Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 91146 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91146 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
“Mr. Samson instructed that we were not to intervene in any exchanges between Ms. Reed and members of the media,” the man fires back, his tone not as tempered, his stare not as raging.
“I don’t give a fuck what Knox told you! He’s not in charge of Nicole’s safety.” I’m expecting him to say, “You are,” so you can picture my shock when he bangs his chest while adding, “I am. And I’m telling you to do your fucking job or stand down so someone not willing to compromise on morals for a couple of measly dollars can do the position right.”
The man tries to make out he’s not accepting bribes from Knox. He stammers and splutters, but the only words he eventually gets out are, “It won’t happen again.” He peers at me over Laken’s shoulder. “You have my word, Ms. Reed.”
His word means nothing to me, but I accept it purely with the hope it will weaken Laken’s anger enough for us to return to our suite without blood being spilled.
It takes Laken a few seconds to walk away, but once he does, the tension amplifies instead of lessens. That might have more to do with him curling his hand around mine to walk me to the elevator than anything.
I’ve always seen hand-holding as intimate. It is above a man’s hand on the small of a woman’s back, or him taking the lead to ensure she doesn’t face any encumbrances during their walk.
It is a man standing at his woman’s side, supporting her and showing she is his equal.
Only floors from the penthouse suite, Laken loosens his hold. It isn’t what you’re thinking. He’s not snatching his hand away because the wetness between our palms has exposed my like of hand-holding. The hand I used to cushion my fall is cut up and bleeding.
“You’re bleeding.” He sounds as devastated now as he did when he shouted my name after I was ripped from his arms.
“It’s just a scratch,” I assure him, hoping it will lower the angst on his face.
You’d swear my arm was scheduled for amputation when he says, “On your playing hand.”
Before I can speak another word, he scoops me into his arms like he did outside the hotel and exits the elevator on our desired floor.
I’m not exactly sure what the scent is when we enter the suite, but mercifully, it isn’t horrible. It smells similar to the scented oils Knox’s masseuse used anytime she did one-on-one visits at the studio.
“Laken, it’s fine. It doesn’t even hurt,” I promise him when a second after he plops me onto the vanity in my bathroom, he hunts for the first-aid kit in the medicine cabinet. “It won’t affect my jazz hands at all.” I raise my hands to give him the jazz-hand-performance of my life. “See. Perfectly capable of disgusting any man over the age of twelve.”
Laken doesn’t see the humor in the situation. “This isn’t funny, Nicole. You could have been seriously hurt.”
“But I wasn’t. You got there first—”
“After letting them rip you from my arms.” His hands are in his hair, tugging and violent. “I fucked up. I let you down.”
I twist to face him, our bodies awfully close. “You did no such thing.”
He acts as if I never spoke. “God, what if they’d—”
“Don’t force scenarios in your head. They never end well.”
“They could have killed you, Nicole. And it’s my fucking job to protect you. I’m meant to stop situations like that from happening, not encourage them.”
When his eyes lock with mine and I see their vulnerability, a thousand lyrics fill my head, but only one line from them matters. “You saved me.”
“No.”
I stop the shake of his head by placing my hands on each side of his prickly jaw. I’m meant to be expressing my gratitude for his quick thinking and assuring him that he’s the one who stood up to defend me while others sat by and watched my downfall, but the only matter that gets broadcasted is how uncontrollably crazy I am about this man.
I tried to fight the pull.
I tried to brush off my jealousy as anger.
Nothing worked.
I’m besotted, and I’m done pretending I am someone I’m not.
So, after hooking my thumb into the belt loops of Laken’s pants, I tug him forward and seal my lips over his mouth.
23
NICOLE
My boldness wouldn’t have dipped even if Laken hadn’t immediately returned my kiss. The tension is too thick for that. The lust is too firm. It’s been boiling for hours, and nothing will stop it now that it is finally spilling over.
Our exchange moves at a lightning-fast pace. There’s no time to be savored and appreciated. We need to fuck to quench days of tension. Then we can take it slow and relish every moment.
As my hands fumble with the opening of Laken’s trousers, his mouth drops to my neck to drive me wild with desire. He kisses me hurriedly, his mouth suctioning as his hand cups my breast to toy with my nipple.