Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 66977 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66977 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
And for us to leave the penthouse together for more than just mission related shit or work.
She’ll like that.
Hell, she might even love it.
But with the way she’s currently sneering at Lila every chance she gets, popular bars downtown will probably be in our best interest to avoid in the future.
Or maybe just forever.
I kind of like the sound of forever.
“All booking fees were paid promptly by the label.”
Good to know the numbers aren’t dragging their feet on this shit.
Watching Arley roll her hips with a little more ease and confidence is attached to asking another question. “And the client who hired you for the latest gig?”
McPherson prepares to answer when a group of loud, giggling females wedge themselves next to him both distracting and delighting him.
I give him a moment to enjoy checking out their asses and exchange “come fuck me” expressions with a couple – primarily to maintain the casual cover we’re using as randomly running into him at the bar – before clearing my throat to regain his focus. “The client?”
“No go.” He chugs back a mouthful. “Some third-party company.”
He’s presented with a quirked eyebrow. “Was it The Agama Foundation?”
“No, The Seps Institution.”
The bit of relief that just graced me with its presence instantly dissipates.
Fucking, really?
How many companies are out to kill the love of my life?
And why?
“Getting you a merch sample took some major persuading, but it’s done.” McPherson sends his stare up to the blonde beside him while turning to face her in the stool. “You thirsty, gorgeous?”
She smiles wide, adjusts the pink cowboy hat on her head, and leans forward to give him a great shot of her tits. Instead of being irked – like someone would expect – I merely wait until he puts his beer down to give her more of his attention. When that particular execution occurs, I count to four, turn in my seat to put my own half empty bottle down beside his – snaking the cleverly hidden thumb drive in the process – and loudly proclaim, “Gonna grab my girlfriend and head out.” Patting him forcefully twice on the shoulder informs him that I have the object in my possession. “Have a good time!”
“Oh, we will…” He flashes a crooked smile at the bouncy female beside him. “Won’t we, baby?”
More theatrical giggles escape her granting me the perfect reason to abandon the acquaintance I just “happened” to run into. Locking eyes with Blu, I declare, “I’m takin’ Angel Cake home.”
My second in command nods his understanding. “We’ll be right behind you.” He swings his face to where the line dancing has dispersed but Aviva and Lila have started to grind on one another. “Alright, maybe not right behind you. I kind of need to be behind that,” a finger point is swiftly given at the same time the drive is slipped into my pocket, “first.”
Spotting Arley doing her best to dance alone nearby creates an ache in my chest that faithfully follows the same tempo of the Little Big Town song that’s hitting a little too close to home at the moment.
Lord have mercy if my woman would’ve been drinking wine, beer, and whiskey tonight.
I’d definitely be holding her hair back.
Probably in the parking lot while she puked next to my truck.
Navigating around the few people in our way with Blu on my heels has me arriving in front of Arley with only another minute or so left in the song. As easy as it would be to take her by the hand and disappear out of the building, an unfamiliar desperation pulsates in her wide-eyed gaze.
Commands I wind both arms around her hips.
Use one hand to possessively palm her ass.
Rest my forehead against hers and sing along to the easy chorus.
Angel Cake’s hands rhythmically explore my abs and chest only to eventually cup my face in such an enticing nature that I can’t keep my mouth from pouncing hers. Tequila turns what should’ve been a quick two-step of our tongues into a Dancing with the Stars worthy tango. While the original plan was to promptly get her out of building, into my truck, and safely home, the fury and fire at which her mouth is fighting mine has me revising the idea.
Temporarily unlocking our lips to growl, “Keep that shit up, baby, and we won’t make it to the backseat of my truck.”
She steals a teasing lick of my tongue and sexily taunts. “Bathroom stall instead, Cowboy?”
Uncontrollable hunger unleashes an unholy rumble. “You know you deserve better than that, Angel Cake.”
“Can you just…” her fingertips anxiously tug at the bottom of my shirt, “treat me like you would anyone else?”
The firmness in my tone is nonnegotiable. “No.”
“Just this once?”
“No.”
“But-”
“I’m not listenin’.”
“But-”
“And I’m not arguin’.”
“But I am!” Having her rip herself out of my grip is equally heartbreaking and infuriating. “I wanna argue!”