Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 88992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
I snort. “Do you think I want to marry you?” I roll my eyes, finally emboldened by the alcohol. “I want orgasms, not a ring. It’s easier to buy myself jewelry than to make myself come.”
“Holy fuck.”
I giggle. Maybe I’m not too bad at this.
“If I help you, will you do me a favor?” he asks. “And you’re free to say no.”
“Yes. I’ll do it.”
He laughs. “I haven’t even told you what it is yet.”
“The answer is still yes.” You’re offering me the key to finding myself, Brooks. You can have whatever you want. “Deal?”
“My license to fight is in the process of reinstatement in Nevada,” he says, void of humor. “And due to a few things out of my control, it may or may not be approved. And I need it approved.” His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. “And I think in a sick twist of fate that your brother is the new appointee on the council who gets to decide whether I can fight again or not.”
There are no chuckles or smiles, no grins or innuendos. He watches me with the seriousness of a judge.
“So you want me to put in a good word for you?” I ask. “Is that what you’re asking me to do?”
“If you’re comfortable doing that. If not, it’s okay. I don’t want you to do anything you don’t feel right doing.”
“Of course, it’s fine. Even if Drew doesn’t like you, he loves me. I’m happy to give him the best piece of advice he’ll ever get from his little sister, which is please say yes to Brooks Dempsey’s fight license so I can finally have sex.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” He sits back in one swift move and runs a hand down his face. “How long has it been?”
“Since I had sex? I don’t know. Three hundred and fifty-five and a quarter days, I think.”
The air around us dances with an electrical current that’s unmistakable. If anyone lights a match in our vicinity, the whole place will blow up. A woman stops at our table and says hello to Brooks, but he doesn’t even look her way.
He covers his mouth, searching my face as if he’s looking for the answer to a question I can’t hear. I don’t know what to say, and I’ve probably said too much. Instead, I just sit and fight the beer in my stomach, trying not to rip off my clothes and lie on the table in front of him.
“If you don’t want to do this, I can find someone else,” I say. “There is a room full of men behind me. I’m sure one of them could be persuaded to take me home—especially since I’m willing to barter for it.”
His lips press into a tight, thin line. “I wouldn’t suggest that.”
I kind of want to try now just to see what happens because, my gosh, that’s sexy.
“If we do this, we do it my way,” he says, studying me.
“What does that mean?”
“That means that for the next week, you’re mine.” He licks his lips slowly as I try not to gasp. “We’ll have fun. We’ll fuck.” There’s no denying my sudden intake of oxygen, which makes him smirk. “But we’ll do it in a way that makes it easy to walk away when the time comes.”
“Perfect. Does the clock start now? Because I’m a stickler when it comes to time management.”
He laughs, shaking his head. “I’m going to have Jasper and his girlfriend drive you home since you’ve been drinking. Jasper can drive your Jeep so you have it, and then they can ride back together. I’ll come out and talk to you tomorrow. Okay?”
“What?” My hand rubs my right thigh, fingering the scar just beneath the denim. “I thought …” So, no one-night stand?
He stands, coming to the side of the table. He leans down, his lips hovering over mine. They don’t quite touch, but they’re close enough to taste the beer on his breath. The mixture of his hot breath with the piney alcohol makes me moan.
“My way,” he whispers, his lips brushing mine.
I exhale, depleting my lungs of oxygen as he pulls away and wades through the crowd to find Jasper.
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
Audrey
“What. The. Heck?” I groan, rolling over in bed.
The sound comes again, echoing through the cabin. I thought I dreamed it. Apparently not.
Knock! Knock! Knock!
“Ugh.” My stomach gurgles as I roll the other way, laying one palm flat against it. “What time is it?” I bat around on the nightstand until I feel my phone. It takes more coordination than necessary to click the button on the side. “It’s noon?”
Knock! Knock! Knock!
“Oh, for the love of goodness,” I grumble, sliding my feet to the hardwood. The floor is cold beneath my toes, and I consider saying, “Forget it” and climbing back into bed. But the knocking is relentless.