Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 31582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 158(@200wpm)___ 126(@250wpm)___ 105(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 158(@200wpm)___ 126(@250wpm)___ 105(@300wpm)
“Isn’t your girlfriend going to be pissed, knowing I’m here?” she asks. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she sounds jealous.
“I don’t have a girlfriend,” I grunt. Never had, although not for a lack of interest when I was a teen, but I helped with the family business here a lot after school, which was my father’s intent. He didn’t want us chasing girls and experimenting with drugs like so many boys did. He’d worked hard to have the American dream and wanted the same for us. After a while, that ambition coursed through our veins as well, and we didn’t look anywhere besides building our wealth.
I stare at the wall as I wait for the next words out of her mouth that shoot out like venom. “So you just have women’s clothes lying around?”
“No. Those are my cousin’s.” I tell a half-truth because the panties and bra with the tags on them are brand new that I bought just for Isabelle. I knew they’d be sexy on her, and I selfishly pictured her in them many nights.
“Oh.” I can’t see her reaction, and I shamefully want to turn around.
“Well, get dressed. I’ll find you something to eat.” My voice is hoarse with need.
“I’m not hungry.” I can almost picture Isabelle’s arms crossing over her chest with a grumble.
“Are you going to fight me on everything?” I’m losing my mind because she’s being difficult when she probably just needs to eat.
“Are you going to be rude as hell?”
“Rude?” Have I been rude? Scared, worried, protective—but rude? My phone takes that moment to ring so I don’t answer her question. Why does her attitude strangely turn me on? Do I feed off her attitude, or just having her this close, speaking to me at all?
“I need to change. I really need my bag from the car. Shit,” she mutters to herself.
“Excuse me.” I walk out of the room without looking back so she can’t see my massive cock stretching my pants.
“Sir, are you well?” Rita asks as I don my outerwear for another battle with the snow. The gas in the snowmobile is still almost full and there is a storage container under the seat, so hopefully I only need to make one trip.
“Yes, Rita. I’ll be back in a few minutes. Could you make some hot cocoa?” I know she can’t cook for the life of her, but maybe that would be easy. My brother bought tons of it for this week.
“Yes, Franco.” I throw open the front door or maybe the wind does, but Rita closes it behind me as I trudge down my stone steps to the garage. I start the vehicle and head back down the road as icy winds slap my face repeatedly until I’m numb from the cold pain.
About a foot of snow surrounds her car, blocking the door, but I yank on it several times, grateful that the snow hasn’t hardened just yet. If it had been compacted, I’d have to figure out another way in. Her keys are in the cup holder because she has a push-start ignition, and I hit the unlock button, but leave them in place because no one’s coming to steal it and maybe it’ll be easier for the tow truck to get it once they clear the roads.
Her phone pings, so I see it light up and pocket it. Then I go looking in the back seat to see a pretty pink duffle bag. Throwing it over my shoulder, I reach for the keys and pop the trunk. Damn it, two trips it is. I hurry back and forth.
Once I step back into the house, I take the food to the kitchen. As I approach the door, I hear what I don’t want to hear.
Chapter Eight
Isabelle
I look at the fabric in front of me. The expensive tags are still on them, so that’s good to know. I have a million questions, but I don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Although I suppose I already did that when I snapped about having a girlfriend. God, how pathetically jealous did I sound? I could kick myself, still I need to get dressed before he comes back.t
Slipping on the lace panties, I love the color mauve and the way it looks against my pale skin. I clasp the bra in the back, slide the straps over my shoulders, and adjust my breasts, which are nearly spilling out. So this is what money feels like? Nice.
I make good money, but not the kind that can buy this kind of underwear. The bra itself is a dream; although it has an underwire, for some reason it doesn’t dig in or feel uncomfortable. I’ll have to Google this brand and see if they make a cheaper knock-off or maybe check one of the outlet stores for last season’s things.