Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 59767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 299(@200wpm)___ 239(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 299(@200wpm)___ 239(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
“Sure. I actually agree with you.” He deadpans. “I don’t want to sleep with you either, Georgie.”
“Oh.” I frowned, feeling sick to my stomach. “Really?”
He leaned in, brushed his lips over my ear, and whispered, “No, Georgie. I don’t want you to sleep at all.”
“Well, that’s good,” I mumble, and even I know that I sound forlorn. Has he changed his mind since this morning? Of course he has. His men probably told him about the rumors the town has about me. Heck most of them probably believe it. Now, he’s thinking I’m a freak and doesn’t want me at all. Bitterness boils inside of me and I have to concentrate to force the bile—that is threatening to rise from the pit of my stomach—down.
“When I get you in my bed, I’m going to fuck you senseless. Sleeping is the last thing I want,” he growls, nipping the lobe of my ear with his teeth. I walk with him like a zombie, my face on fire. He takes the bag Nana gave him and puts it in his saddlebags, before sitting down on his bike. Then, he hands me a helmet. I stare at it until I realize he means for me to ride with him.
“I can’t climb on your bike. I’m in a skirt,” I explain like he’s dimwitted.
“I noticed. It’s hot as hell,” he replies, eyes glinting. “But it’s dark. No one will see anything long as you hold onto me tightly.”
“Griffin. I can’t. This skirt is way too short! It didn’t used to be. It used to hang down to my ankles before my maniacal Nana got ahold of it with her scissors from hell. Now, even Kim Kardashian would blush wearing this!” I tell him this while I’m climbing on the damn bike because I have no brain cells. Griffin laughs the entire time I do it, enjoying the fact that he and Nana have made me insane. “It’s not funny!” I snap.
“It’s hilarious,” he counters. “But that’s not why I’m laughing. I’m doing that because I’m happy.”
I glare at him. “What on earth could you possibly be that happy about?”
He looks back at me, eyes warm. “Because if your grandmother were younger, I’d be torn and wracking my brain as I try to figure out how to get both you and her to claim me as your man. Thankfully, she’s not since I don’t think I’ve got the stamina to keep you both happy, so I’ll just stick to spoiling her and claiming you.”
“You’re crazier than Nana,” I squeak in shock.
He lets out a dry chuckle, starts the bike, and over the roar of the engine yells, “Hang on.”
I wrap my arms around him, trying not to think about how solid he feels or how good he smells. As the bike takes off, I find myself wondering if I’m going to survive the night with my heart intact—or if I’d already lost it to the man in front of me. Then, I realize that even if I did—which I highly doubt—there’s no way I’ll be a virgin by morning. I don’t have that much willpower. With that thought, I bang my head repeatedly against Griffin’s back. I hear him laughing and I sigh, enjoying the sound. I’m in so much trouble and no one is going to help me.
I don’t even want to help myself.
10 GRIFTER
I’m a steak and potatoes kind of man. Give me a bloody side of beef and I’m a happy guy. It’s usually my favorite thing ever but sitting across from Georgia, in some no-name roadhouse, I realize I’ve only been living half a life. Nothing I’ve done, experienced or dreamed could live up to the pleasure I’m feeling by having Georgia sitting here in this low-lit restaurant, wearing a peach, silk blouse tucked into her black skirt Nana had butchered into a mini skirt that makes me want to drop to my knees and worship. I’m not even going to start on the way her hair looks like she just got out of my bed. Fuck, the woman is perfection—gorgeous, dangerous, perfection.
She deserves a night out in a better place than this joint, but there’s not a large selection around here. Still, this place smells like sizzling steaks and warm butter. Soft music is being played overhead. It’s the kind of music that makes everything slow down a notch. It’s all dim lighting, dark wood and leather booths. It’s eclectic with mismatched tables in different tones of dark wood. Booths have worn leather for cushions and manage to be comfortable and welcoming all at once. I have to admit that I like it. I almost feel … civilized. The thought makes a smile pull at the corner of my lips.
I reach across the table, brushing a strand of hair from Georgia’s face. She shies away slightly, making me smile.