Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 154728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 619(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 154728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 619(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
They had been sorely neglected by members of the male sex. Things were dire if a smile was doing it for me.
Although this was no regular smile. This dark-haired, rugged, square-jawed man was something else. And he definitely didn’t look like he belonged here at this party.
Most men were wearing collared shirts, if not expensive suits.
He was wearing a simple black tee and black jeans. Though he made them look like they were worth a million bucks. He had tattoos scattered up and down his arms and one crawling up his neck, if I wasn’t mistaken.
He was tall. Towering, one might say. I didn’t think a man’s height overly mattered to me before. But it did now.
He must’ve been over 6′, and he was full of corded muscle. Not bulky but defined. His biceps were stretching the sleeves of the tee he was wearing. And not because he was wearing a size too small either.
I would’ve liked a size smaller because then I would’ve seen the outline of the six-pack he most definitely had.
“Holy shit,” Kiera breathed from beside me. “That’s Kane ‘The Devil’ Rhodes.”
I reluctantly wrenched my gaze away from my man to look at where my best friend was gazing.
Except she was looking at him.
“You know him?” I asked, a little disappointed. I recognized the way she was looking at him, and I immediately felt a stab of aggression toward my best—and only—friend in the world. That did not make sense. For me to feel territorial over a man I didn’t even know, for me to feel disdain toward the one person on the planet I had that I didn’t outrank or was blood related to.
“Of course, I do,” she hissed, still staring, openly.
Kane ‘The Devil’ Rhodes still had his attention firmly in our direction. It felt like a game, a challenge, that unrelenting stare.
My gaze darted down to my glass. I did not shy away from eye contact, didn’t blink first in games of power moves. Until then.
“He’s only the biggest thing in extreme sports right now,” Kiera babbled, unaware of the turmoil swimming through my mind. “He just cleaned up at the Motocross Championships.”
Puzzled, my attention went to her. “Since when do you follow sports, extreme or otherwise?”
As much as I loved my friend, and I did, dearly, she was not someone who had varied and eclectic interests. She loved parties, expensive shoes, going to the spa and steamy romance books. Not that there was anything wrong with those things.
In fact, she had a lot more going for her compared to me who didn’t have any interests. Beyond my job, though more than one person—people I’d dated—had called it an obsession.
Sad, really.
“You do not have to follow sports to know who Kane ‘The Devil’ Rhodes is,” she scoffed, as if it were obvious.
“Why are you calling him by his full name?” I asked, genuinely confused. “And what is with ‘The Devil.’” I air quoted. “It sounds like the name of some Disney channel character in a teen sitcom.”
Kiera rolled her eyes then glared at me. “If you actually lived outside of that small, steaming kitchen you cage yourself in, you would know that he’s kind of a celebrity in all spheres. On account of him being fucking hot and a total badass. He’s dated countless models and actresses, and he is literally fearless. He has medals and awards in like three different extreme sports. He competed in the winter Olympics after breaking his arm in the qualifiers and brought home the silver. Brings new meaning to the term ‘daredevil.’”
“You sound like you’re reporting for an entertainment channel,” I told her, failing to be impressed. I’d met many people who were famous, talented and world renowned in their field. More often than not, they were obnoxious assholes. You had to be in order to get to the top.
I supposed I was one too.
She shook her head. “No, I just live in the real world,” she snapped, though not unkindly; it was just her brash way as a native New Yorker. “One where Kane Rhodes is currently king. And apparently, he just dumped his latest—oh, my fuck, he’s coming over here, he’s coming over here.” She readjusted her dress so her already well-exposed breasts spilled out further.
I didn’t do anything to alter my appearance. It was what it was these days. Though I did wish that I had washed my mousy-brown locks and done something other than take them out of a French braid and kind of spritz the curls a little. They were just touching my shoulders, the volume of the curls softening my face somewhat but also not looking anywhere near as polished and shiny as everyone else’s at the party. I’d tried products to tame the frizz, the fly-aways, spent money that made me wince. But my hair always ended up the same. Wild, unruly and easier to shove up into a bun. What I was used to since it needed to be tied up for work.