Total pages in book: 20
Estimated words: 18371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 92(@200wpm)___ 73(@250wpm)___ 61(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 18371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 92(@200wpm)___ 73(@250wpm)___ 61(@300wpm)
“Thought you might want some company,” he whispers.
And how right you were.
He slides a hand up my left thigh, drawing a gasp from my lips. My back arches off the mattress, increasing the pressure between our bodies. His hand is rough, callused, not anything like what I thought a billionaire’s hand would be like.
It continues up my stomach, slips under the T-shirt he gave me to wear to bed, then cups my left breast.
At this point, my whole brain short-circuits.
I should not be doing this with him. But I am. I want him.
My eyes open, and I sit up in bed—alone—in the guest room given to me by Ethan to stay in for the night.
“Wow,” I say to myself. “A sex dream, Whitney? Really?”
I shake my head and try to shrug away some of the sensual haze I’m still trapped in. I can still remember the feel of his hands, the weight of his body, the fist-like girth of his bulge between my thighs. It’s like my own personal adult video playing out in my mind as I slide my feet out of bed and walk downstairs.
Again, I need a drink of water and to do something to shake this off. I head behind the bar, grab a glass, and fill it, but when I turn around, I let out a yelp and almost jump out of my skin. There, sitting on the couch, is Ethan, with his face illuminated by the glow of his laptop.
“Oh my God, you scared me, Ethan,” I say, my voice nothing but breath.
“Sorry about that,” he replies, his eyes still on his screen. “Just finishing typing something. I didn’t think you were still up.”
“I wasn’t,” I reply, sipping from my glass. “I just…I woke up and thought I’d get a quick drink. If you don’t mind.”
“Of course not,” he replies with a small smile.
Ethan’s wearing a pair of gym shorts and a white T-shirt that looks simple but probably costs a couple hundred dollars. It fits him perfectly and shows off his crazy biceps. I definitely didn’t make those up when I was dreaming.
“What about you?” I ask. “What are you doing up at this hour?”
He finishes up whatever it was he was typing, closes the laptop, and looks at me. “Well, contrary to what you may think,” he says with a smile, “it takes a lot of work to maintain a company like Newhouse International. And not just delegating all tasks to workers who I exploit.”
“I see.” I nod, starting to smile back. “And what are you working on tonight?”
He pats the couch, indicating for me to come take a seat beside him, which I do. “Manufacturing issues with our generator—”
“The one that’s never going to come out?” I interrupt.
He chuckles and reaches out, threading his fingers through my hair before I have a chance to stop him. There’s a look on his face—one I can’t quite decipher. It’s like he admires me but at the same time wishes I was somehow different.
“It’s coming out, Whitney. But I’m trying to get the price down in manufacturing so I can get the price down for distribution, which will be good for consumers. Understand?”
I scan his eyes for signs of deception, but I don’t see any. And again, why would Ethan lie to me? Why this whole charade for me? I’m a nobody. If he really wanted to put on a big spectacle and pretend he was someone he isn’t, surely he would bring in some female reporter or blogger or something.
But me?
It just makes no sense. The only reason he would do all this, bring me here, is if he really wanted me.
“You’re blushing, Whitney,” he says, not an ounce of shyness in his voice.
“I-I…” On the other hand, I’m stammering like I’ve forgotten how to speak.
He takes his other hand, and delicately traces the line of my jaw, then finds his way up to my cheekbone. And not only do I let him, but I close my eyes and suck in a deep breath as I begin to embrace the feelings going on within me—feelings still left over from the dream that woke me.
“So this is what you do?” I whisper. “Take girls who hate your guts, make them want you, and then bring them back to your mega-mansion so you can have your way with them?”
Ethan lets out a slight exhale of breath as a small laugh that causes me to open my eyes. “You need to trust me, Whitney. I’ve never done anything like this before.”
“No?” I ask. He shakes his head. “Good because…neither have I.”
I keep my eyes on his, giving him a few seconds for my words to sink in. Surely he’s going to back away now—remove his hand and tell me he should probably get back to work—but that’s not what happens. In fact, his eyes light up, and the grip he has in my hair tightens.