Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 128980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
“I need to see you.”
“I’m outside Picasso’s. Glass of fizz?”
“Yes,” I breathe, only just stopping myself from telling her to order a bottle, even though there’s nothing much to celebrate. “I’m just leaving Logan Tower.”
“See you in a jiffy.” She hangs up, and I slide my Merc into drive, but I’m interrupted from speeding off when the door flies open and Sharp’s head appears.
“This should be locked,” he points out curtly, indicating the passenger door. I’d almost forgotten about him.
Almost.
Not at all.
“You’re not coming in my car.” I look away before I have a chance to indulge in his gorgeous masculinity. In my car? That’s way too close.
“Not today, no, but once we’ve sorted the logistics, you’ll be travelling with me in my car.”
I scoff my thoughts on that one. “We’ll see,” I say to myself, knowing damn well he caught it. Maybe if I’m as difficult as possible, he’ll quit. Worth a try.
“Yes, we will.” He points to a Range Rover parked in front of me. “That’s me. I’ll follow you home.”
“I’m not…” I let my words trail off, my conniving mind quickly hatching a plan. “Fine.”
He nods and shuts the door, and I watch with narrowed eyes as his long legs eat up the short distance to his huge car. He removes his suit jacket on the way. I hiss, slamming my eyes closed to avoid the god-gorgeous sight of his tight arse beneath his trousers, and the god-damn-gorgeous sight of his broad back beneath the white cotton of his crisp shirt. “Bastard,” I mutter, cautiously peeling my lids open. His arm appears out of the window and motions for me to pull out and pass. Damn. I was hoping he’d take the lead and let me follow him.
I sigh and check my mirrors before indicating and pulling out of my space, driving at a sensible 20 mph down the road, constantly checking my rearview mirror. He’s close behind, the chunky hood of his Range Rover practically sniffing the arse of my car. Tempting as it is, I don’t slam on my brakes so he rams me from behind and I can sue his irritating arse.
Rams me from behind…
My foot goes all heavy, my prized Mercedes coasting off down the road, yet he still remains tucked up closely behind me. I take a right, then a left, then a right again, and even overtake a few cars to gain some distance from him. None of it loses him, and my frustration builds and builds as my car gets faster and faster. “Fuck you, Sharp.”
I take a sudden hard left, cutting across a black cab, getting honked and cursed at as I do. Glancing up at my mirror, I laugh when I see the taxi has come to an abrupt stop across the junction, blocking anything from coming down the road after me.
“Take that!” I sing, feeling way too pleased with myself. The best bodyguard my father could buy? Yeah, right! I flip my music on and jig in my seat, pleased as punch as I make my way to meet Heather.
* * *
I pull up down a side street, seeing Heather sitting outside Picasso’s under a parasol, two glasses of champagne in front of her. Her neck lengthens like a meerkat’s when she spots me, and she waves me urgently over. I bet she’s dying to hear the lowdown. I might leave my car exactly where it is all night and order that bottle I so desperately need.
I hurry toward her, but come to a quick stop when I hear the sound of screeching tires cornering up ahead.
“Oh…” I breathe, my smugness dropping down a nearby drain into the sewers.
His Range Rover speeds toward me, the roar of the engine thunderous, almost like it’s angry. Or could that be the driver inside? He skids to a stop, and I flip a glimpse to Heather. She’s riveted.
The slam of a door makes me jump a little, and I swear I feel the ground shake under my wedges as he strides toward me. I muster up a hard front to face him.
His finger rises and points at me accusingly as he comes closer, his face twisting. “You ever pull a stunt like that again, then I’ll…I’ll…I’ll…”
“You’ll what?” I ask, adopting my Elvis sneer. Who the hell does he think he’s talking to?
He comes right in close, nose to nose with me. The safe distance doesn’t seem to be applying now. The pulse in his tense jaw is detectable, even though I’m staring his hard gaze down. “I’ll put you over my knee,” he whispers menacingly. “And spank your fucking arse bright red.”
My arse muscles stiffen, and once again I’m struggling to contain this bizarre cocktail of disgust and lust. “Excuse me?” I breathe, taking one step back to escape his closeness.