Total pages in book: 44
Estimated words: 42237 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 211(@200wpm)___ 169(@250wpm)___ 141(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 42237 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 211(@200wpm)___ 169(@250wpm)___ 141(@300wpm)
Marshall’s jaw tightens, his blue eyes blazing into my own baby blues.
“I said go to your room, Kendall.”
I sneer at him. “And I said no.”
There’s growl low in his throat, and I gasp as he suddenly marches across the room, storming right into me. And with a gasp, I step back against the wall behind me, pulse racing, skin tingling, and body aching for him as he rumbles right into me. Heat flames across his face, and when his hands press to the wall on either side of me, pinning me there, I can feel my core tightening.
“Kendall.”
“Marshall,” I toss back. I watch his jaw tick, his eyes blazing something fierce right into mine. And suddenly, I realize it was a mistake letting him get this close to me. Because Marshall Bane, looming over me, his rock-hard body inches from pressing against mine, his masculine scent utterly intoxicating, and those gorgeous blue eyes blazing right into me, is a recipe for my being totally, utterly, and undeniably wet.
My nipples strain against my tank top, and as my breath catches, I tremble under his gaze.
“Go to your room,” he growls.
I laugh. “Excuse me?”
Marshall’s jaw tightens. “Go to your damn room. You’re grounded for the summer.”
I bark out a laugh. “You’re not my dad,” I spit. “And let’s be clear. You bought a girl’s virginity. A young, barely legal—”
“You said you were twenty.”
“I lied.”
Marshall’s jaw clenches again.
“No shit.”
There’s a thickness to the air—a heat that pulses through the room. And I swear, he moves closer. I can feel him inching closer, the power of him pulsing over me like teasing waves, making my skin tingle and my core tighten. Making me squeeze my thighs tight together and shiver at the forbidden heat that pools between them.
He moves even closer, and when I feel the heat of him against my skin and smell the masculine scent of him invading my senses, it’s everything I can do to hold back the moan. Because right now, this isn’t just the mystery man from online who I sold my v-card too. This is Marshall Bane—totally gorgeous, totally forbidden, totally has-had-me-twisted-up-tangled-up-and-aching-for-him for years Marshall Bane.
Mr. Bane. My best friend’s dad.
My eyes dart to his lips, and they’re so close to mine that I can smell the mint on his breath and feel the heat of it against my own. My mouth trembles, my body tightens, bracing and aching for him to close the distance and just take what he’s already paid for.
Like I said, when it comes to Mr. Bane? I’d have given him my virginity. Any. Damn. Time. He. Wants.
He moves closer, my breath catches, and a hot, teasing ache tingles through every inch of my body. I close my eyes, my lips come together, I lean into him…
“Go to your room, Kendall.”
I blink, and suddenly, the moment’s shattered. I open my eyes to see Marshal backing away from me, his face pale, his eyes blue fire as he slowly shakes his head.
“We’re never speaking of this again.”
“I think we should talk—”
“And I don’t think we should, or will,” he growls. He swallows thickly, and when his eyes drop from my face to slowly tease down over my bra-less tank top, and down further to my tiny bikini bottoms, and then all the way down my legs before teasing right back over me, a throb of heat pulses through me.
Marshall blinks, yanking his eyes away from me, grabbing his shirt, and storming past me, right out the door.
Chapter 3
Marshall
The ice clinks in my glass—my third since coming up here. I pause my pacing just long enough to raise the glass to my lips, taking a deep pull of the whiskey, letting it burn down my throat before I start to pace again—back and forth across my bedroom floor by the windows.
I’m on edge—pulsing, throbbing. I’m twitchy for fuck’s sake, like there’s an energy in me that’s roaring to explode free of me. Part of it—a huge part of it, is the bomb that just detonated in the very middle of my life—the cold, heart-stopping realization that my fantasy girl, the one I was to take to bed tonight and take for the very first time, isn’t actually a mystery girl at all.
…She’s the fucking eighteen-year-old from down the street who I watched grow up.
I knock back another swig of whiskey, teeth grinding as I continue to pace. I’m trying to think this whole thing through, as if it’s any other problem or hurdle in my life. And if I can think it through from beginning to end, a solution will present itself.
But I already know that’s bullshit.
This isn’t some market drop to counter. This isn’t a competitor getting a drop on new information before me or trying to headhunt my talent. This is just bigger than all of that shit. This matters more and has more gravity. And then of course, the other problem is that I can’t fucking think straight. And a big part of that is that I was supposed to be getting laid right now. I glance at the clock and grimace.