Total pages in book: 168
Estimated words: 164910 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 825(@200wpm)___ 660(@250wpm)___ 550(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164910 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 825(@200wpm)___ 660(@250wpm)___ 550(@300wpm)
“My dad got me two tickets on a Seabourn cruise,” I state. “I’d like to take you.”
“And let me guess…” She smirks, looking exactly like him for a moment. “There’s only one bed, and you’ll straighten me out?”
But I laugh. “Not likely.” I’m not interested in what’s in her pants. “But you’d get to piss off Clay.”
She looks away, and I think she still doesn’t believe me.
“You’ll be safe,” I tell her. “We’ll get some sun. Relaxation.”
She narrows her eyes on me, no longer laughing.
I lower my voice to a whisper. “I really don’t want to take anyone else.”
Not Milo. Not Vincent. Not Clay.
And certainly not my family.
“A week on a luxury boat with catered meals and eight other guests to be witnesses if I piss you off,” I go on. “And your own cabin with a door that locks. Wanna go?”
She opens her mouth, struggling to find her words and looking like she’s not sure if she should laugh or spit.
She’s not saying no, though.
But before she can answer out loud, I’m shoved from behind, and I stumble a couple of steps, catching myself before I fall.
“Go where?” a man asks in a stern voice.
Straightening my spine, I turn around, coming face-to-face with Dallas Jaeger.
My heart swims in my chest.
I smile, closing the distance between us just before I reach out and push him back. “Afraid she might say yes?” I challenge.
“I’m never afraid for my sister,” he fires back, shoving me again.
My breath catches in my throat, and I let my gaze linger on the golden skin that peeks out from the cut-out sides of his T-shirt. His body…
“She can handle you without breaking a sweat,” he tells me.
Liv tries to reel him in. “Dallas, no.”
But I don’t want her to stop this. A ball of fire grows inside me, making my stomach dip as I right myself. I lift my chin, noticing the patio has gone silent. Everyone watches us, the people in the house crowding around the door and peering out.
I saunter closer to him again. “And what about you?”
He lets me drive him back again, his hard chest under my hands.
“Can you handle me without breaking a sweat?” I taunt.
I don’t think so.
His mouth falls open, drawing in a deep breath as he smiles. “Lucky for you”—his eyes dance—“sweating is my favorite thing.”
He pushes me again, but I vault back into place, daring him. “Keep going.”
“Dallas!” Liv growls.
Neither of us pays her any attention.
Dallas slams me back again, and I fist my fingers, dying to get a hold of him.
I tilt my neck, stretching it. “Again.”
He shoves me in the chest once, and then twice.
Nerves pop under my skin, the hair on my arms rising. If I rush him, I’m on my own. It’s tempting.
Speaking of which…
“Where are my friends right now?” I ask him.
But I see the realization hit his eyes when it dawns on him that I didn’t come in alone.
He jerks his head, howling over his shoulder, “Search for those pieces of shit!”
Men spin around, squeezing past the crowd, and I can hear their stomping through the house.
“Don’t worry,” I coo. “Your women always come back to you. We don’t want them for long.” And then I smile. “Just for fun.”
I see his fist rear back. I lock in on the snarl on his face, fucking ecstatic because if there’s anything I know about Dallas Jaeger, it’s that he doesn’t care about anything other than being disrespected.
The punch slams into my jaw, rocking my head to the right, and I breathe fast and hard. The pain spreading through my face is there. I register it.
But cool water seems to fill my gut at the same time. “Again,” I whisper.
He grabs my collar, hitting me again, my teeth cutting into my lip.
And need floods my chest to the point where my groin swells with heat.
I can’t stop.
He’s so close. I have to feel him.
Barreling into him, I run him to the ground, both of us crashing as we continue to wrestle and fight. I grip his neck, expecting to feel hands hauling me off of him at any minute, but nothing comes.
Damn near straddling him, I grapple with his hands as he glares up at me. His body tenses and flexes under me, and he yanks my shirt, tearing it half-open.
Flipping me over, he pins me to the ground, pressing his forearm on my neck.
“No matter what,” I gasp as we squirm and grind, “I’m going to win.”
He growls, putting more weight on my esophagus, his groin pressing into mine.
“You’ll still be coming to my house next week,” I whisper up to him, “and mowing my lawn.”
“Don’t you mean your daddy’s?” he breathes down on me. “You don’t have anything you weren’t given.”
The scent of soap and cigarettes lingers in the air, and I struggle against this hold, feeling something hard.