Preacher’s Daughter Read online Dani Wyatt

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Billionaire, Romance Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 34532 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 173(@200wpm)___ 138(@250wpm)___ 115(@300wpm)
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“Thank you.” Her sweet voice drifts to my ears as Victor nods and Selma points across the lot. “The orange Ford pickup. You can’t miss it, over that way. You have to pump the gas once to get it to start and let it run a minute before you drive it otherwise it will stall.”

Victor nods then walks away. I squeeze her fingers in mine, and my body screams for her. I want to feel her naked against me. Thoughts of tearing her clothes from her body and sinking inside her softness rage in my mind like a madman. As violent as my thoughts can be, I know I would be gentle with her. Treat her like the treasure she is and dine on the soft petals between her legs. Listening to her call my name, her body shaking as I give her pleasure begging for more...

“Mr. Thompson?” Her voice breaks me from my dirty daydream.

“Yes, I’m sorry. Get in.” I extend my hand and drop her fingers from mine, already missing her touch as I watch her climb into the back seat of the limo, thanking Theodore, my driver, as she does.

She’s everything. Beautiful, sure, but sweet too. Polite and kind. Smart and savvy in her own innocent way. She’s different today. Her clothing, her manner. She’s a different girl in her videos than who is in front of me now, but they blend perfectly into one incredible package.

Her lavender skirt looks homemade. The black loafers the same as she wore yesterday are worn, as though she’s walked miles in them for too long. A light-yellow fabric blouse with tiny lavender roses, buttoned up to the top button by a rounded lace collar looks childlike yet sexy.

Once she’s seated in the back of the limo, I climb in beside her and scoop up her hand again.

“Do you like that?” I hear Theodore close the door behind me, and gaze into her blue eyes as she holds her knees tightly together. And my hope that no one has ever touched her before screams through my brain.

I watch her swallow and nod. “I do.”

Reaching out with my other hand, I touch her cheek. Her flesh is warm and as soft as rose petals, and I think of what her other flesh must feel like. How her body would feel, naked, laying on top of mine like a blanket made just for me. Would she feel safe? Would she know how desperately I want to take care of her? How much I want to give her everything?

“Me too. The hotel is only ten minutes away. Do you know the Jamestown? It’s quite nice. Not a lot of selection in this area, but it certainly does the job.”

She raises her eyebrows. “The Jamestown? It does the job?” She chuckles. “Yes, I suppose it does.” She adds in a mock British, stiff upper lip sort of tone.

In that moment, I realize I will never let her go. The lengths I will go to, to possess her know no bounds. My need to make her happy and bind her to me in every way are now my sole purpose in life. I want her heart to be unable to imagine a life without me. Her body unable to have pleasure without me.

I’m an ethical man, but what I would do to anyone that tries to keep her from me...I pity them. She is the one, I feel it, and her blue eyes looking up at me only drive the point home. She needs me.

And I need her.

“So,” she starts. “How exactly did you find me? I mean, I use a fake name. I don’t give away any information about where I am...”

“I was able to track down the source of the video and blog. It was that important to me to make things right. I hired people...” I let my voice trail off, then decide to be truthful. “Hackers. They were able to narrow down where your blog was sourced.”

“Isn’t that illegal?”

I nod. “Yes, but my moral code said there was more good to be gained than harm to be inflicted by the information I needed to get to you. Not all laws are just, Selma.”

“That’s true. Papa and the Bible say the same thing.”

The Bible.

Papa.

There’s a picture of her life forming in my head.

“Selma,” I say, choosing my words carefully. “Tell me about where you live. What does your father do?”

She nods, and I know I’m a selfish bastard for already thinking of ways to take her away from her home and bring her to mine. The nagging information about a fiancé seems far less important for some reason. I do not feel any sort of other attachment coming from her.

“We live about fifty miles north, in the Dresden Community. Papa’s the elder Preacher of our church.”


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