hands suddenly find my hips as I warm to my theme.
“Perhaps not to a threesome,” he concedes, rubbing a hand across his chin. But I see the beginnings of that smile still. Boy, it must be some gene pool he’s been swimming in. He’s too masculine to be pretty, and plain old handsome doesn’t do his looks justice. Brutally good-looking might be a better description. It’s like the man has an air of Viking about him.
I suddenly feel like I might need a good . . . conquering.
But then his smile fades as he seems almost to come back to himself. To himself, the moment, and, judging by his change in manner, the ridiculousness of the situation. He straightens not only his shoulders but also the cuffs of his shirt under his jacket. Cartier cufflinks, I note. The kind that say classy yet understated and high rolling rich. Not that rich does anything for me. In fact, no man has ruffled my truffle, so to speak, in more than eighteen months.
Rich might not do it for me, but that accent? That accent is doing things to me.
“I trust I was in the right, intervening as I did.” He’s suddenly all business; crisp consonants and sharp diction and brows that pull together where before they did not. And it looks like I was right about that serious face.
“My God, yes!” I exclaim. Way over the top, I know. “A thousand times yes.” One minute, my hands are in the air, and the next, they’re planted squarely on his chest. Don’t blame me. The damn thing is like a magnet. “Thank you for saving me, Lyle.”
“That’s not my name.” His hands cover mine, lowering them to my sides, his small smile somehow a demonstration of his amusement and disapproval at once. “But I’m happy to have been of assistance.”
“Well, Lyle did Olive a solid.” Come on, smile a little more for me. “I literally had no idea how to get myself out of that.”
“Raincheck seemed to cover it.” His eyes narrow once more as though regretting the comment. Or maybe he’s remembering how I made him my fake gay cousin.
“I was being polite! Trying not to make them feel uncomfortable. I have no plans of taking them up on their offer, now or in the future.”
Something flickers in his expression, almost like he’s reached a decision. He inclines his head and murmurs that it was nice to meet me. The soles of his shoes scrape against the pavement as he begins to pivot away.
“Wait!” I call out, not ready for the exchange to be over. Not only have my hands developed a fondness for his chest, but he’s like a puzzle I haven’t finished deciphering. A Rubik’s Cube I haven’t finished messing with yet. “Where are you going?” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them, my hand too.
“I’m sorry?” His gaze slices up from where my fingers are currently curled around his forearm, cool blue eyes matching his tone.