Total pages in book: 50
Estimated words: 47187 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47187 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
“Nice meeting you, Amelia,” Damien replies, and I silently credit his mother for raising him with good manners.
“Go for it,” Amelia mouths behind him before she spins and takes off toward a group of tuxedos.
I turn another smile to Damien, who still looks at me as if I’m on tonight’s menu. “So, a supporter of law enforcement?”
He nods slowly. “I am, yes. In fact, I saw you on the news a few days ago at a crime scene, and I’m curious…” The words come slowly, and I brace myself.
Most men are either dismissive of my career or entirely too interested. I have an ugly feeling that Mr. Wolfe is the latter, which makes him just too damn good to be true.
“Curious about what?” I hold my breath and run through my list of ready answers to morbid questions.
Damien leans in, and I can see that his hazel eyes aren’t a blend of colors so much as several rings that gently blend to create a brilliant shade of golden brown.
“How do you process it all? I mean, all the violence and trauma, the sadness and the grieving families, it must be difficult.”
His question surprises me, and I realize that, yet again, I have misjudged him. I shrug off his curious look with a friendly smile.
“It’s part of the job. Some days, I process it with humor. Other days I cry for the senseless loss of life. Mostly, I just do my damnedest to get justice for the victims.”
His smile grows brighter and more captivating with each passing second. I’m momentarily surprised by it, but it’s his strikingly good looks that leave me completely distracted. “Francesca,” he begins in a voice dripping with honey.
“Frankie,” I quickly correct him. “Call me Frankie.” What is it about this man that’s affecting me? Usually, I’m an ice queen when it comes to men, but right now, I feel like a giant puddle of goo.
“Frankie,” he practically growls. “Have dinner with me.” It’s more of a command than a request, and instead of being put off, I’m intrigued. Hell, I’m hungry for him.
“Dinner.” I let the word linger between us. Our eyes lock in an intense staring contest that’s making me too warm. I think about it for a long moment, weighing my options. What would I have to talk about with a gorgeous, globe-trotting billionaire? In a word, nothing. Then again, maybe I should adopt Amelia’s mindset. Damien doesn’t have to be Mr. Right. He could simply be Mr. Right Now. “Dinner. Huh?”
He nods, his smile twisting into a lopsided grin. “Yes, dinner.”
I have to be honest. His voice alone is having an aphrodisiac effect on me. “Dinner sounds nice.” I fish a business card from the tiny, useless box that passes for my purse this evening and press it into his palm. “Call or text me, and we’ll figure out an evening that fits both of our schedules.”
He holds the card between his index and middle fingers before tucking it into his jacket pocket. “Talk to you soon, Frankie. Very soon.”
My breath catches in my throat as I watch him walk away. He’s a big man, tall and broad with long legs. And I’ll bet good money that the tuxedo isn’t just his but made to fit his body perfectly.
My fingers twitch with the desire to touch his body over that tuxedo to see if it’s as hard as it looks. I bet it is. I grab another drink and go find my coworkers to waste some time with before I can make up an excuse to go home.
“You clean up nice, DeMarco.”
I roll my eyes at the narcotics detective who can’t take his eyes off my cleavage. “Thanks. Wish I could say the same for you.”
He laughs. “Seriously, you look incredible in that dress.”
“Thank you. I heard there’s an heiress here who wants to know all about going undercover.”
His eyes light up. “Seriously? Don’t fuck with me, Frankie.”
I smile. “Blonde and busty in a long silver dress with a slit. Go get her.”
He takes off and I relax, knowing I won’t have to deal with his drunken antics an hour from now.
“That was a nice thing you did,” Jay whispers in my ear.
“I didn’t do it for him. I did it for me.” I flash a smile as Jay sits down with a soft grunt.
“Worried he might forget about your right hook again?”
I smile. “Worried? Not at all. Having fun?”
“Not even a little bit. Cassandra is making lasagna tonight, so I’m thinking about grabbing a six-pack and going to her place.”
I roll my eyes. “A six-pack with lasagna? Take red wine. And why didn’t you bring her with you? The food here is amazing.”
“I asked her, but she’s not ready to meet the crew yet.”
I nod. “Smart lady.”
“So, you’ll find another ride home, and I can cut out now?”