Total pages in book: 41
Estimated words: 38786 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 194(@200wpm)___ 155(@250wpm)___ 129(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38786 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 194(@200wpm)___ 155(@250wpm)___ 129(@300wpm)
“Zane…” A woman with inky black hair and a fond twinkle in her eye greets us when she spots our veer past a massive industrial kitchen. She’s at a cooking station housing a dozen plates with tiny portions of food that most likely cost a fortune to purchase.
“Not now, Casey,” Zane replies, alerting me to his name. “But I’ll be back in plenty of time to help you with wedding day prep.” I barely balk. It doesn’t cause the slightest ripple, but Zane must feel it. After freeing my hand from his so the sweat dripping off mine doesn’t impede his grip, he places his hand onto the curve of my back so I can’t sprint for the exit before he confesses, “Our mother is getting married next weekend.” He says ‘our’ in a way I can’t misunderstand. Casey is his sister. “I think it’s husband number eight.”
“Nine,” Casey corrects while cleaning a plate the server is about to take. Once it is as spotless as a snob willing to pay a hundred dollars an appetizer would expect, she lifts her eyes to me. They’re kind yet teasing. “Her constant quest for the new love feeling is why I’ve never seen my little brother with a person of the opposite sex.” She doesn’t allow me to tell her we’ve just met. After wiping her hands on her apron like she’s the one with sweaty palms, she offers one in greeting to me. “It’s lovely to meet you…”
When she leaves her greeting open, Zane watches me with as much interest as his sister.
“Kelsey,” I stammer out nervously. “Your restaurant is lovely. I’ve never eaten here, but I’ve heard the food is worth its hefty price tag.”
The wish to ram my foot in my mouth lessens when Casey laughs. “Thank you. It isn’t to everyone’s palate, but it keeps the lights on.” She’s being modest. Her tone exposes this, not to mention her flashy tennis bracelet. “Can I make you guys something? The salmon is a little—”
“No, we’re fine,” Zane interrupts. “We’ll eat at the hotel.”
When Casey screws up her face in disgust, I say with a laugh, “I tried to warn him off room service. It’s rarely appetizing.”
Hot heat tracks through me when Zane mutters under his breath, “You won’t be saying that later tonight.”
The pulse I can’t calm reminds me we’re not darting through the underbelly of one of Ravenshoe’s finest establishments for no reason.
We’re meant to be having raunchy forget-him sex.
I really need to learn how to school my expressions. A second after my thighs press together, Casey backs away with her hands in the air like I’m a ticking bomb. “Ten a.m. Monday, Zane. I can’t be expected to feed the masses and organize the place settings.”
Zane grumbles something under his breath, but I miss what he says because he continues our brisk exit.
I’ve only just returned Casey’s goodbye wave when we exit the restaurant via the service entrance and make a beeline for the taxi rank.
“It’s Friday night, two weeks out from Christmas. We won’t get a cab for hours…” My words trail off when a taxi stops directly in front of us to let a man out. He looks oddly similar to the Santa operating the charity collection zone at the front of the restaurant. Even his suit is of the same high quality.
“If you’ve changed your mind, you can back out. I won’t hold it against you.” Zane is giving me an out, but he still slides into the back of the cab after me and announces his hotel to the driver.
“I haven’t changed my mind.” Only an idiot who drank too much eggnog would do that. “It’s just I could have sworn I’d seen that Santa before.”
“You too?” Zane murmurs, shifting my focus to him. “I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me.”
As the cab slowly merges with traffic, the Santa we’re eyeballing like freaks at a circus twists to face us. He winks like he did after shoving me into the restaurant before tapping the side of his nose.
CHAPTER 4
Zane
For a man who’s most comfortable when left alone in his own space, an odd feeling envelops me when I follow Kelsey’s slow weave through the living room of my penthouse suite. I made out this room is on permanent reservation, but in reality, I own it. I don’t share that information with anyone because I’ve never had to worry about being caught in a lie.
Since Kelsey looks two seconds away from calling me Pinocchio, I issue her a truth I don’t give many. “Even with my visits home being sporadic, purchasing this room was cheaper than booking it.” Her smile shines brighter than the Christmas tree staff at the hotel set up in my suite earlier this week when I say, “It also means I don’t have to check the sheets each night before bed.”