Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 109945 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 550(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109945 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 550(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
“Stick your tongue to the roof of my mouth,” Sam Brand shouted in her ear. Completely appalled by the lewd suggestion, she backed away and glared at him, one hand pressed to her chest. His smile transformed into a roguish grin and he, once again, breached the space between them to yell into her ear. “For the brain freeze. Stick your tongue to the roof of your mouth!”
She watched him in confusion, not sure if she’d imagined the “my” the first time or if he was messing with her. Brain freeze forgotten in her complete confusion, she waved him off.
“I’m fine,” she said, raising her voice to be heard. Then, remembering her manners, “Thank you.”
“It’s loud in here! Want to go someplace quiet to . . . talk?” Well, she certainly hadn’t imagined that suggestive pause and gave him her most quelling look. The one Daff often described as the “cock burn.” It wasn’t a term Lia would ever use, but the look was usually pretty effective.
It had no effect on Sam Brand. He continued to watch her expectantly. She sighed, recognizing that she would have to use her words on this one.
“No. I would not like to go anywhere with you—” Okay, that seemed a little rude, and being rude was completely out of character for Lia, so she added a polite disclaimer. “Right now.”
“Yeah, I get it, your sister’s hen party. I’m cool with that. Want to dance?”
“Uh. No.”
“No problem, we can stand here and yell at each other.”
“I see my, uh . . .” Lia scanned the area, but none of her friends were currently nearby. Daff was on the other side of the dance floor talking to Spencer—it didn’t seem to be going well—and Daisy and Mason were barely visible in their dark corner. They seemed to be having a fine time feeling each other up. Everybody else was scattered all over the place.
“So what do you do?” the gorgeous man next to her bellowed into her ear.
“Mr. Brand, I don’t think—”
“Sam.”
“Right. I have to go to—uh . . .”
“Dahlia—” Ugh, Lia didn’t much care for her name, but asking him to call her by the shortened version would be sending the wrong message, so she left it. “I think you’re incredibly sexy. I never imagined the whole librarian thing ever appealing to me, but fuck me, babe, on you it’s scorching hot. I just wanted to get to know you a little better.”
“Why?” she asked bluntly, and he laughed.
“I like a woman who can get straight to the point,” he said, and she started to fold her arms defensively, forgetting about the margarita and spilling some of the freezing liquid all over the front of her pretty new blouse. The thin material immediately soaked through, beading her nipples and bringing up every lacy little curl on her white B-cup bra in lurid detail beneath the black lights. The corner of his mouth lifted in very sincere appreciation. He plucked the margarita glass from her hand, and she immediately crossed her arms over her soaked and practically naked chest.
“You need to get out of those wet things,” he informed her, a gleam in his eye, and she frowned.
“Well, I think that’s my cue to call it a night,” she said, relieved for an excuse to get away from him.
“You could just ditch the blouse and party in that pretty little thing you’re wearing beneath it. It’s quite modest by some other standards in here.”
Lia went bright red at the thought of parading around in her bra and tucked her hands beneath her armpits in an attempt to cover herself even more.
“Good night,” she said sternly and turned away.
“Whoa, sweetheart, you can’t go out reeking of tequila and unescorted in that see-through shirt. There are a lot of arseholes out there.”
And yet—despite his amiable grin—Lia felt like she was in the company of the biggest a-hole of them all.
“I’ll be fine,” she said, keeping her voice frigid, but his smile never faltered.
“I’ll accompany you back to the hotel. Maybe we can have a nightcap.”
“Mr. Brand, I really don’t think that’s necessary,” she negated primly.
“Sam . . . and maybe I don’t really have a nightcap in mind.”
“I know what you have in mind.”
“Yeah?” His face brightened. “Then we’re on the same page.”
“No. We’re not.”
“Come on, Dahlia, it’s just a bit of fun and fucking.”
She gasped and her eyes widened. No man had ever spoken to her so bluntly before, and it was . . . different. Not appealing, but not entirely repulsive, either. More like intriguing.
“You’re interested, I can see you are,” he said, latching on to her hesitation.
“You’re unbelievably crude, Mr. Brand, and I don’t believe we’ll get along. So why don’t we just part ways here? Before you say something to make me dislike you even more.”