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)
“Delia, cut the crap. I’m here to protect you—and I don’t just mean from booze and dirty assholes up to no good. There’s more than a prissy little college brat under that innocent act. You let her out that night on the beach. It isn’t healthy to box her up. Let her out. Let yourself have some fun.” He’s so close, thundering in my ear, reminding me of the night I’ve tried so hard to forget.
My body betrays me as it always does with him.
Everything between my legs pulses.
“Chris...what are you up to?” I whisper. “I’m not in the mood for games.”
“No more games, princess. You want to live it up for once? Then take my hand. Trust me. I’m gonna give you a chance to frolic your pretty little heart out.”
8
Glitter Dream (Chris)
I’ve never changed my mind about a chick before.
I don’t do much second-guessing in general.
In my line of work—and my life—lollygagging too long to sort your shit out could mean life or death.
So I’m not sure why I feel so fucking paralyzed by the time our plane touches down on the tarmac, and Delia shakes herself awake from a catnap.
My cock throbs every time my eyes climb her curves.
Any man would drool at a chance to shake her, front to back, that hair like sweet black licorice wrapped in his hand.
A goddamned virgin? How can she be?
I’m still struggling to believe it.
I also can’t believe I didn’t take the chance to remedy that my way—all thanks to one big unhappy family bound up in a warped marriage mistake.
Why is fate such a rotten bitch?
Once the plane pulls up to the gate and she’s rubbing her eyes, I put my hand on hers, squeezing her small fingers, warming her, offering her...I don’t even know.
If she was anyone else, I’d have already conquered her.
There’d be no mystery left, and my head would be grounded in serious shit—like the need to lay low with ruthless men gunning for every member of Enguard Tactical. I okayed the trip out of town with senior leadership, of course.
If anything, they thought more distance from California sounded wise. A few guys with wives and kids already blew town days ago, heading for remote cabins in Wyoming or up to Canada, places where cartel eyes are scarcer.
Instead, my mind stays glued far closer to home.
Delia is a landmine—and one wrong misstep will blow my world apart, making her collateral damage.
“Rise and shine, princess,” I whisper, squeezing her hand tighter.
She gives me a shy, way-too-fuckable smile.
Christ, those lips.
They’re dangerous competitors with her ass, ripe strawberries begging for teeth.
Every part of her that makes it damnably hard to pick favorites.
She makes me see screaming red sex in broad daylight.
In my daydreams, I’ve got her hair in my fist and her mouth on mine, owning her soft little tongue.
I want to blow her down.
To watch her intently as she feels me detonate inside her.
To caress every last curve, to hear the music I know she makes from the beautiful way she came undone on my fingers. And I can take her apart a hundred more ways.
For now, I’ll just have to content myself with deep breaths and subtle brushes.
As we grab our carry-ons and march off the plane, I try to forget where we are.
Because what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas doesn’t feel like a rule. Not with her.
It’s a hellish invitation I can’t accept.
* * *
Half an hour later, we’ve picked up our rental vehicle and we’re heading down the main strip.
It’s been a couple years since my last time here, but I remember this city like the back of my hand.
It’s always been a natural getaway for rowdy enlisted men looking for a break from bloodshed overseas or just sheer boredom on bases. I used to hit this town whenever I’d come home, knowing it was one fun reason to put more distance between myself and Ma.
I’m not blind to the weird shit Vegas has a bad habit of dredging up, either.
Surprise, surprise—I lied my ass off to Delia when she caught me napping.
There was nothing fake about my little trip down memory lane. I know I’ve had a problem talking in my sleep that’s been getting worse the last couple years, but I didn’t know it was this serious.
Hearing me wounded, vulnerable, whatever the fuck I said about that raid, I’m not having it.
It’s too raw.
She might as well have seen me stark naked—and that would’ve been a lot more fun than showing off my psychological nudity. Especially when I know she’s soaking in everything I say, wanting to crack my head open and look inside for her paper.
If Delia wants a lab rat, she’s not getting shit.
I may not mind helping her with mundane details about what I do, but when it comes to specifics, fuck no.