Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 25839 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 129(@200wpm)___ 103(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25839 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 129(@200wpm)___ 103(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
Go get ‘em, tiger. I’ve got your back.
“I think this evening is over,” he says, throwing his napkin across the table. “You entitled little…”
Like a man possessed, I’m launching myself in his direction. The restaurant falls silent, all eyes on what’s unfolding. Let them TikTok what comes next. Just fucking let them.
I lean down close to his ear. “You’re fucking right, this evening is over. And you have three seconds to apologize to the lady, then get the fuck out of here. If you don’t, you’re going to be wearing your balls as earrings.”
He releases a disbelieving snort. “Who the—”
That’s all he gets out before I lift him by the back of his neck, satisfaction spreading through me at his strangled squeak of panic as I shove him toward the door.
“You forgot to apologize,” I add, listening to the sweet, cherry-pie giggle coming from my future wife.
“Sorry.” He sneers with a pathetic attempt at a stare-down, so I step back into his space and he stumbles back, repeating his apology with a bit more sincerity. “Sorry.”
Smart asshole.
I want to make sure he knows his way out, so I fist the back of his shirt collar and lead him through the gasping onlookers, right by the smiling hostess, until I smash his face against the James Beard Award sticker and Amex logo on the glass front door. “Get the fuck out.”
And with one final shove, he’s scampering down the sidewalk, ass cheeks tucked under like he’s shit himself.
Low, excited conversation returns to a nervous hum in the dining room. All eyes are on me as I walk back, running my tongue over my teeth as I re-focus on what’s important.
Her.
The whispers and hisses from the other patrons disappear into the sound of blood rushing in my ears.
Her head is in her hands, fingertips on her forehead, her thumbs pressing into the creamy pink flesh just under her cheekbones. Her nails are painted the same cherry red as her lipstick. An invisible force tugs me forward, and I wonder why the fuck she would need a dating site.
Doesn’t matter. She won’t be on there ever again.
The jealousy and possessiveness boiling inside me are not just out of character, they’re borderline psychotic. But fuck it. I don’t even know her name, but I already know she’ll be taking mine, and the sooner the better.
I’m a logical guy. Not emotional, unless you count heated family discussions about the World Cup or our yearly Christmas game of poker. My life is built around being indifferent, distilling information, and spinning it to mine and my client’s advantage.
But with this girl? The one I set eyes on less than an hour ago?
Pure emotion. No logic. Nothing but want and need.
And a hard-on that won’t quit.
“You okay?” I set my jaw and fight the urge to throw her over my shoulder, march us out the door, and get my first taste of her in the back of my Mercedes.
“I mean...” She raises her head, narrowing her eyes. “I signed up for a date with an insurance salesman. What I got was a side show starring some retired MMA fighter with a white-knight complex. But yeah, you know. Doing fine.”
Retired? Is she digging at my age?
She gives me a sexy little glare and an a-okay sign with her cute fingers.
She was laughing earlier, true. But she’s not really laughing now. And I can’t blame her. Because she looks like the kind of woman who can and does fight her own battles.
Not that she’ll ever have to again.
Her temper only makes me harder. The tent in my pants must be visible from space, but I don’t give a shit. Let people look.
But, more importantly, let her look. She should know what’s coming for her very soon. Pun intended.
The room calms as I drop into the chair across from her in full man spread, licking my lips as I take in her soft sweet strawberry scent.
“I know how to fix this,” I offer as she raises her wide eyes to meet mine. Her long lashes flutter a few times as she takes a breath, her cheeks ripe and glowing pink.
“Not sure there’s a fix for this.” She smirks, looking around the room, her tongue slipping over her lush bottom lip.
Christ. My dick weeps in pain. “You’re going to let me try.”
“That doesn’t sound like a question.”
I lean my forearms on the table. “It’s not.”
Then I smile, reaching across and slipping her fingers into mine. I want to know what it will feel like holding her hand when we’re standing at the front of the church saying our vows.
It feels perfect.
Chapter Four
Tor
“Istand corrected. Things feel very fixed,” she says as she takes the last bites of the restaurant’s special blood orange and chocolate Crème Brulé and sips the Satin Angel drink I ordered to go with it. “Nothing like a little sugar buzz and Frangelico to right all the wrongs of a bad date.”