Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84075 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84075 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
And I will not stand for that.
“Excuse me,” I say to a waitress as she’s walking past. “I need you to do something for me.” I slip her a roll of twenties—I don’t even know how much. Way too much most likely. “See the girl with the red hair?”
“The pretty one? On the date?” The waitress shrugs. “Sure, she’s in my section.”
“Perfect. Tell her she has a call and direct her out here to the waiting room. I want to talk to her.”
She hesitates. “Are you sure that’ll be okay? I mean—”
“Do it.”
The waitress sighs and nods. “Right away, Mr. Arc.” She hurries off and I watch her go. When she reaches the table, I step back behind the wall and wait in the shadows of the sitting area. It’s empty and the hostess is off polishing glasses while she waits to seat someone else, which means I’ve got the room to myself.
Maybe this is a bad idea. Maybe Kat won’t want to see me and I’ll only start a scene. But thinking about her at that table on a date with Matthew Keyne is too much to bear. The simmering rage is still there boiling in a sea of jealousy. I don’t understand why I give a damn if she’s out with another man—I’m aware that she’s looking for a husband and I’m sure Keyne is on her grandfather’s list of acceptable spouses—but still, the thought of him touching her, kissing her, tasting her in a way I haven’t—
Fucking hell. I shove my hand into my pocket and pinch my thigh hard. The pain is sharp and helps to short-circuit my stupid spiraling brain. I am not here to be jealous of anyone or anything; I’m here to fucking win and that’s all.
After another couple beats, there’s a shadow across the wall as someone comes near, and Kat steps around the corner. She looks confused for a second as she moves closer to me, clearly looking around for a phone that doesn’t exist, and stops in her tracks when I meet her eyes.
She pauses, caught between entering the sitting area and turning around. She doesn’t come closer, but she doesn’t run, and I take the opportunity to let my eyes wander. She looks so fucking gorgeous it cracks my chest in half and makes something stir deep in my core. Her dress is simple and black, cut low and square to show off her lovely breasts, and clings tightly to her wide hips. Her hair’s in loose ringlets and her makeup is simple and understated, and fucking hell, she looks even better up close. The girl’s skin is begging to be touched, her body begging to be filled and fucked and used and abused, her dress aching to be ripped from her flesh. My heart’s racing with excitement and I have to struggle to keep it under control, but I swear if she listens closely, she’ll hear it.
“Ford,” she says and her eyebrows raise. “There’s no call, is there?”
“There’s no call.” I tilt my head to the side. “At least, there hasn’t been a call yet. Why not?”
Her jaw works. “I don’t know why you keep bringing this up like—” She takes a breath and glares. “I don’t owe you anything, you know that right? Are you stalking me now or something? Because it feels dangerously like you’re stalking me.”
“I didn’t even know you were here until Carmine mentioned it.”
“And why did—never mind, you know what, I don’t care.” She throws her hands up. “Ford, it was nice seeing you, but I’m going back to my date.”
“Wait.” My voice is sharp and low. I step closer to her. I’m not used to this, to pursuing someone so hard, but I find the experience exciting in a way I never imagined. Women and sex have always been easy for me, or at least I never need to try too hard. If a woman’s not interested, I just move on to someone that is, and I rarely need to look too hard until I find a willing pair of lips and legs and a dripping little cunt prepared to eagerly soak up my big cock. Except now there’s no moving on—I’m stuck trying to win over his stubborn girl instead, and all I can think about is gripping her hips and thrusting myself into her plaintive, trembling pussy from behind, again and again.
“Why?” she asks, her voice soft and almost begging like she wants me to give her a good reason to stay.
“That guy out there. Matthew Keyne. Do you like him?”
She shrugs. “What’s it matter?”
“Tell me the truth. Do you think he’d get into a cab and kiss you?”
Her cheeks turn pink. “No, and maybe that’s what I like about him.”
“So you do like him then.”
“No, I didn’t say—” She stops herself. “This is childish. I don’t care what you think or what you want, Ford. You’re not involved in my love life.”