Total pages in book: 21
Estimated words: 19627 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 98(@200wpm)___ 79(@250wpm)___ 65(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 19627 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 98(@200wpm)___ 79(@250wpm)___ 65(@300wpm)
"I might," she grumbles without heat, trying to inch her chair away. I just hook my foot around the leg, making it impossible for her to go anywhere. "You're already on my nerves."
I choose to ignore her. "First rule, no mixing business and pleasure."
"That's an excellent idea," she says, her shoulders sagging as she practically beams at me. "That's precisely what I've been trying to say. I'm glad we're on the same page."
We're absolutely not on the same page.
"I'm glad we agree," I say anyway. "We're here for pleasure, not business. We can discuss that later."
Her mouth pops open, her expression shocked.
I crook a finger beneath her chin, gently closing her mouth. "You're going to want to keep that closed if you don't want me taking a taste." I dip my head, pressing it against her ear. "I've been thinking about it since you got here. Best not to tempt a desperate man."
She whimpers. Actually fucking whimpers.
Goddamn. If she isn't in my bed soon, I'm ripping this whole city apart.
"Second rule," I say, trying to stay on task before everyone in this restaurant gets a show they didn't pay to see. I have a feeling exhibitionism is strictly off the table—no pun intended. Actually, I know it is, because the thought of anyone seeing her naked has me feeling particularly homicidal. "I won't be sharing you."
"You…" she splutters, her cheeks turning pink.
"I mean it, baby. I don't share." I tip her head back, forcing her to meet my gaze. "I plan to be a jealous asshole when it comes to you."
"We aren't even dating!" she cries softly.
"Really?" I cock a brow. "And here I thought we were at dinner together. You're all dressed up, sitting next to me, looking completely fucking edible. That's the definition of a date."
She just groans, burying her face in her hands. "Why is it always me?"
"What's always you?"
"I always get the unhinged clients," she mumbles into her hands. "It's like you guys compare notes at your Unhinged Athletes meetings, then tag in whoever is most likely to drive me mad. It's a conspiracy, isn't it?" She drags her hands away, her gaze rife with suspicion. "Did Teo put you up to this? Because I don't care if he's about to have a kid or not, I will end him."
"Teo?" My brows furrow. "You mean Teo Kirby?"
"That's the one," she growls. "What'd he pay you to torture me?"
"Don't know him," I murmur, stroking her cheek. "I just know the man's name. And I haven't discussed you with anyone else."
"Great," she grumbles. "So you decided to torture me all on your own. How thoughtful."
"Babe," I say, laughter rumbling from my lips. "This isn't torture."
"Oh, really, Mr. I Don't Share?" She glowers at me, her expression hot enough to start forest fires. "Then why is it that I hear no mention of you being a loyal partner? I guess that doesn't fit your agenda, does it?"
"So…let me get this straight," I say, grinning like a madman. "You're upset because I didn't say you wouldn't be sharing?"
"What? No. That's beside the point."
"Nah, I think that's the whole point."
"Whatever," she mumbles, avoiding my gaze, but I've got her number now. I see what's going on here. She likes me, but she doesn't trust me. I'm guessing she represents one too many athletes who can't keep it in their fucking pants, and taking a leap with me makes her nervous as hell because she doesn't know if I'm just another asshole like half of them.
"Look at me, Emelia."
She ignores me.
"Look at me."
"Fine," she growls, turning to glare at me. "What?"
"You won't be sharing, baby," I say softly, my eyes locked with hers so she knows I mean it. "You know my name isn't ever in the press with anyone else's. You know there's no gossip about me fucking around. I'm not interested in being that guy."
"Why not?" she asks like she genuinely wants to know the answer. I think it matters to her.
"My mama raised me better than that," I say frankly. "I didn't spend my whole life on the ice just to become some fucking scandal once I made it to the league. I spent it on the ice to ensure she and my dad never had to worry about my little brother again."
Her gaze softens. "He has a heart defect, right?"
I'm not surprised she knows that. She probably did all sorts of research into me before agreeing to meet with me. But even a cursory search would have turned it up. I've been a spokesperson for a nonprofit focused on heart defects since my rookie season.
"Yeah, amongst other issues." My parents worked their asses off to keep me on the ice and to ensure that Rain had the best care possible. Now, they don't have to work as hard. They finally get to enjoy life without constantly worrying about bills.