One Bossy Disaster Read Online Nicole Snow

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Billionaire, Contemporary Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 147415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 737(@200wpm)___ 590(@250wpm)___ 491(@300wpm)
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“I’m reporting the numbers now,” I whisper, doing a little happy dance. “Man, I can’t believe we found them! Way more than just one, too. This looks like a solid breeding population.”

“Jackpot,” he agrees. “The drone should get better footage than anything your phone can capture.”

“Right? I wonder if we’re missing more. If we have the drone do a quick survey, we could get a better sweep of the area and know for sure just how many there are around here. Maybe, if there are more groups like this out there... they might not be endangered someday.”

“Done,” he says.

I whip around and look at him. “Oh, what? I wasn’t seriously expecting you to—”

Before I can finish, he taps at his phone.

An app that controls the drone, I realize.

I watch the sleek little bug with those freakishly silent rotors lunge forward, holding my breath.

Without any noise, the otters seem totally oblivious, thankfully. They don’t look up, even as it flies ahead of them, gaining altitude to take in a wider section of the area.

I lean in to the high-definition video feed coming back on Shepherd’s screen. He taps an icon that switches to something like infrared. But I’m pretty sure we only wind up with the same eight heat signatures.

No big loss.

You don’t spit in the face of a single miracle.

We enjoy the quiet, watching for several minutes.

I don’t realize I’m getting drunk on his scent until he moves, leaving me so dizzy I bang into his shoulder.

“You hit a sinkhole?”

“No, no, I’m just—I’m a little overwhelmed. This is too freaking cool.” I turn away as my cheeks heat.

“Falling face down in the dirt won’t do us any good, or the otters. Don’t make me catch you if you can’t keep your balance, lady.” The sharp glint in his eye says that’s not an idle threat.

I swallow thickly.

There’s something about the way he says lady that reaches so deep inside me, stroking me like a kitten.

“Just imagine what we could do if we had regular drone flights, monitoring this place. We’d have a crazy good understanding of their movements, their diet, their breeding patterns, their population—everything!”

I might take him up on that offer to jump into his arms.

I’m just that giddy.

But when he looks at me again, instead of eye-rolling irritation, he stares back with something almost like fondness.

His gaze is softer in a way I don’t think I’ve ever seen it.

It makes his face gentler, erasing those hard lines worn by scowling so much.

Something about his face draws me in more than ever.

Something about him.

And that same indescribable something must radiate off me, too.

When it happens, it shouldn’t be such a shock.

His big hand catches my waist, drags me in, and then we’re kissing in the breathless excitement of this lovely moment.

Kissing like it’s the very last time.

And if it is, the man makes it count like his life hinges on it.

He claims me gently at first. Slowly, but not hesitantly.

Shepherd Foster doesn’t strike me as a man who’s ever hesitant when he lets instinct take control.

But his lips are so warm against mine, an extension of the same braising excitement surging through my veins.

There’s pure celebration in the movement of his tongue and the charge he ignites under my skin. His growl reverberates through me, and I give back a buttery moan.

His communication isn’t verbal, no.

But you’d better believe he speaks with his body, with every movement, toasting our win today with his mouth and hands and the delicious sting of his teeth.

I soak it all up like a sun-starved plant.

Every new press of his lips whispers all the affirmation I’ve been craving, and all the filthy promises I dreamed last night.

Destiny, I fucking want you, they say.

God.

His rhythm quickens, matching the desire in my chest, the hot need that’s been braising my stomach, and as my teeth graze his bottom lip, the kiss changes.

It becomes wild, frantic, almost too much.

Messy and clumsy and greedy and intense.

Just as big a contradiction as Shepherd himself.

The heat knifing through my body is sudden and urgent.

I wrap my arms around him, phone and otters forgotten.

Well, not quite forgotten.

Even the hottest kiss of my life can’t make me forget that there are precious otters close by.

That’s why, when he bites my bottom lip again, I swallow my gasp.

This time, I won’t let him get away with getting me all hot and bothered before he hangs me out to dry, wet and cold.

I push myself closer, grabbing his shoulders, molding my body against his.

Holy hell, he’s huge.

A giant in every sense of the word.

It’s almost shocking we fit together so well when he has at least five inches and a hundred pounds on me.

I’m tall, but he’s Mount Flipping Rainier.

I have honed, strong shoulders, but his could make the sky itself rage with jealousy.

I’m a decent kisser—so I think—but he could shame every Casanova born for the last five hundred years.


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