Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 63243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 316(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 316(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
“Good deflection. What is it?”
I scroll through my cell and find the photo I took of the red door in Charlotte Street and show Amanda. “I need to know what this place is, and how I can get in.”
* * *
“You look like a fucking goddess,” Kane says, wrapping a hand around my waist and pulling me into his body. He kisses my cheek and I lean into him, relishing the feel of having him so close, the roughness of his cheek teasing and tempting.
“You don’t look so bad yourself.” And that’s an understatement. The man is a fucking God and every hot-blooded woman in the restaurant shares the same sentiment. Dressed in dark blue Armani pants, and a crisp double-collar shirt with the sleeves rolled to just under his elbows, he looks like every woman’s wet dream. This could be considered casual dress for him, and yet, he still manages to look thigh-clenching worthy.
“I would have picked you up,” he says, pulling the chair out for me to sit. I do so and wait for him to take his own seat.
“I know… I had a few things to get through this side of town, so it was better I meet you here.”
I’m not lying. Before I left work I borrowed Amanda’s car once more and followed Samantha home from the gym. I was torn between whether I was becoming an awesome amateur sleuth or a certifiable criminal. But once again, my sister had evaded my calls, but couldn’t evade my tail. I kept a good distance and paid my dues with Beast, by offering more peanut butter protein bars in exchange for me occupying the spot on the other side of the fence. I would even go so far as to say old Beast was rather happy to see me, his chubby head poking through the gap and resting by my thigh. Samantha repeated the same process—gym, home, shower, looking like perfection, picked up by a driver in a Mercedes and driven to the unsigned building with the red door in Charlotte Street.
Kane waves away the server—who doesn’t seem at all fazed—and pours our champagne.
“You know that’s what they get paid to do?”
“I don’t like the interference. Besides, I prefer to be the one who looks after you.” He holds up his glass and I do the same, clinking, as his eyes narrow with a hooded lust. “To looking more fucking delicious every time I see you.”
The blush burns my cheeks, and I feel my chest rising and falling heavily under the heat of his gaze.
“And I thought we were here to discuss business,” I half-joke, somewhat impressed I’m able to form a coherent sentence.
“I guess as two consenting adults, we can make up the rules as we go.”
The next line comes out shaky because not only is his stare making me quiver, he’s also downright intimidating. Kane Alexander is a man who gets what he wants, no matter the cost.
“And what rules might they be?”
“If I tell you my rules, you may not want to play by them.”
And there it is… confirmation that whatever he has in store for me is going to hurt, and maybe not necessarily in a good way.
The server brings out food I didn’t order, but I don’t protest because it just so happens to be my favorite. I meet his stare once more and point to the chicken cordon bleu. “How did you know?”
“The same way I know almost everything about you.”
“And how is that?”
Kane leans forward and I swallow hard. “I research everyone who comes into my life. Particularly those of interest.”
Of interest!
“Including what my favorite meal is?”
“Right down to what makes those nipples hard and panties wet.”
Fuck me!
Goddamn him.
I hope to hell this isn’t the case because he’ll know the filth that goes through my mind on a daily basis, and the erotic dreams that plague my sleep.
“You’re so sure you have that effect on me?”
“Tell me I’m wrong.”
I’d love too, just so it takes some heat off me, but I’m the worst liar and he’ll see right through it. So instead, my silence gives him the response he wants.
“I’d be happy for you to prove me wrong,” he says.
If my traitorous vagina could talk, it would be screaming, ‘It’s on!’
“So, what would I discover if I were to research you?” I ask, becoming the master of re-direction.
“Are you telling me you haven’t already tried?”
Good one. Now I’ve dug myself a hole, I may as well bury myself.
“Of course. But purely for work purposes. I wanted to know more about this secret project of yours, and if you weren’t going to tell me then I needed to find out on my own.”
There’s a flicker of something in his eyes, something inexplicably dark. One I’ll remember for later.
“And did you find anything?”
“It seems you have yourself securely locked up.”