Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 73021 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73021 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
But I realized … he was the debacle. And I would no longer be texting him.
Three
Ransom
By the time we finished dinner and were on our last drink of the evening, I’d realized a few things. The first being that Opal had been fed horseshit. There was an elitist jackass at the table, but it wasn’t the fucking gorgeous blonde sitting across from me. She was the opposite of how Opal had described her. My sister was normally better at reading people. We’d been taught young to pay close attention to the eyes, and, Jesus Christ, did Juliette have a heart-stopping set of them. They weren’t blue, but more like the color of a storm cloud or the early morning sky. I guessed they’d be considered gray, but that word wasn’t descriptive enough.
For someone who looked like her, the hesitant insecurity that she was trying so hard to mask seemed out of place. What the fuck did she have to be insecure about? Full lips that turned down slightly at the corners; a small, elegant, straight nose; sun-kissed skin; and the shade of honey blonde with champagne highlights that hung in a long, wavy mass down past her shoulders. Then there was the body.
I’d had to clench my fist and bite my damn tongue when she stood up to speak and have her picture taken with the woman who had approached her. Once I got my cock under control, I’d been able to observe her. She was gracious with the woman, eased her, and when she barely glanced my way, I noticed the awkwardness she was trying to hide. She wasn’t reveling in being seen. It had made her nervous.
It seemed the blond dork sitting beside her, who had my sister’s attention, had blinded her with his overbright smile, which annoyed the fuck out of me. First my brother, now her. Letting someone make them stupid.
Juliette, whose real name I wanted to know, had been quiet most of the evening. Speaking only when spoken to. Again, not a trait of a diva. She also reminded me of someone, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Her mannerisms were so oddly familiar.
She also hadn’t looked my way once since sitting back down at the table. I deserved it, but it didn’t mean I was going to end this evening with her disliking me. Okay, she probably fucking hated me. I’d been a dick, but when I had walked in here and gotten a look at her, my cock had instantly gotten hard the moment I saw her body, and I’d been pissed off that she was off-limits. I’d have liked to fuck this one tonight. If it wasn’t for my sister not liking her, I wouldn’t have cared about her being a diva or a bitch. In fact, those could be the kinkiest ones.
Jesus, the thought of those curves bared … I had to stop it. I didn’t need to stand up with my dick hard and bulging in my pants for all to see.
“Where are you from, Juliette?” I asked, tired of hearing all about Arden and his life. He talked a fucking lot.
Those eyes snapped up from the glass she’d been drawing circles on with the tip of her finger to meet mine. The surprise was there. Probably because she hadn’t expected me to be the one to remember she was sitting at the table and direct conversation her way. There was also trepidation. And again … why was that so familiar? Her expression. I’d seen it somewhere before, but I knew I’d never laid eyes on this woman. I’d remember her—because I’d have fucked her. And there was no way that body, naked, wasn’t memorable.
“Rhode Island,” Arden said before she could speak.
No, the fuck she was not.
I cut my eyes at him. What did my sister see in that douche?
“With that accent? No, I don’t think so,” I told him, then looked back at her. “Besides, I’m sure she can speak for herself.”
Now she was nervous. Her eyes darted from me to Arden and then back, and she licked her bottom lip. I swore to God I’d never seen lips that plump. Was it fucking filler? I didn’t care. I just wanted to see them wrapped around my cock.
“Um, well, I lived in the South when I was younger. My mom and I moved around a bit,” she said hesitantly, as if she wasn’t sure she had or not.
She was lying. Not about living in the South though. She’d lived in the fucking South, so it was the moving around bit she must be lying about.
“What parts?” I asked her, already knowing it was either Alabama, Mississippi, or northern Louisiana. When you lived in the South, not all Southern accents were the same. There was a difference that Northerners didn’t notice.