Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 87513 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87513 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
She thought he said, “Wait a minute,” but she didn’t stop her headlong flight and stood with the door open, her hand on the knob, when he reached her.
“Hey,” he said. “I’ve got a few minutes.”
But she waved a hand, the coffee sloshing in her mug, “I don’t want to make you late. This is a big deal for you, the shoes and boots. You need to close it.” She had to add, “And I’ve got a million important things to do.”
He tipped his head, studying her. “You just said that.”
She wondered if he saw through her act.
When she didn’t answer, he said, “I’ll call you later.”
She waved the coffee mug again.
He was on the threshold, almost out the door. All she had to do was close it behind him. Then she could breathe, she could think, she could strategize, she could decide.
Except that he wrapped one warm hand around the nape of her neck and reeled her in. She didn’t have time to pull away. Maybe she didn’t even try. His lips were warm and supple and sweet like cream and rich like coffee. She opened her mouth to him before she could even think about it, and he delved deep, reminding her of how deeply he’d filled her last night. Reminding her of all his kisses and all the things his delicious tongue could do. He pulled her flush against him, and she felt exactly where his mind had gone, felt him hard against her.
She clutched his arm to keep herself upright, because she wouldn’t fall at this man’s feet.
He kissed her like he couldn’t get enough of her. He kissed her like he would surely be back for more. He kissed the breath right out of her. He kissed her until all her bones were melting, until her body was liquid for him. Ready for him. Needing him. Wanting him.
Just when she thought she might beg him to stay, he stepped back. Still holding her by the nape, he murmured, “Something for me to remember you by.”
Then he walked away, got into his car, and drove off.
She was too stunned to move.
He hadn’t said “something for you to remember me by.” Which would have been cocky and arrogant.
No, he’d made it about her.
It could have been five minutes before she realized she was still standing in the doorway, wearing only her robe, her feet bare, her grip so tight on her coffee mug that it might break, her mouth open, her fingers to her lips. Still tasting him. Still breathing him in. Still wanting him.
Then, as if her limbs couldn’t move fast enough, she slammed the door, set her mug on the foyer table, raced up the stairs. And stopped in the bedroom doorway to look at the mussed bed. The room still smelled of their loving. Still smelled of him, that unique manly scent that was only Troy Harrington. She stood looking at the bed, wishing he were still in it, wishing she were still in it with him.
What was the old saying? If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride.
She was not a beggar. And he was not a horse. And it was possible that she’d made the biggest mistake of her life.
Her mind was a blur of thoughts.
I know I wanted it. I know I kissed him. I know I invited him to the house in the first place. I knew this was going to happen. I even planned it. I threw that last game so I could kiss him.
But the fear was overwhelming. What did she do with the man now? She couldn’t handle an affair with him. Yes, he’d said all those pretty words. But Troy Harrington was a playboy. He’d hired her to match his sister because he knew he would win the bet. He certainly knew about women, about sex, about romance, about seduction.
But what could he possibly know about love?
Then the thought struck like a hammer inside her head.
Good Lord, she could be falling in love with him. Falling in love with a man who’d made a bet that he would never fall in love.
It wasn’t possible.
Falling in love wasn’t a gentle plop onto a soft mattress. No, it was a fall from a great height onto solid concrete. It could wreck you.
With her mother off having a fabulous time, with no one else in the house, with Troy gone and that mussed bed reminding her of everything she’d done, she could finally admit the truth.
She was afraid. Afraid he was out of her league. Afraid a relationship between them could never work. Afraid to try after too many frogs who hadn’t been princes.
But then, she’d never kissed a frog like Troy. Never wanted so badly for her frog to turn into a prince. But was she a princess worthy of him? No, not that word. She knew her own self-worth. But she’d always known she could never be part of his world. What if she went to parties with him, and all the bigwigs cold-shouldered her? What if he started feeling like she was a millstone around his neck? What if there were princesses out there who would appeal to him more than she ever could?