Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86335 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86335 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
“Seriously?”
Nate laughs. “Next time, I’ll bite your hand.” He playfully snaps his teeth together as if taking a bite out of the air, and I can’t help but laugh as well.
I take a sip of my drink, and it’s perfect.
“Taste it and tell me Kingston’s isn’t more flavorful than the crap you’re drinking,” I say, sliding my drink toward Nate so he can try it.
Nate glances from the drink to my mouth and then leans in. “Okay, but only if I can taste it off your lips.”
Wait, what?
“You want to…” I breathe, the air in the room suddenly thick with sexual tension.
“Taste you,” he finishes, his mouth only a whisper away from mine. “Say yes,” he murmurs.
And because there’s no other answer I want to give, I do just that.
I haven’t even finished saying the three-letter word before Nate’s fingers are wrapping around the back of my neck and he’s pulling my face toward his to do exactly what he said—taste me.
His tongue traces the seam of my lips, and when I exhale, it slips into my mouth, stroking, teasing, caressing.
“Mmm,” he murmurs against my mouth. “Delicious.”
And then he breaks the kiss, leaving me wanting more.
“You’re right,” he says, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth. “Your liquor tastes way better. It’s almost…addictive.”
Holy shit. This man is sex personified.
I lift my glass and down my drink in one go, welcoming the warmth from the whiskey. Then, I stand, needing to escape before I do something I might regret.
“What about dinner?” Nate asks, standing as well.
“I’m exhausted,” I tell him since it’s not a lie. “It’s been a long day and…” I glance from his eyes to his mouth, remembering the way his lips felt against mine—soft yet strong. “I can’t believe I only just arrived in London this morning. It feels like I’ve been here for a week.”
Nate chuckles and nods in understanding.
“So, tomorrow…” he says, trailing his words and leaving the ball in my court to either pick them up or leave them hanging.
When we were on our way back to the hotel, I mentioned there was still so much to see, and he offered to join me tomorrow. The smart choice would be to walk away now, but the thought of never seeing him again has me thinking like an idiot.
“How about we meet down here at nine o’clock?” I suggest.
“Sounds good.”
Nate insists on paying for the drinks, and once he’s signed the check, we head over to the elevators. He presses the button for the one I’m getting on since different elevators are for different floors, and once it arrives, he says, “If you need anything, my number is—”
I’m shaking my head before he can finish, but then he clarifies, “My room number is 1714,” and I release a breath of relief.
“I mean it, Paige, if you need anything”—he steps closer and lifts my chin so our eyes meet—“call me.”
Then, he leans in and presses a soft kiss on my forehead, and those damn butterflies make another appearance.
“Good night,” he murmurs. “Sweet dreams.”
With his words lingering, I step onto the elevator and press my floor number while wondering how the hell I’m going to get any sleep after that damn kiss that still has my body vibrating.
When I get to my room, I spot the large Jacuzzi tub I forgot about, and an idea forms. Nothing helps a woman fall asleep quicker than an orgasm. Nate might be physically off-limits for my own well-being, but that doesn’t mean I can’t think about him.
And, holy shit, do I think about him…twice.
chapter six
NATE
“Why did Nolan tell me you skipped out on all your meetings yesterday and you’re planning to do the same today?”
I curse my assistant, who’s supposed to have my back and not spill shit to my dad, while I try to think of a valid excuse as to why I flew all the way to London to attend meetings about the hotel expansion, only to bail on them all.
When I can’t come up with a believable excuse, I go with the truth. “I met a woman.”
Stunned by my response, he doesn’t say anything for several moments. And when he finally speaks, he’s no longer in CEO mode, but instead talking to me as my father.
“What’s her name?”
“Paige Abrams. She tripped over some cobblestone, and I saved her from getting run over in the valet line.”
Dad chuckles. “Well, that saved the company a lot of insurance paperwork.”
“She’s only here until Monday.”
I know that from seeing her reservation and looking up the wedding that’s being held here. Friday is the rehearsal and dinner, Saturday is the wedding, and she’s checking out on Monday morning, which leaves me today and Sunday to convince her to give me her number. I already tried to get it from the hotel, but the number on file is local, so it’s probably her ex’s.