Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 25127 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 126(@200wpm)___ 101(@250wpm)___ 84(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25127 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 126(@200wpm)___ 101(@250wpm)___ 84(@300wpm)
“Okay, princess. Time’s up. Where do you live?” With any luck, her parents’ party is over by now, and she can go home.
“My car is in the back parking lot, but don’t worry, I know I can’t drive.”
One battle I don’t have to fight. “Okay, so let’s call you an Uber. What’s your address?”
She bats those long lashes and treats me to a sweet smile and a lazy shrug. “I don’t remember,” she says, giving away her lie with an adorable smirk. She slides off the stool and attempts to stand but is wobbly on her heels and they aren’t all that high.
Still drunk.
Jesus. I step forward and slide an arm around her waist, intending to steady her. The move has her falling against me. I try to grab her and accidentally brush the side of her full breast with my hand.
I pray she doesn’t notice, but she stills at my touch and instead of pulling away, she leans further into me.
Her strawberry scent reaches my nostrils, and I breathe in deep, my body too aware of her body heat against me. All night I’ve been trying not to react to the strange pull I feel toward her, and now she’s in my arms.
“What am I going to do with you?” I ask in a rough whisper.
I can’t leave her here. Can’t force her to give up her address. Nor do I want to take her somewhere she doesn’t feel safe, even if that is her home.
The answer nudges at me, and I try to think of any solution other than taking her to my half-finished house and letting her stay over. But damned if I can come up with an alternative.
With a groan, I shift her so she once again stands on her own two feet. “Okay, princess. Let’s go.”
She looks up at me with trusting eyes. Too trusting, considering the desire that rides me and insists I put her to sleep in my bed. Beside me. And when she wakes up tomorrow, sober, I can settle myself on top of her and slide my now hard-as-nails cock into her soft, wet, willing body.
Which will not be happening.
“Where are we going?” she asks.
“My place. I have a guestroom,” I mutter and help her weave around the crowd.
As I pass the hostess stand, Sheila shoots me a questioning look. Not once since I took this job have I left with a customer. I don’t want to think about how bad it looks as I walk out with my arm around Gabby.
When we reach my Wrangler, I help her into the passenger seat, grab the seatbelt and reach over to buckle her in.
“You’re such a gentleman,” she says, her slur heavier now that she can relax and let the alcohol inside her system take over.
I shake my head. “And you’re lucky I am. Imagine if someone other than me found you tonight.” My hands curl into fists at the thought. I shut her door and come around the driver’s side.
I drive to my house, a fixer-upper on the beach I invested a huge chunk of savings in to buy and renovate myself. After my years working on Wall Street, trying to be someone I’m not in order to make money to help my parents and younger brother, I found myself miserable despite the wealth. I retreated from that life and returned to my roots, working with my hands, managing a bar, and feeling better about the man I want to be.
Apparently, that man has a savior complex when it comes to one particular drunk, rich, pretty young woman. Who knew?
By the time I reach my place, a short ten-minute drive, she’s fallen asleep against the door. I park in my driveway and turn off the ignition, climbing out and walking around to the passenger side.
I open the door, making sure to catch her before she leans too far outside the car, unbuckle her seatbelt, and lift her into my arms. Her breasts press against my chest, allowing me to feel her curves and imagine those breasts bare, her nipples dusky pink and rigid with need.
Sucking in a sharp breath, I ignore my uncomfortable hard-on and walk the three steps up to the front door. Her eyes open at the bouncing motion. Emerald-green orbs stare up at me, but instead of wariness, I see more trust, backed up when she doesn’t try to wiggle out of my grasp and stand on her own.
Instead, she lets out a contented sigh, wraps her arms around my neck and lays her head against my chest. Desire ramps up inside me, thoughts of peeling off her oh-so appropriate silk top and suckling on her tight nipples rushing through my head.
Fuck.
I’m going to hell for the things I want to do with the woman in my arms. Even knowing our age difference, I can’t convince myself it matters. Not in my daydreams, anyway. Reality is a whole different ballgame. I am a master at self-control.