Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 141281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Her date cleaned up halfway decent, too. He looks a little more civilized in his suit, even if it seems like it’s a size too small.
“Delia, darling!” She gives me her best cringey high-class accent, pecking me sharply on each cheek. “Where’s your handsome soldier boy?”
The warm smile I greet her with vanishes.
She’s already way too fixated on my badass date, tempting me to tell her point-blank why he’s off-limits.
Because apparently her own man with abs you could cook an egg on isn’t reason enough.
But I force my sweetest smile and nod politely at the beast-man behind her, and then lean in.
“He’ll be here soon, Marnie. Why don’t you guys go mingle? The bar’s open and stocked up with everything worth sipping. Mix your guy a mojito for a change!”
“Oh, fine. We’ll do it your way.” She rolls her eyes and stalks past in a huff.
Crisis averted. For now.
I’m about to head after her, hoping I can smooth things over, but somebody grabs me by the shoulder just as I start moving.
I know it’s Chris before we’re face-to-face and his lips are on mine.
Nobody else touches me like the man who holds a deed to every square inch of me.
“Sneaky jerk,” I hiss once his tongue glides off mine. “Did they teach you kissing ambushes when you were a SEAL?”
“Nah. Handling my woman comes naturally. I came ready for you tonight, princess. And fuck, you’re looking the part tonight.” He steps back with a hot glint in his eye so I can finally see his costume.
Call me Cinderella.
I almost fall over into his arms, swooning my life out like some awestruck regency romance heroine.
His formal uniform clings tight to the hard, tattooed muscle underneath.
It’s an elegant white jacket that’s almost tuxedo-like, studded with enough medals on one side to shame a Christmas tree.
The buttons part his magnificent chest evenly.
When I look up to his face again, I notice the final touch. I can’t stop laughing with amazement.
“A bow tie? Are you freaking kidding?”
“That was my touch. It’s not totally up to code, but close enough.” He smiles and shrugs. “Guess you’ve never seen a Navy dinner dress before. You wanted your prince, so here the fuck he is.”
“Um, I meant something more fairy tale like...”
His eyebrows shoot up.
“You’re telling me this ain’t good enough, Your Highness?” He thumps his chest, his eyes flashing knowingly.
My hand flutters out and flattens against his chest. I slowly skim my nails down his outfit, feeling his hard body underneath.
“I mean...we’ll make do,” I whisper, feeling faint.
Understatement of the century.
The man is a badass warrior, a knight, and a dream all rolled into one.
If it wasn’t for the tiny splash of ink sneaking out one cuff where his tattoo ends on the back of one hand, nobody would ever guess at the god underneath.
“Whatever. This monkey suit feels about as antiquated as this Bridgerton shit. Not my style, but orders are orders, and you’re queen of this bash tonight.” He winks.
The heat between my legs bristles.
Dear God.
I already want to rip it right off like he’s my own personal surprise present.
Something about the formal second skin only accents the perfection underneath. A reminder of how he can transport me to another place where the world drops out and I’m caught in steaming kisses and loud sighs.
“Shit, woman. Sometimes I think you’re hornier than I am.” His eyes tell me I’m not the only one having eye-sex here.
With a feral grin, Chris sneaks in a rough pat on the ass and takes my hand.
My thick dress muffles his touch, but it’s enough to get me moving, gladly holding him by the arm.
Meanwhile, the doorbell keeps ringing behind us every few minutes, letting in more of Marnie’s people, plus a few acquaintances from school.
Tonight, I’m thankful she handles all the party planning crap and joins in as co-host.
She may come without a filter, but she vets good people—mostly—the type who like to get plastered with drunken laughter and then sneak off with their dates.
We’ve never had anyone underhanded or high in this house who’d go stealing china or light a bathroom trash can on fire with a misplaced joint.
We saunter into the big dining room off the kitchen.
The massive doors yawn open to the back, welcoming everyone to fill the pool deck outside and the beach beyond.
Frowning, I see several people have already lost their suits and dresses. They’re stripped down to bare essentials and crowding the pool.
“That didn’t take long,” I say, tugging on Chris’ arm and pointing.
He chuckles. “What? You expect people to wander around all evening in these getups and bake? Let ’em cool off, Delia. I’ll help you do the same soon enough.”
I elbow him gently. I don’t like it when he chides me, even if he’s completely right.
Always so bossy and sure of himself.