 by Deborah Bladon.jpg)
Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 77983 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77983 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Then he took me home with him.
Harrison Keene is the type of man women chase.
So they can yell at him.
He’s as arrogant as they come.
Sinfully handsome and annoying blunt, he was born with a diamond-encrusted silver spoon in his mouth.
Harrison is the heir to the Keene family fortune.
He also happens to be my older brother’s best friend.
Add the biggest jerk in Manhattan to that list because Harrison crashed my twenty-first birthday party.
He overheard me making plans to meet my friends at a bar on the Lower East Side, so he decided to show up without an invitation.
Unsurprisingly, within twenty minutes of his arrival, Harrison did something that got us tossed out of the bar.
I tried to walk away, but Harrison wouldn’t let me.
He insisted I go home with him.
I knew I shouldn’t, but I did it anyways.
When I woke up the next morning in his bed, everything between us had changed.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
CHAPTER ONE
Ava
I can’t deny that there’s something fascinating about the way Harrison Keene gazes at the women in this elevator. He studies each for a moment as if he’s cataloging their features in his mind.
Currently, he’s looking at a woman standing a foot away from me. Her nose piercing sports a small silver ring. It only adds to the beauty of her face.
The woman beside her has a sleeve of tattoos as brightly colored as her fire engine red hair. It looks like every shade of purple is included in her eye makeup. It’s a striking masterpiece that I know I couldn’t pull off.
When she catches my eye, she offers me a grin.
I smile back because a smile is free to give, and what you get in return may be priceless.
Those wise words come courtesy of my older brother, Sean. He’s the one who doles out the uplifting advice. My oldest brother, Declan, doesn’t see the world through the same lens as Sean. He’s more cynical and pragmatic.
Lucky for them, I love them equally.
I look at Harrison as his gaze shifts from one woman to the other.
It’s only a matter of time until he glances in my direction.
There it is.
His ocean blue eyes narrow as he looks at me. His brow furrows briefly before it relaxes again, chasing away my wonder about whether or not he recognizes me.
He doesn’t.
But I’d know him anywhere.
His dark brown hair is shorter than I remember. A precise cut controls the curls that punctuated his youth.
He’s thirty now.
The last time I saw him, he was twenty-three, and I had just turned fourteen.
I had a pixie cut at the time, inspired by some supermodel that could pull it off because she had sky-high cheekbones and a perfectly petite nose.
I have neither, so short hair didn’t do me any favors. I discovered that when I moved to London after high school graduation and let my hair grow. The wheat-colored mane is past my shoulders now. The color has always complemented my blue eyes.
Harrison’s gaze drops to the dress I’m wearing. Pale pink, tight at the waist, and the bottom hem hits mid-thigh. My mom would scold me for wearing something like this, but my luggage is caught somewhere between Heathrow and LaGuardia, and this dress was the first thing I tugged out of a box of old clothes I had stored at Declan’s apartment.
It made me seriously question my fashion choices when I was seventeen.
The elevator slows to a stop on the twelfth floor. The woman with the nose ring and her tattooed friend bolt toward the doors, talking so softly that I can only make out something about a juicy steak for dinner and a vodka martini.
I could use one of each, but dinner is hours away, and I’m not legally allowed to partake in vodka in this city until the clock strikes midnight. Besides, my plans for the rest of the day don’t include a drop of alcohol.
As the doors slide shut, my handsome elevator companion takes another look at me.
I tilt my chin up, wondering if he’ll notice the faint scar that runs over my chin. He knows that story. I was there when Sean told him.
“I’m Harrison Keene,” he says, and my insides instantly bunch together in a tight knot of need.
I felt that briefly when I first heard the deep rasp of his voice when I was a teenager, but now that I’m on the cusp of my twenty-first birthday, it hits harder and in just the right spot.
I want to press my thighs together so I can feel that bite of friction that comes when you move in a brand new pair of lace underwear that is, unfortunately (fortunately?), a size too small.
The lace has been digging into my flesh since I slid them on earlier.
I ignore his announcement about his name because what am I supposed to say in response?
I’m your best friend’s younger sister, and you don’t recognize me? I had my first orgasm years ago when I touched myself while I imagined you unbuttoning your jeans?
All of that stays inside me as I turn to watch the numbers on display above the doors as we descend toward the lobby.
One of the two people still on this ride with us clears his throat. “Hey, Mr. Keene. I thought that was you.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch the movement of Harrison’s arms as he buttons the jacket of his tailored suit. I’d say dark gray is his color, but who the hell would I be kidding? I saw him in a black T-shirt one day a long time ago, and that memory has never left my mind.
He turns his attention to the man, who now has a broad smile. “You’re Joe Bunchen’s son, aren’t you?”
Apparently, Harrison didn’t name-drop himself as a courtesy to me. He was starting a conversation with the man standing next to him.