Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 73580 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 294(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73580 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 294(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
My stomach rumbles. The clock tells me it’s almost time for dinner, and I’m wondering if I can get a drink to go with it. Something to dull all the shit going on in my brain right now. But I doubt His Majesty will allow even that concession. He lives to piss me off.
It might not even be worth it to leave my room. If I wait long enough, I can sneak out later and grab something when he’s off, I don’t know, breathing down someone else’s neck.
I barely have time to reconsider, my stomach growling, when Michail marches into my room, without knocking, as usual.
He tosses another skimpy bit of material on the bed then sits a tray of food beside it. “Eat, get dressed. We are going down to the floor tonight. We have some work to do.”
His eyes are cold today, his curls swept away from his face in disarray, like he’s been combing his fingers through them. “You have a half hour to meet me at the door.”
I glare and stay on my side on the bed. “I heard you. You can go now.”
Grinding his jaw, he spins and walks out. I’ll pay for my attitude later, I’m sure. His Highness doesn’t like to be disrespected. I sit up and feel the silky fabric. It’s navy-blue tonight, so at least I have shoes to match since he didn’t leave me any.
I move the tray into my lap, scarf down the vegetable stew, and then head into the bathroom to dress. I don’t have time to wash my hair, so I put it up with a couple of hair sticks and leave a few strands hanging around my face. It takes me longer to get into the skintight dress than it does to finish my makeup. In the end, I slip on my shoes and walk out to meet him at the door. He’s standing there in a black-on-black suit, his hair slicked back, checking his watch.
I turn to face away from him. “Can you zip this, please? I swear if the dresses you give me get any smaller, I’ll be better off just walking out of here naked.”
His hands are warm against the bare skin of my back, and I suppress a shudder. I also ignore the way my heart picks up a heavy beat until his warmth and scent move away again.
I turn to face him, jaw tense. “Well, let’s get this over with. Can I get a drink with whatever fresh hell you’ve got planned for tonight?”
He opens the door without a word and motions for me to go first. But I barely pass him when he snags my hand, rips the ring off it, and drops it into his front pocket. There’s no use questioning him, so I keep going. In the hall, we walk to the elevator and step inside. Every damn time we get into the steel, mirror lined box, my heart rate doubles.
As usual, he shakes out his shoulders, straightens, then wraps his arm around my waist to pull me in close. “Put on your game face so we can get to work.”
I want to pry his fingers off me, mostly because I feel even more unsteady when he’s touching me, but I don’t. Instead, I plaster on a dim-witted smile and lean into him. Just in time for the doors to slide open, revealing the hotel lobby and the start of the casino floor.
He leads me around the machines, his fingers tightening on my waist so I can only hold on to him in return, stumbling along in my heels.
When we reach the club, the music is blaring, a thumping bass which reaches into me, vibrating me from head to toe. It only takes a few minutes to get to the VIP section, the same one we occupied last time, and take our seats.
A server brings a bottle of whiskey, some ice, and two glasses. Michail hands her some bills, and she disappears.
I point at the glasses and wrap my left thigh over his. “Want to pour me a drink, lover?”
He doesn’t miss a beat, leaning forward to pour us both a couple fingers of whiskey, then drop two ice cubes in each glass.
I reach out to take it from him, but he brings the glass to my lips, his eyes steady, heated, on mine. “Drink.”
Unable to slap him, or his hand away, I latch onto his wrist, lick the edge of the highball glass where a drop of liquid slipped over, then let him pour the alcohol onto my tongue.
When it’s gone, he swigs back the other glass and slides them onto the low table again. “Keep your ears open,” he whispers into my neck. Then leaves a little bite that zips through my system faster than the alcohol did. In seconds, I’m wet and aching. Fuck him and how easily he gets to me.