Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 117451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 392(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 392(@300wpm)
“I’m not sure I like it. Our deal.”
His green eyes flicker over mine, then return to the eggs. I can see his shoulders tense.
“I’m glad you mentioned that,” he says, sliding a glance at me as he stirs the eggs. “I’ve thought about it more, and I’m thinking it might be best if you head home a little earlier.”
He pauses, looking pensive, and I drag a breath into my lungs.
“You can go whenever you want,” he says, meeting my eyes. “You’ll still get your money.”
His words hit me like a drop-kick to the chest, and I blurt, “You don’t want me?”
“I didn’t say that.” His words are hot—and so sincere that it’s impossible not to believe him. “If you really want to do this, I do too. But it needs to happen today.”
“Why?”
His jaw tightens, and again, he won’t look at me. “I’ve got some business that just came up. You’d be more comfortable back at your own place.”
Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be. My temper flares. “You’re full of shit. Not that it matters. You did pay for this, so you can do whatever you want.”
“It’s not Priscilla,” he says, pressing his lips together. “It’s nothing like that.”
He moves the eggs off the stove and checks the oven before moving to stand in front of me.
His hands tunnel into my hair. “I want you,” he says in a husky voice, and I can see how much as my eyes flicker over his pants. “I’m disappointed about the change of plans. Believe me. But this is how it’s gotta be.”
“Why did you do it? Why did you say to stay the week? Why did you even bid on me?”
“I want this to be yours. On your terms. That’s how it should be, Libby. You should be comfortable. I thought you’d like a few days here to get your footing.” His fingers, in my hair, stroke down, skating over my cheeks. His thumb strokes my brow, and I shiver. “I didn’t buy you for sex, although I’d love to take you to my bed. I bought you because I can’t stand the thought of some other bastard pawing at you. Not you.”
“But it’s okay for other girls?”
He strokes my hair back off my forehead. “At Marchant’s, all the girls choose their clients. It’s invitation only out there, I’m sure you know. They set their own prices. Get paid well. And most of them aren’t doing it for altruistic reasons.”
He strokes his calloused thumb over my lower lip, and can’t breathe. My insides have gone liquid. “You used to go out there,” I whisper.
“I did.”
“How come?”
He cups my cheek, still gentle, but I can sense him closing off. “I’ve got my reasons.”
“But you could sleep with any woman.”
Loosening his grip on me, he laughs, and I look up at him. In this moment, with his hair tussled and that smug grin on his face, he looks like the party boy I used to think he was. “I’m glad you find me so appealing, Miss DeVille.”
I blush. “Almost any woman.”
His jaw drops open in a funny way, and I grin so widely I can feel the dimples in my cheeks.
“Is it because you like to keep your distance?” I ask.
He sort of chuckles. “The direct shot.”
I shrug, because I didn’t really mean to be direct or whatnot. But pretense has never been stripped away like it is now between the two of us, so I figure I should take advantage of it.
Hunter seems to feel the same way. “Keep my distance?” He strokes up and down my cheek bone, and I feel hypnotized as I reach out and touch his hip. “What do you mean, keep my distance?”
My knees part as he steps closer, coming in between them.
“Do I strike you as a man who keeps my distance?”
“I don’t mean that,” I say, breathless. “I mean, no relationships.”
“I have a better question: How is it a pretty girl like you still has her virginity to sell?”
“I’m not a girl,” I whisper.
“No, you’re not.”
He leans down and kisses my mouth, gentle at first, then deeper. I pull him close, feeling his hardness against my thigh as he rocks his body into mine.
“You’re a woman,” he says, between hard kisses. “Goddamned gorgeous one at that.”
My hands drift into the pockets of his jeans, and oh my God, that ass. It’s tight and firm and everything a man’s backside should be. I want to pull his jeans off. Squeeze it. Kiss it.
I’m panting, elated by his compliments and breathless from his kisses, as he trails his warm lips gently down my throat and drops a light kiss on my collar bone.
“I’m like you,” I whisper into his hair. “Prefer to keep my distance.”
“Not doing a very good job of it,” he pants.
He lifts his head, resting his forehead against mine, so close that I can count the yellow flecks in his irises. “You know what I mean,” I murmur. “I don’t want a relationship. I mean, I never have.”