Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 73225 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73225 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Cartel leverage, desperate suitors, threatening notes—those I can handle.
Falling for the woman I’m hired to protect? That’s the enemy I never trained for.
18
Charlotte
Am I really doing this? I pause in front of the full-length mirror, fingertips grazing the cool glass as I size up my reflection. My heart hammers, and I give my hair a few brave flicks—gentle teasing at the roots, soft fluff around my face. Why yes, I am.
I step into the lacy black lingerie I bought with Melanie’s enthusiastic encouragement: a delicate balconette bra with scalloped edges and matching cheeky panties. The silk brush against my skin sends a thrill up my spine. In the mirror, I adjust the bra strap, tugging it into place until it fits just right. My stomach flutters low with nerves, anticipation, and excitement all tangling together.
I inhale deeply, reminding myself of the way Asher’s eyes linger on me when he thinks I’m not looking. The kindness in his gaze, the longing. He wants this, right? I guess there’s only one way to find out.
My hand slides to the doorknob—cold metal grounding me—and I turn it. The door clicks softly open.
Asher is on the bed, one knee bent, propped against the headboard, scrolling through his phone. The evening light filters through sheer curtains, casting a warm, golden glow across the room. It feels like the perfect moment.
He glances up, phone lowering. In that instant—when his eyes meet mine—time slows. He freezes, every breath caught in his chest. Then he sets the phone aside, his gaze drinking me in, gray eyes wide and unblinking.
I watch him, heart pounding, as he takes in the lace and silk, the curve of my neckline, the way the shadows highlight my skin. It’s as if he’s memorizing every detail. A slow, deep smile curls his lips, and I realize—this is exactly what I hoped for.
I watch Asher rise, the hem of his T-shirt brushing the top of his jeans, muscles shifting under soft fabric. He moves toward me in long, confident strides.
His voice drops to a rough whisper the moment he reaches me. “Wow. You’re breathtaking.”
My pulse jumps, and I manage a small breathless sound. “Thank you.” The words escape me in a rush of heat and anticipation.
He cups my cheek with one large hand, thumb tracing the curve of my jaw. His touch sends a jolt straight to my core. “Charlotte,” he murmurs, his breath warm against my temple, “are you sure?”
I lock my gaze on his, that fierce gray fire he hides behind professional calm. All the fluttering nerves vanish. “I’m very sure, Asher.”
A low growl rumbles in his chest, and he leans in, thumb gliding down my cheek, across my jaw, to the broken edge of lace against my collarbone. “I’ve been imagining this on you. Dying to see you in it.”
Heat blossoms white-hot beneath my skin. I curl a finger around his wrist. “Really?”
He nods, voice husky. “Yeah.”
“Do I live up to the fantasy?” I whisper, tipping my head back slightly.
His hands tighten around my waist, pulling me flush against him. “More than live up to it,” he breathes into my lips. “You have no idea how often I’ve… thought about this.”
I reach up, fingers fanning across his chest, savoring the muscle beneath. “Tell me.” My voice is silk edged with challenge. “Tell me how often you’ve thought about me.”
He tilts his head, lips brushing my ear as he whispers, “Every second since the moment I met you.”
A tremor of joy and desire catches in my throat. I lean back to meet his gaze, truth shimmering there. “Same.”
He doesn’t hesitate. His mouth captures mine in a fierce, hungry kiss—strong and possessive, yet feather-light in his tenderness. Our lips mold together, tongues exploring in a dance I’ve dreamed of but never believed would really happen. I cling to him, fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck, as though holding on for dear life—and he is, for me, my lifeline.
The kiss deepens, and he guides us toward the bed. Each movement is synchronized, a wordless conversation of need and promises.
He lowers himself onto the edge of the mattress, and I straddle him, knees on either side, heat pooling deliciously beneath me. His hands rest on my hips, thumbs stroking small circles that make my breath hitch.
“This goes against every protocol,” Asher whispers, his gray eyes dark with desire and conflict. “I shouldn’t be doing this.”
“But you are,” I reply, voice soft but steady. I lean forward, resting my forehead against his. “And I’m so glad you are.”
He smiles at me—slow, grateful, as though this moment is more gift than indulgence—and captures my lips again. The kiss becomes urgent, frantic almost as his grip on me tightens.
He flips me in one quick movement, and my back slams against the mattress. Asher’s on top of me in a flash, his eyes boring into mine with an undeniable hunger and need. “I’m going to show you exactly what I’ve been dreaming about. I’m going to make you succumb to every single desire I’ve had.”