Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 115198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 576(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 576(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
I look down at my paper and begin sketching, not thinking, just drawing whatever runs through my mind. I’m not particularly good at figure drawing, but as the minutes pass, my hands move on instinct. A rough sketch of a chest, the geometric slash of collarbones. My pencil scratches across the page as I shape out bulky shoulders, long, defined arms. A torso narrowing at the muscular hips, with a dark line of hair leading beneath a waistband. I definitely do not think about running my fingertips there, biting his thighs, or wrapping my hand around his long, thick Godda—
“Anna.”
I startle, jolting upright and slamming the sketchbook shut. West is standing in front of me in shorts and what looks like an incredibly soft T-shirt.
“Sorry, were you working on something?” he asks with a smirk.
“It’s nothing.” I sit up, tucking the book behind me. “That was a fast shower.” Though I guess it was long enough to almost sketch a naked version of the man in front of me. “I’m going to take a nap,” I say standing to stretch. “I don’t think I slept very well.”
When I look up, West is gaping at me.
“What?” I point. “What is that face?” Gasping, I ask, “Oh my God, did I snore last night?”
His shock melts into an amused smile. “No, you did not snore. You were… a little cuddly.”
“Cuddly?” I ask, horrified. “Meaning what?”
“Don’t worry about it. Listen.” He sits in the chair beside mine and reaches for my forearm, guiding me back down. “I was thinking in the shower, and—”
“Oh, yes.” I lean forward. “Wait, wait. No.” I settle back and close my eyes. “Start from the beginning. You’re in the shower, the water pouring over your rock-hard abs…”
“Stop it,” he says, laughing. When I open my eyes, he’s gazing at me through long, dark lashes. “You were right last night. We—I mean I, really—need to take this more seriously.”
I shift in my chair, noticing the way West’s honeyed eyes track the movement. I look down and who can blame the man—there’s just so much boob visible in this Band-Aid of a bikini. Vivi and I are going to have a long conversation when I get home about what constitutes a swimsuit so the next time a billionaire asks me to pose as his wife, I’m better equipped for water sports.
“I’m all ears,” I say, but he doesn’t seem to believe me. His eyes linger on my chest.
“I…” He begins, and then rakes his hand through that glorious head of hair, blinking hard and turning his face away. “Tonight is the main welcome party. Most of the wedding guests should be arriving throughout the day and will be in attendance. There will be business contacts of my father’s everywhere. Reporters, photographers, you know.”
“I do not know, but I believe you.”
He smiles, but it vanishes quickly. “I think we need to be… affectionate.”
I’ve said as much myself, but hearing it from him now makes my confidence wobble. In what universe can I be closer to this man and not end up slobbering all over his chest? I barely kept it together this morning at his insinuation that he betrayed our routine by going for a run without me, and I punished him with some good old-fashioned anger fuckin’. I imagine him looking at me tonight with feigned love in his eyes at the party and my hands gravitating to his crotch like twin magnets.
I hold up my fists and give a silent cheer. “You know I’m down for whatever the job requires.”
West’s gaze dips to my boobs again and he squeezes his eyes closed. “Great.”
“So, the Operation Inheritance plan for tonight is to be more affectionate,” I say. “More of a team vibe and less of a ‘throw each other under the bus’ vibe.”
“Right.”
“How affectionate are we talking? Like we just had crazy sex, or like we’ll have crazy sex later? Or both?”
He rubs his hand through his hair, this time with a groan. “Do you really have to keep saying the word sex?”
I open my mouth to say it again just for kicks, but the sound is drowned out as an amphibious plane comes in for a water landing.
“I think you better give me a rundown of who’ll be there that you want me to charm,” I yell above the noise.
“Right,” he says again, his voice rising as the plane lands smoothly on the water only a couple hundred feet from our bungalow. “Well, the best ones to read up on a little are Danny Shoe, Patrick Lemon, and Nicola Ricci.”
I see movement behind him and stand up in shock, because a toddler—who must be two-year-old GW—has somehow walked along our narrow bridge all the way out to our bungalow?
“Sweetie, what are you doing?” I run over to him, picking him up, and immediately West is there, too, taking him from me, holding him tight in a panic. This tiny human just walked out ALONE along a bridge with NO RAILS built directly OVER THE OCEAN.