Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 141281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
A dragon?
The monster sprawls across his skin, guarding what looks like a pitchfork. It kind of reminds me of my gramps’ old Navy patches that Dad keeps hanging in his office. He’s always been proud of them.
Oh, and he’s an older man, but not too old.
He’s mature.
Probably somewhere in his mid-twenties, fresh out of college with a dark glint in his eyes that only a heavy life can bring.
Our eyes lock.
His are bright green, set in his chiseled face like sinful emerald framed with just the right amount of cropped sandy dark hair and stubble that could scratch so sweetly on a woman’s skin.
His tight jaw holds the most capable mouth in the world, lips made for kissing and cursing and giving the whole world hell.
Maybe even one especially lucky lady.
“Didn’t know I had an audience. How long you been there gawking while I strip?” he growls, giving his rubber suit a swift kick behind him and marching toward me. “Where’d you come from, princess?”
Oh.
In my little stare down, I forgot I walked out here to remind him he’s trespassing.
Hilariously, the biting tone in his voice makes it sound like I’m the intruder.
“Um, you...you’re not supposed to be diving here.” I clear my throat weakly and point at the nearest PRIVATE PROPERTY sign behind me, wondering if he can see it in the deepening darkness.
Mystery Man focuses his eyes through the darkness before he says, “Aw, shit. I thought this whole stretch was public?”
“No. My dad owns it. This is his house.” I shake my head for emphasis.
Why is it so hard to form words?
The man cocks his head and smiles. It’s a lazy, obscene smile like he’s oh-so-amused I’d deign to ask him to do his weird hot stripper diving elsewhere.
“What did daddy do to buy himself a beachfront like this? Hell, who’d he fuck to make a pretty thing like you? The rich guys I know all look like something I’d find crawling in a trench a thousand feet down.”
My mouth drops.
I’m floored at the crudeness spewing out of him.
Then the big, gorgeous lunatic closes the space between us and throws his arms around me, pinning me against that massive chest.
What. Is. Happening?
Despite being beneath the cool waves only a few minutes ago, his chest is surprisingly warm, hotter than my blood and horribly tempting.
Is he freaking psychic?
Has he honed in on all the nervous thoughts I’m too chicken to acknowledge?
I’m thankful for my shorts. If I had bikini bottoms on right now, I’m sure he’d feel them soaked, and then I’d drop dead from embarrassment for sure.
“Normally, I don’t take orders from girls in their pj’s who are scared out of their wits,” he whispers in my ear, his breath so hot it matches the boil in my blood. “But I normally don’t fuck up and crash a billionaire’s private beach club either. What’s going on over there? Big-ass pool party?”
He gestures with his head over my shoulder.
Just the right angle for his sandpaper stubble to rake my shoulder, ruining any urge to fight him off for at least another ten numb seconds.
Of course, he’s noticed the light and thrumming noise from the crowd and their music that’s giving this stretch of shore a pulse.
“I’ll be damned.” He pulls back, staring me straight in the eyes. “You don’t look like much of a party girl, princess. Then again, I’ve been around long enough to know the quiet ones are always the loudest. Go on back to your fun. I’ll be right behind you.”
“Excuse you?” I blurt out. “I just came to warn you about trespassing. Not invite you to—”
“What?” he flares, heat sharpening his green eyes. “You saying I’m not good enough for your shindig? Looks to me like it’s fuckboy central.”
I swallow, this odd guilty pang twisting my belly.
“No, it’s not like that. You just...you need to be careful out here, okay? If you made an honest mistake, fine, whatever. But it’s a private party and I don’t know you. It’s my dad’s house. I can’t just let every strange guy who throws himself off cliffs join the party.”
He raises a dark brow, his glance ice-cold and assessing.
“You see any other strange guys out here?” He pauses, folding his cannons for arms. “Am I too dangerous for your rich dick friends?”
Before I can answer, he snorts sharply.
“I’m a lot less rowdy than Peter Pan and the boys over there, I promise,” he stabs a finger out. “I’m old enough to pick up after myself like a grown boy, too.”
As soon as I turn, I see a tall kid standing on a table. He’s pouring beer straight into the waiting mouths of the laughing idiots perched under him, all of them clapping like the drunken seals they are.
“Oh, God,” I mutter, palming my face.
What do I even say to that?