Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 84635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
“Guess who?”
Wrenching my neck to break her clingy grasp, I rose and moved to the sideboard to pour myself another drink. “Who let you in, Skylar?”
She slinked her arm over the back of the oxblood leather sofa, stretching her upper body along its length. The movement pushed the already low neckline of her cocktail dress even lower, exposing her generous, if man-made, curves.
She missed her mark.
Whatever feelings I might have had for her died the day I found her on her knees, with my former friend’s cock down her throat. That she’d also been feeding Worthington corporate secrets to said former friend—Greyson Stockford of Stockford Enterprises— and costing me a five-billion-dollar defense contract, only confirmed what she was.
Still, if Greyson hadn’t been so eager to learn about my latest engineering secrets, I might have actually married the disloyal bitch, so in the end, it had been worth it.
She bit her overly plumped lower lip and, in a babyish voice which made my skin crawl, cooed, “Oh, Piercy, why are you so mean to me?” Rising, she ran her hands over her hips as she closed the distance between us.
All I saw was a snake uncoiling across the floor.
Her palms smoothed the lapels of my suit. “Haven’t you forgiven me yet for that teensy teeny tiny mistake?” she pouted. “It’s been aaaaaages.”
Gazing down at Skylar’s long, elegant fingers, each tip a glistening, perfectly polished crimson claw, my mind flashed back to a different pair of hands on my suit lapels.
Hands with chipped yellow polish clutching at me in desperation while quivering lips begged me for mercy.
Madison.
It should have been easy. A quick and dirty setup. I’d done it before, usually against corporate targets. The fact that this time it was personal should not have made a difference.
So why couldn’t I stop thinking about her? About the taste of her? About the sight of her sweet mouth with my come coating her pretty pink tongue? About how badly I wanted to know what it would feel like to drive my cock deep inside of her?
Stepping back from Skylar, I took my seat before the fire again. “I’m firing Tompkins if he ever lets you in again.”
My elderly butler had always had a soft spot for her. She’d been coming around the estate since she was a girl, her parents’ horse farm just across the county line. At one point, we had been the golden couple.
Skylar sat on the upholstered arm of my chair and snatched the glass from my hand. “You and I both know you’ll never fire Tompkins. He’s an institution here.” She took a sip and handed the tumbler back.
I set it aside. “Leave, Skylar. I’m in no mood.”
She shrugged and stood, placing her body between mine and the fire. The glow of the flames outlined her curves through the thin gauze of her dress. “I thought you’d be in a celebrating mood after that spectacle in court today.”
My gaze snapped up to hers. I let the silence stretch a beat before answering. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Grasping the armrests of my chair, she leaned down, exposing a view of her cleavage. “Nice try.”
I picked up the tumbler and took a long slow sip, observing her over the rim, and waited. In business, the secret was to keep your mouth shut and let your opponent show their hand first.
Skylar leaned in and whispered in my ear, “I know all about your little video switch.”
I sucked an ice cube into my mouth and crushed it between my teeth, considering which of the few people involved in doctoring the traffic cam footage had spoken to her. Whoever it was had just signed away their future.
She took the drink from my hand a second time and drained it.
Handing the empty glass back to me, she sashayed over to the sideboard. Ice cubes rattled against crystal. She pulled the top off the Macallan Lalique decanter and splashed three fingers as if it were some cheap rail brand. With the glass cradled between her breasts, she leaned against the sideboard and held my stare.
In the low light, her pale green eyes had little effect on me.
“Come on, Piercy. You used to trust me.”
I’d always hated that nickname. It made me sound like a lapdog.
“That time has long since passed, Skylar.”
She dropped her eyes to her drink. “Remember when we snuck off to Paris and pretended we didn’t have any money?”
Her voice had changed. The syrupy baby talk was gone. This was the Skylar I remembered from before—the one who could be reckless and real and actually funny when she forgot to calculate every move.
I ran my finger through the condensation on my glass. “You wanted a true bohemian experience.”
“We stayed in that dirty little hostel for a week drinking trash wine out of a jug and spent hours in the park playing Belote with the locals.” Her thumb traced the rim of her glass, and for a moment she wasn’t looking at me at all. She was somewhere else entirely. Somewhere we’d been happy, or close enough to it.