Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 106935 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106935 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
After a thoughtful nod, he says, “That’s not a quick question to answer.” Then, his eyes dip to the tag on my chest. “Lola.”
The way he says my name, in that rough rasp, sends a flush of arousal down my body, straight to my core.
I try not to tremble in the middle of the crowd.
“But I was hoping you’d ask that to follow up on the conversation we had yesterday during the VIP session,” he continues, and holy shit. He’s smooth on his feet. He can improvise. Then he turns to Valeria. “This’ll be a minute. It’s a confidential business matter.”
Confidential is officially the sexiest word in any language.
In no time, he shoulders past the reporters.
My pulse gallops as he parts the crowd with his presence, his strength, his…virility. He tips his head toward a quiet corner of the ballroom, then sets his hand on my elbow as we walk.
My elbow is turned on. What kind of sex sorcery is this?
After we’re a safe distance from the crowd, he stops, then turns to me. “Your question is probably best answered over drinks in the hotel bar. My last meeting ends at seven.”
My breath hitches. This man just asked me out. But I can’t stand here stupidly. I recover quickly from the shock and say, “I’ll buy you a drink.”
A sly smile lingers on his lips. “No. I’ll buy you one.” He tilts his head, studying my face like he’s committing me to memory again. Then he steps closer, mere inches from me, as he touches my elbow once again. “Lola.”
He turns to join the others.
He doesn’t look back.
But he doesn’t have to.
We both know I’ll be there. He probably knows, too, that my elbow is on fire.
4
LADIES CHOICE
Nick
There’s a first time for everything.
Like watching makeup videos, evidently.
But I need to know why the hell this woman made me throw out my no-dating-on-work-trips rule. Maybe the answer lies in the videos she makes—videos with tons of views.
As I brush my teeth in my suite, I am transfixed by the woman on the screen, swiping a pink pencil thingy precisely across her eyebrow.
“This step is for creating depth,” Lola says, and I don’t give two fucks about how to fill in a brow but Lola commands my attention with her confident yet accessible style.
I watch till the end. I barely blink.
“And that’s how you blend in your brow, my pets.” When she’s done, she picks up a lipstick, slicks on some red gloss, then blows a seductive kiss to the camera.
Fuck me. I’m aroused from a makeup video.
I spit out the toothpaste and gargle some water.
But that barely douses my semi. As I move around my suite getting ready to see her, I start the next video and I don’t stop watching. This is binge-worthy content right here in my hand. From my suitcase, I grab a pair of charcoal slacks with my free hand, then a tailored, black short-sleeve shirt. Perfect for a sultry evening out.
Setting down the phone on the bureau, I get dressed as I watch. I button up my shirt and hit play on another video. I don’t need to know how to put on eyeliner, but I need more of her.
The blonde beauty I’m taking out tonight wears a tank top that shows off that stunning flower tattoo, the color of sapphire. She brandishes a makeup brush and a pot of blue shiny something or other. “Once upon a time, blue eye shadow was a joke,” she says, and okay, that pot is eyeshadow. Cool, cool. “Now it’s a must-have. So let’s enjoy the blues together, my pets.”
I tuck in my shirt as I learn how to make a midnight shade work for you. Who knew what blue could do for an eye?
Once I’m dressed, I hit stop on Lola. Reluctantly.
This woman could make me a video addict.
There’s something in her that’s impossible to look away from, both in person and online. She’s got charisma, shine, chutzpah. Hell, she approached me after the show, ready to ask me out.
That’s why I’m breaking my rule.
At a quarter to seven, I pocket my phone and head downstairs. The L Bar is already filled with the young, the beautiful and the nearly naked. Guys doused in cologne and baring wolfish grins are out in full force on a Friday night.
They’re hunting.
The joint is teaming with the fairer sex too, with svelte and curvy bodies alike poured into tight dresses or bikinis, sky-high heels all around. South Beach is such a fiesta of flesh.
I say hello to the hostess then grab two stools at the sleek, silver counter, scanning the room in case Lola’s an early bird. I don’t spot her, and I’m glad she’s not here yet.
A man should wait for a woman, not the other way around.
I turn to the clean-shaven man behind the bar who looks like he’d be carded in any establishment. He’s probably my son’s age—twenty-one. “How’s it going, Enrique?” I ask, quickly reading his name tag.