Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 24900 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 125(@200wpm)___ 100(@250wpm)___ 83(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24900 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 125(@200wpm)___ 100(@250wpm)___ 83(@300wpm)
Her sweet, tangy taste flows through me as her hands fist in my hair. She drags her nails down my scalp while making these desperate little noises that drive me crazy. I grip her hips and lift her onto the bar, pushing her skirt up, feeling her legs wrap around me. She’s so warm, and the smell of her fills my head until I’m drunk on it.
Her hands pull me closer, and she unbuttons my shirt before dragging her fingers over my skin. She grinds against me, shameless, and I’m so fucking hard it hurts.
“Tell me,” she whispers, biting my ear. “Tell me what you want.”
I want everything. I want her in my bed, in my house, in my life, forever. But I can’t say it. I never say it.
Instead, I lift her off the bar and carry her to a booth, laying her down and kissing every inch of her I can reach. She’s so soft, and she tastes like heaven, and when I finally slide inside her, she arches up and moans my name.
“Nathan,” she says, voice rough and low, and I feel it everywhere, down to my bones.
I wake up with my hand clenching the sheets, sweating and hard and furious at myself for being such a goddamn coward.
I stare at the ceiling and wonder if this is what purgatory feels like. Close enough to touch, but never quite there.
Maybe after the auction, I’ll grow a set of balls and make a move.
But I know, clear as day, that I can’t keep living like this. I’m going to have to risk it all—her friendship, my heart, everything—because the idea of going another six years with nothing but the taste of her in my dreams is enough to drive any man insane.
I get up, yank the shower on as cold as it’ll go, and stand under it until my skin is numb and my thoughts are clear.
Tomorrow, I tell myself. Tomorrow, or the day after. But soon.
I’m going to make her mine.
CHAPTER THREE
RONI
My phone alarm goes off at the unholy hour of nine a.m.—which, for a woman on vacation, is a crime against humanity. I lie there, staring at the ceiling, wondering if I’ll really have the nerve to go through with this crazy idea. Oof. I can’t believe I agreed to auction myself off tonight. What if Nathan doesn’t bid on me? What if no one does? What if someone other than Nathan does? Fudge. The “what ifs” are killing me.
I spend the rest of the morning and early afternoon alternating between excitement and fear. I’m just about to call Eamon and cancel when my phone buzzes.
Dee
Get ready! I’m on my way.
Me
Thanks for the warning.
Dee
Ha Ha
I groan and set about putting away a pile of clean laundry that’s been on my floor since last weekend. In my head, I’d planned to spend the day cleaning up my apartment. In reality, I watched reality TV, wondering if it’s possible to develop adult-onset hotness in under two hours.
There’s a frantic knock at the door, and I rush over to open it for Dee. Today, she’s in all her fairy godmother gear of tight black jeans and a mesh top that could double as a fishing net. She’s holding a monstrous coffee in one hand and a garment bag in the other.
She barges past me and holds the bag aloft like a trophy. “Behold the perfect drive-Nathan-Brennan-crazy dress.”
I bite my bottom lip. “Oh, man. I’m getting cold feet.”
She drops the bag on my couch and levels a look at me. “Don’t worry. By the time I’m done with you, they’ll be toasty warm.”
Dee storms my bathroom like she’s commanding a military operation. I’m left alone with the garment bag, which looms on my couch like a threat.
I drag it into my bedroom and unzip it. Inside is the kind of dress that makes time slow down for a second. It’s a deep, electric blue and slinky, but not “illegal in four states” skimpy. I hold it up to my chest in the mirror and immediately try to picture myself in it. My inner vixen wakes up and tells me to pull up my big girl panties and stop worrying.
“Don’t just stand there, try it on!” Dee’s voice comes from the bathroom, wrapped in a cloud of coconut-scented steam.
I wriggle into the dress, careful not to pop a seam. The fabric is soft, heavier than I expected, and it hugs every curve. I spin in front of the mirror, staring at the foreign creature in the reflection. The girl in the mirror looks like she could survive a bachelorette auction. Maybe even win one.
Dee appears at my door, towel around her neck, and stops dead. Her eyes go cartoon-wide. “Jesus, Roni. You look—” she gestures, hand fluttering like she’s lost words, “stunning. Nathan won’t know what hit him.” The way Dee says it, I actually believe her. For a split second, I stand there, kind of gaping at my own reflection like a moron.