Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 22301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 112(@200wpm)___ 89(@250wpm)___ 74(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 112(@200wpm)___ 89(@250wpm)___ 74(@300wpm)
“It says here she owns a penthouse suite here in Cincinnati and her family has a home in London,” Zara says, reading off her phone. “She played hockey in college. She’s quite proficient at the violin. She took over her father’s office, which has a signed Carlo Leduc jersey and Maurice Belanger’s hockey gloves.”
“Maurice Belanger?” I say with a grin. “Perfect.”
“Who’s that?” Zara asks. She knows everything about business, but her hockey knowledge is severely lacking.
“He’s my ticket in.”
“What does that mean?”
I spot her in the hallway, the center of attention around a group of people in suits and dresses. My heart squeezes in anticipation of being close to that angel again. My desire for her hasn’t decreased since our first meeting. It’s only grown stronger. It’s consuming every thought I have.
I’m not a timid man, so I don’t hang back and wait for her to free up. I walk right up to my woman with my chin held high.
She smiles when she sees me. Everyone parts as I approach.
“Congratulations on the win,” I say as I offer my hand.
She shakes it as she looks up at me with those intoxicating green eyes. This time I don’t surrender her hand so easily. I continue to hold it, feeling her warmth.
“Thank you,” she says as the people back away, giving us space. “It was a close game. Your boys played very well.”
I’m forced to relinquish her hand and my whole body lets me know it’s not happy about it. I get this tight edgy feeling I know won’t go away until I get to touch her again.
“You did a wonderful job,” I tell her. “You should be proud of what you accomplished.”
“I didn’t score the goal,” she says with a grin and a tilt of her head. “I can’t take much credit when I was sitting in the box.”
“They wouldn’t have been able to practice without a Zamboni-fixing owner, so I don’t know about that.”
She chuckles. “Are you flying back home tonight, Mr. VanMorgan?”
“I was planning to, but I think I might stay. Something has caught my eye.”
A sizzle fills the air as we stare at each other for a long heated moment.
Her cheeks turn an innocent shade of pink and I have to fight back the urge to step closer. My pulse is thundering through my body. I feel like I’m going to combust, the fire of desire inside me is burning so hot.
All I want is to touch her. To claim her. To make her mine. To make her scream.
My whole body is throbbing for it. It’s aching to have her.
I’ve never been unsettled like this.
“I hear you have Maurice Belanger’s hockey gloves in your office,” I say, desperate to get her alone.
“I do,” she says with a warm smile. “My father was a huge Maurice Belanger fan.”
“He had good taste. I have his signed hockey stick.”
She gasps. “My father would have been so jealous. He would have loved to have seen that.”
“And I would love to see those gloves,” I tell her.
She smiles politely. “You’ll have to stop by my office sometime.”
“How about now?”
Zara starts coughing behind me. “**cough** Coming on too strong **cough cough**. Pull it back **cough**.”
I frown as I turn to her. “Do you need a cough drop?”
“I’m fine, thanks,” she says, clearing her throat.
I turn back to my girl and am struck again by the stunning sight. She really is something special.
“I’d love to show you the gloves,” she says with a twinkle in her eye. “This way.”
I follow her down the hall, walking beside her as our entourages remain behind. Zara immediately starts introducing herself to all of them.
“Do you collect a lot of hockey memorabilia?” she asks.
“I do,” I say with a nod. “When I can find something worth remembering.”
“I imagine a famous billionaire like you collects a lot of things,” she says, looking at me with a grin. “Cars, houses, women.”
I stop and take her hand. She looks up at me with a surprised little gasp.
“Women are not to be collected,” I tell her, looking deep into her eyes. “They’re to be treasured and worshipped by their soulmate. Anything else goes against the nature of our existence.”
“And what about you, Mr. VanMorgan? Have you found your soulmate?”
I look at her as my heart fills with a warm desire. It’s radiating out of my chest and surging through my limbs. It feels incredible finally being in my soulmate’s presence, even if she doesn’t know it yet.
“I believe I have.”
She drops her eyes, looking disappointed. “Congratulations. She must be a lucky lady.”
I want to tell her she’s the one, but she pulls her hand from mine and continues walking, her pace quickening. I rush to keep up.
She unlocks her office and shows me in.
It’s beautiful in here with various hockey memorabilia under glass and a gorgeous view of the city at night. There’s a large oak desk in front of the window, the surface neat and tidy, which I appreciate. I like people who are organized and efficient. A messy desk signals neither.