Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 26892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 134(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 134(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
Genevieve slides in first. I wait until she’s settled, watching how the skirt of her dress lifts with every shimmy of her hips, showing me more of her pretty-as-fuck thighs. I move in beside her. Genevieve’s breath rushes out when I press against her. My thigh touches hers, and I watch as her chest rises and falls rapidly.
“What do you want to drink?” I lean in, whispering. My hands fist in order to not slip between her lush thighs, wanting to feel the warmth and inch my way until I’m cupping her pussy.
“Gavin…” Her voice trails off, fingers clutching the ends of her jacket.
“Yes, baby girl?” Genevieve is about to respond, until she realizes the hostess is still standing nearby, waiting to place our menus on the table and take our drink order. Talk about shit timing all the way around.
CHAPTER THREE
gennie
“An espresso martini, please,” I say quickly to the hostess. She inputs the order in her handheld device. I should probably stay away from caffeine, especially with my nerves already on edge, but the alcohol might help calm my ever-racing heart.
“Of course. And for you, sir?” Her eyes move from the tablet to Gavin’s, and I notice her staring a smidge too long. Can’t say that I blame her. The man is burn-the-sheets-up hot.
“A Macallan, neat,” Gavin adds, his tone rich, commanding, and entirely unbothered. “We’ll also take an order of the mini lobster rolls to start.” He doesn’t bother looking at the menu in front of him.
“I’ll be right back with your order. Your server will be Ariel tonight. I hope you enjoy your dinner.” She glances from Gavin to me then takes her leave, letting the heavy curtain fall back into place.
We’re alone, really alone.
I swallow hard, staring straight at the flickering candle in the center of the table as I try my darndest and utterly fail to not fidget. My best friends begged me into buying this dress, insisting that it’s timeless, effortless, and accentuates all of the right curves. A complete one-eighty from the dress Jett suggested, which was two sizes too small thanks to some new curves I gained after kicking my ex out of my life. While most women have a glow-up, lose copious amounts of weight, I did things differently. Then again, that’s probably because said ex always talked about my weight and I was constantly starving myself to fit into a mold that isn’t me.
What my friends conveniently left out was how much skin it exposes once I actually sit down. The hem rides up a few daring inches over my thighs, and the plunging neckline suddenly feels like a siren’s song drawing every bit of light—and every bit of Gavin’s intense attention. Worse than the dress, though, is the man sitting right beside me. There isn’t an inch of space between the two of us once he slid into the curved booth, so close his broad shoulder brush against mine while his arm rests lazily along the top of the bench behind my head. The sheer heat radiating off his body has me burning up, and my flesh pebbles everywhere our bodies touch, a hum settling deep between my thighs.
I subtly shift my hips, trying to pull a fraction of an inch away to catch my breath. Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on the way you look at it, Gavin catches the movement, judging by the sharp flare of his nostrils as he inhales deeply, his eyes darkening into a shade that’s nearly black as he tracks my small adjustment.
“Genevieve,” he rumbles softly, his deep voice vibrating near my ear.
“It’s warm in here,” I manage to say, attempting to take my jacket off without wiggling in my seat any more than I already have.
“Let me.” A faint, wicked tilt touches the corner of his lips. The only problem with that is that his hands will be on me, which will do nothing to calm down my buzzing body. As it is, I give a nod before giving him my back. He pulls the fabric from the tops of my shoulders down, the tips of his fingers grazing my skin the entire way. The silence that settles between us is thick, heavy with a promise of what’s to come. It makes my mouth go dry. Once the fabric is off my body, I lean back against the leather, forcing myself to meet his piercing gaze. Up close, without the distance of a room between us, the sheer perfection of his face is overwhelming, the shadowy dusting of dark stubble and his gray eyes that seem to read my every dirty thought running through my mind.
Maybe Mischa is right: the best way to get over an ex-boyfriend is to get under a man, a real man.
“Thank you,” I begin, my voice a little lighter than I feel. “So, are you always this take charge?” He ordered our starter before I even looked at the menu.