Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 99981 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 333(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99981 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 333(@300wpm)
“Of course,” I agree as she turns to go.
She doesn’t ask me to leave, but I’m pretty sure my invitation to next year’s ball is going to get lost in the mail.
“Oh my God,” I say when the whole group has disappeared. “Didn’t I tell you I would mess this up?”
Trent laughs and pulls me in for a hug. The smell of his cologne is better than anything I’ve ever experienced in my entire life, hands down.
I have never smelled a better-smelling human.
“It’s fine. She thought you were funny.”
“She thinks I’m a threat to national security.”
“Maybe,” he teases, and I pull back from his hold enough to glare. “But you’re the most beautiful terrorist I’ve ever seen.”
“That’s not funny at all, Junior.”
“It is. You can’t see it now, but you will later, trust me.”
“Can we just drink and overeat on carbs now, please?” I beg. “I need something I’m good at. And I’m a world champion at stuffing my face.”
He places a soft kiss to my lips—just enough to wake my shit up. Hello, we’re on a date, and your vagina, despite low usage, is still very much aware of how this works.
“We can eat and drink as much as you want. But first, I’d really like to dance.”
“Dance?” I question. “You dance?”
“With you?” he clarifies. “Definitely. With you, I dance all night.”
With teasing and taunting and flirty little kisses, Trent and I spent the rest of the Mardi Gras ball in our own little world. He laughed at my jokes and played with my hair, and by the end of the night, even I thought I was the most beautiful woman in the room.
As a boss, Trent Turner is a formidable man. As a neighbor, he’s almost frighteningly quiet and easy to get along with, and as a friend, he’s a funny match for my banter and open to a good time.
But as a date…he is on a whole other level. He charms. He swoons. He fucking sweeps you off your feet and catches you perfectly with a tight grip on your hand and a winning smile.
He kisses you when he should and gives you space when you need it, and not once did he try to get me to change something about myself.
It was the best fucking date I’ve ever had in my life.
We danced. We drank. We talked. We laughed ourselves silly. And now, we’re in an Uber, heading back to our building.
Trent’s hand is on my thigh, and his long fingers gently massage my skin through my dress.
It’s such a simple gesture. A light touch. A little massage. But fuck, it’s slowly driving me insane. All I can think about is his fingers sliding under my dress and touching me between my thighs.
I am achy and throbbing, and it feels like sexual tension has been building between us for an eternity.
Even when we were hating each other, it was there, an undeniable pull, an irresistible attraction. And now, tonight, after experiencing what it’s like to go on a date with Trent, I feel my mind spinning with all sorts of possibilities of how I want this night to go.
Fuck, I haven’t felt this kind of pull since that New Year’s Eve party.
And, honestly, even that experience with the man wearing the Walt mask doesn’t come close to what I’m feeling right now.
I need him.
I want him.
And hell’s bells, I don’t want it to end with a simple kiss goodnight outside our doors.
When the Uber pulls up to our building, Trent helps me out of the car, and hand in hand, we head through the entrance, past the lobby, and onto the elevator.
The cart is silent as we step on, and when the doors begin to shut, I have the insane urge to mold my body to his and kiss that perfect mouth of his so hard it might bruise.
I stare down at my heels and try to calm my near-panting breaths.
But the feel of Trent’s fingers underneath my chin urge my eyes to his. He is mere inches from me now, his chest just barely brushing against mine, and he stares down at me with an intensity that has my heart kicking up in a fast and unsteady rhythm.
“Greer,” he whispers my name like a fucking prayer, and a shiver rolls up my spine.
And before I can respond, before I can tell him I want to spend the night with him, he presses his mouth to mine in a hard and deep kiss.
I moan, and he slips his tongue inside my mouth.
Fuck. He tastes good. He always tastes good.
We kiss until we’re breathless.
We kiss until I’m completely lost in him.
We kiss until the elevator rides up and down the floors of our building more times than I can comprehend.
“Fuck, Greer, I need you,” he whispers against my mouth. “Come home with me.”