Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 45819 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 229(@200wpm)___ 183(@250wpm)___ 153(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45819 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 229(@200wpm)___ 183(@250wpm)___ 153(@300wpm)
The effect was stunning, knocking the air from my chest. Electricity crackled along my skin, arcing between us to create a sizzling connection. Little sparks pinged over my bare flesh, the sensation almost too intense to bear.
An answering spark danced between my legs, and my core heated.
His fingers trailed lower, brushing the line of my sternum as he traced a lazy path down my body. My breasts felt full and achy, and my nipples peaked. They throbbed in time with my clit, desperate for his merciful touch.
He loomed over me, his wicked smile taunting as he caressed the curve of my breasts without touching me where I needed it most. I whined in need and arched toward his big hands, but he eluded me with a low chuckle. The slightly cruel sound rumbled through me, a vibration between my legs. My thighs grew slick: a strange, new sensation.
My cheeks flushed with embarrassment at my wanton reaction, but I couldn’t break from his burning gaze. His nostrils flared, a predator catching my scent. His pupils dilated, darkening with desire that matched my own.
One hand continued teasing around my breasts, a maddening touch. His other lifted to cup my cheek, his thumb hooking below my jaw. He held me as though I was made of porcelain as he tipped my head back, so I was locked in his fiery stare.
The sheer masculine perfection of his sculpted face was nearly unbearable to behold, his proximity arousing me to the edge of pain. My entire body throbbed in time with my racing heart.
“Please…”
Was that my breathy plea? I didn’t recognize my own voice in that sultry tone.
“Evelyn…”
I shuddered at the raw need imbued in that one word: my name rasped in his low, masculine rumble.
My lips parted to sigh his name in return, wanting to savor the shape of it on my tongue.
But no sound issued from my throat except for my heavy, panting breaths.
I didn’t know his name.
I didn’t know anything about this dark, beautiful stranger who held me with such aching tenderness, setting my body alight with the barest brush of his masterful hands.
Guilt turned my stomach, souring my lust.
My eyes snapped open, and I blinked several times as I struggled to adjust to reality. The familiar shadows of the cramped bedroom I shared with George coalesced around me.
George. My fiancé.
My insides twisted. I’d been dreaming about the handsome stranger who’d saved me tonight, not the man I was supposed to marry.
And my thighs were still wet with the very real arousal I’d felt in my dirty dream: a sensation I’d never experienced when I had sex with George.
I took a breath and turned to face him, intending to snuggle into his sleeping form and reassure myself that I was right where I belonged: with the man I loved.
His pillow was cool beside me. I was alone in our bed.
“George?” I murmured. My voice hitched on his name, a shadow of guilt constricting my throat.
He didn’t reply.
I rolled over and reached for my phone to check the time. It was still dark outside. Surely, he hadn’t already left for work?
1:27 AM.
“George?” I called out for him, loud enough that he’d hear me if he was in the living room or kitchen.
No reply. The apartment was silent, the only sounds coming from the street outside. It was fairly quiet at this time, but the occasional car passed, and I could hear masculine voices in what sounded like an argument. The tone of one of the voices was familiar, even though I couldn’t understand the words.
George was outside for some reason. Was one of his coworkers in trouble? I’d noticed that more than one of his fellow agents had been fairly tipsy when we’d left the bar, and they’d ordered more drinks as we’d said our goodbyes.
It was considerate of George to keep the conversation outside so that he wouldn’t disturb me, but if someone needed help—a place to crash or even just a glass of water to sober up—they were welcome to come into our apartment.
I got out of bed and grabbed one of George’s big shirts to slip on over my thin camisole. My nipples were still peaked from my illicit dream, and I needed to hide the evidence of my traitorous subconscious. I decided that my silky pink pajama shorts covered me enough to step outside for a moment and invite his coworkers in.
I’d left my sneakers by the door to the apartment, so I slipped them on quickly, not bothering to tie the laces properly before I hurried to join George.
The voices became clearer as I rushed down the short internal corridor toward the exit to the street outside. They were speaking in English, but I noted the familiar Spanish accent in the way some of the others’ voices lilted.
Odd. Most of George’s fellow agents were Americans here in Mexico City, on similar assignments.