Total pages in book: 156
Estimated words: 158829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 529(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 158829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 529(@300wpm)
But when I get off the elevator, there’s a large older man with greying hair standing by the wall in a princely blue-and-gold shirt.
I should be a little freaked since everyone else supposedly left hours ago, but this guy looks like he’s waiting for me in a place crawling with cameras and security monitors.
Plus, something about the grey hair reminds me of my dad.
“The boss said I’m to escort you home. Come,” he says with a hint of a foreign accent I can’t pin down. It sounds Eastern European.
“Oh, wait, you’re his driver?”
He nods. “And from now on, yours. I pick you up and deliver you to and from work. I have strict instructions not to let you walk alone after dark.”
Whoa.
I want to argue, but the stern look he gives me says the odds of letting me do anything else are zilch.
“Umm—you really don’t have to walk me to the car.” I shrug. “I mean, you’re already here waiting, so that’s fine for tonight. But in the future, it’s hardly necessary—”
“Mr. Winthrope says I mustn’t leave you alone in the dark. I walk you,” he says, thumping his chest.
Oof.
“Uh, right. Is this area that unsafe or something? Is Winthrope afraid of the dark? Is he allowed to walk alone?”
“He’s bigger than you. And richer. And the boss.”
Dang.
Who am I to argue with Ivan Drago’s impeccable logic?
Mostly, I don’t bother because it’s late and I’m tired and still seeing my life flash before my eyes after that kiss.
It’s not worth fighting a free, easy ride home, so I follow him to the sleek black Range Rover SUV waiting outside.
“Fyodor, but you can call me Fyo.” He opens the door for me.
I hold out my hand.
He shakes it with a grip like a garlic press.
“I’m Piper. Piper Renee.”
“So I heard. He also says you’re sweeter than honeycomb, which is why you cannot be left alone.”
My jaw drops.
I have a hard time picturing Brock saying that. Like ever.
And after he made such a big deal of me mentioning what happened in Lanai to Jenn, he’s been talking about me to this mafioso dude?
Though maybe that’s why he seems to have no regrets about lying to me in Hawaii.
He didn’t expect me to be anything but helpless, too fragile to survive a twenty-minute trip across town after sunset.
If I wasn’t so drained and confused, I’d be offended.
As the vehicle pulls up my driveway the next time I look up, I say, “You don’t need to pick me up tomorrow. I’ll go to work with my friend, Jennifer. She’s on the same team.”
“I will come. If you don’t get in, that’s on you,” he says bluntly.
Great.
Once I’m walking into the quiet house, I realize I have a new text. I tap the screen with a sigh.
Good night, Miss Piper Renee.
Oh, Brock Winthrope.
If only you knew how much you make me wonder whether or not I’ll ever have a good night again.
10
Out Of Service (Brock)
The breezy Hawaiian sky is black and the stars twinkle like shredded tinsel over the ocean.
But all I can see, breathe, and taste is my Sunshine.
So warm.
So alive.
So full of soft whimpers and wanting moans and hot breaths made to tease.
Fuck, if I slide my hand up her dress, I know she’ll be soaked and so ready.
And she is.
Her head tumbles back in a mess of blue-streaked blond curls, a sheen of sweat on her brow like a halo, her jade-green eyes narrowed and pleading don’t stop.
Not this time.
My hand has the shakes as I grab my zipper, yank it down, and start to push between her legs, ready to devour every last bit of her and find out how she sounds when she—
A swell of deafening violins never lets me find out.
My goddamned alarm starts blaring like a dental drill to my skull.
I jerk up in a tangle of sweat-soaked sheets with a hard-on ready to hit a home run.
Growling, I rake a hand through my hair.
I know what this is.
The fucked-up stress of these shitty, slaughtering reviews.
I’ve never had a crush since high school.
I’ve never kissed a woman in my office, much less came two seconds away from having my fingers inside her while I was on the clock.
Apparently, she’s put my brain through the shredder and she’s barely been on payroll for a solid week.
Don’t get me wrong.
I’m not a goddamned monk.
I’ve bedded my fair share of women like a bear scratching an itch. Quick, one-off flings, and nothing more.
That isn’t what this feels like.
So what the hell is it? What’s going on?
“You’re going to self-sabotage, you buffalo-brained fuck,” I mutter. “Focus.”
For less than an hour, I manage.
About the time it takes to stomp through the shower, rub out a bone-jarring orgasm that has me grinding my teeth, and stuff myself into a clean suit before Fyo shows up outside my place—with a beautiful sunny smile from hell waiting in the back of the vehicle.