Taming Scarlet Read Online Jessica Gadziala

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, BDSM, Contemporary, Erotic, Novella Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 59044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 295(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
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I reached for the door at the coffee shop, only to see his arm shoot out over my head, grabbing it instead, and pulling it open for me.

Good manners didn’t mean he was a good guy, I reminded myself as I moved inside without so much as a Thank you.

As I waited in line, I caught him in my periphery. Not behind me, expecting me to pay for his coffee like most of the others would, even though I knew they all had their own expense cards, but standing over near the door.

His dark eyes scanned the room. Almost like he was looking for threats.

What was this guy, ex-military?

Did he expect someone to shoot up the place?

Or, maybe, to rush in and kidnap me for ransom?

I mean, that wasn’t that far-fetched, actually.

Once, while on vacation abroad, there had been a near-miss incident meant to extort my father.

I’d been twelve and shoved into a car as I walked past the open door.

Luckily for me, and unluckily for them, I was smart enough to just… scoot across the backseat and exit the other side door then scream bloody murder.

Last I heard, they were still serving time for attempted kidnapping and extortion once they found a letter in their car.

You didn’t fuck with my father’s lawyers.

They nailed those guys to the wall.

That said, there hadn’t been any issues like that since.

It was a lot easier to kidnap a beanpole twelve-year-old than it was a grown-ass woman.

I grabbed my caramel iced coffee, and my whipped cream cup for Hugh, and made my way back out onto the street.

As we stood there waiting for Hugh to finish eating his treat, my gaze slid to the bodyguard.

“You should have gotten a coffee,” I said, taking a long sip of mine. “It’s going to be a late night,” I informed him.

His gaze slid down me, then back up, eyes full of a million judgments.

“I’m sure it will be.”

That was it.

Most of the other bodyguards at least, you know, acted like human beings. Engaged me in conversation on occasion. Some even tried to kiss my ass, to be on my good side. Hoping that, I don’t know, my father would give them a bonus because I liked them.

This guy didn’t seem to give a shit what I thought of him.

Despite myself, I liked that about him.

I picked up and tossed Hugh’s cup, then picked up Hugh himself, and turned in the direction of home.

I needed to finish my coffee, down some electrolytes, recover a little bit from the night before, then go through the exhaustive routine of getting myself ready for another night on the town.

“Miss Chandelier!” the doorman, Henry, greeted me with his grandfatherly warmth. I mean, at least, I imagined it was grandfatherly. My own grandfather had been a cold, detached, judgmental asshole. “Someone left these for you,” he said, holding out a small bouquet of pink roses with a note attached.

My dove.

That was what was on the front of the envelope.

My stomach plummeted as my heart lodged up in my throat.

Twice in one day.

And this time, at my damn home.

It wasn’t like I thought I had even the illusion of privacy. I was a public figure. You could literally look up my address online.

That was why I lived in a manned building.

At least no one was getting in without permission.

That didn’t mean they couldn’t leave me gifts, though.

“Thanks, Henry,” I said, forcing a smile that ached, it was so fake as I took the flowers.

I could feel the bodyguard’s gaze on me as we climbed in the elevator together, then as we exited on the top floor.

I didn’t even go into my apartment to get rid of the flowers.

I tossed them right in the damn garbage chute.

Again, I could feel his gaze on me.

But he said nothing.

Maybe this one wouldn’t be that frustrating after all.

I couldn’t believe just how wrong I would turn out to be on that, though.

CHAPTER THREE

Julian

She surprised me in one way only.

She was unexpectedly… quiet.

Maybe that was because she lived alone, but some part of me had been expecting her to talk my damn ear off about frivolous shit endlessly.

But she hardly even spoke to me.

Hell, she almost never even looked at me.

Sure, that was rude in its own way. But I definitely preferred the silence to her pestering me nonstop.

I also noticed that she was a different person in her home than on the street. At home, she was a little scattered, always having to backtrack and double-check things. On the street, she was cool, calm, and collected. An heiress, through and through.

I guess when you had a public persona, you needed to have that air about you.

I wondered if she even noticed the little trio of young women who’d gaped at her and tried to snap quick pictures when she was waiting for her dog to eat its whipped cream.


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