Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 84322 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84322 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
He wanted revenge, but not here. He wouldn’t kill her in public. Too messy. Too many witnesses.
Until she figured out his plan, all she could do was play along.
Wiping the shock and fear off her face, she leaned back against his chest and angled her mouth toward his bent head. “How did you find me?”
“I never lost you.” He twisted her around, dragging her pussy right up against his muscled thigh.
Stunned by his words, his proximity, and his unrecognizable appearance, she could only stare. “You never had me.”
“Oh, I’ve had you.” With his leg between hers and his hands on her waist, he drove their hips together, flexing and thrusting in the delicious rolling movements of sex. “I’ve had every hole in this body.”
She didn’t need the reminder. Most nights, she sneaked away from Mike and pleasured herself in the bathroom to the memory. Cole had been an unforgettable experience, no matter how tainted the circumstances. She’d forced herself on him, and he’d fucked her right back. Tit for tat.
He kept her moving with the grind of his body, maintaining the ruse of a flirtatious stranger. God help her, he looked like one.
A tattered Misfits t-shirt peeked out from beneath a black motorcycle jacket. Black boots. Dark jeans. Clean, spiked hair. No beard. Just a shadow of stubble. And dimples.
Treacherous dimples. Deep, sexy, ensnaring little dips of deception. They made him look boyish, harmless, and so goddamn gorgeous her hands shook with the effort not to touch his sculpted face.
“What have you done to yourself?” She gave into the compulsion and set her fingers on his scratchy cheek, trying to reconcile her memory of him with the image before her.
He leaned forward, bending her and putting a sexy roll into movement before yanking her back up. “You prefer the beard?”
“Can’t decide.”
The beard shouted male dominance, maturity, and sexual virility. The five o’clock shadow attempted to affect the same rugged masculinity with deliberate untidiness while not actually being unkempt.
He probably smelled different. Cleaner. Less musky. A disheartening thought. She desperately missed his manly scent. But without all the hair, his dimples dramatically popped.
She needed to stop staring at them.
The song changed, and she forced her gaze around the nightclub, searching for the other stalker.
“He’s on his way out.” Cole pulled her in close and pivoted, putting the front entrance in her line of sight.
Sure enough, the man with the crooked nose headed to the door and slipped outside.
Had Cole been watching Vincent’s man watch her? Had he not planned on revealing himself to her? He seemed only to pop in because Vincent’s goon was approaching.
How long would Mike wait before he gave up and came back inside? Another ten minutes? Long enough for Cole to get what he came for?
“Are you going to kill me?” She dragged her gaze to his, burning in the heat of his twisting, writhing, gloriously ripped body.
“Can’t decide.”
“I keep thinking I should’ve let the stonecutter take your dick.”
“I haven’t stopped thinking about you, either. Your perfect rack. Your sloppy cunt.” He palmed her backside, grinding her body against his thigh. “Your tight little asshole clenching around me. Fucking heaven.”
With each word and rocking gyration of his hips, he slid closer, hotter, his hands traveling everywhere, feeling her up and down. If there was a lie in that smoldering look, she didn’t sense it. The man was a baffling contradiction.
“You said you weren’t interested.” She pushed at his chest. “You fucked my ass to manipulate me.”
“Is that what I did?” He pulled her back in. “Or what I said?”
“You said it. Sure felt like you did it.”
Was he fucking with her? Then? Or now?
He touched the blonde tips of her wig, his knuckles brushing against her jaw. “I prefer the red.”
Interesting. The wig matched the color of Danni’s hair.
“It was fake.” She smacked his hand away.
“Was any of it real?”
Her pulse thrummed. “You tell me.”
Their gazes locked, and electricity crackled across her skin, resurrecting her fear, for with it rose the flames of reckless longing. Their hips undulated together, and her insides buzzed, sparking with blistering desire.
She never knew sexual tension like this existed. It seethed beneath his touch, growled through his heavy breaths, and dripped down her legs because dammit, she wasn’t wearing panties.
Their grinding became so obscenely sexual she knew they were making a scene. But she couldn’t shove him away, and he showed no signs of stopping.
Fused at the hips, they connected in rhythm and motion, pushing and pulling, slowing down and speeding up, dancing as one. Not fighting. Not trying to kill each other. They molded together and clung, sinking into the addictive burn. The hunger. The danger.
She shivered, her breaths growing faster with the heavy rush of his. Nothing was sexier or more sinful than grooving up against this man. She wanted to live in his arms and do this for the rest of her life.