Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 118309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
Gratitude fills me when the MC seeks Maksim’s approval of my suggestion. He isn’t as petty as me when trampled by jealousy. He dips his chin remarkably quick, but regretfully, it is only after seeking the opinion of the blonde who hasn’t left his side all afternoon.
I’m treated like a contestant when I mosey up to the stage to collect Zoya’s prize. Since I’m tipsy, I don’t respond like the prude my best friend assures me I am. I return the tempting grins of a handful of spectators before adding an extra swing to my hips at the request of the rowdy college-aged men in the front row.
By the time I make it onto the stage, my confidence is sky high, and Maksim’s jaw is as tight as Kazimir’s was when I made out Aleena may act single during her hen’s weekend.
Kazimir has a reason to be snooty. Maksim does not, and the realization has me snatching Zoya’s check out of his hand more aggressively than necessary.
“Don’t run away just yet,” the MC says when I turn back to face the audience that is so enthralled you’d swear they can feel the tension crackling and hissing between Maksim and me when he can’t hide his anger at my rudeness. “We need photos of the winner collecting her prize.”
“I’m not the winner.”
“You are now,” the MC replies before forcing me to stand next to Maksim. “Your friend is wild, and the crowd went nuts, but this…” He scans the crowd surging closer to the stage, even with the contestants dwindling by the second. “They love you.” The rake of his teeth over his bottom lip is sexy, but it has nothing on Maksim’s angry scowl. “They’ve got a soft spot for shy girls.”
A second after he positions me next to Maksim, I’m blinded by camera flashes. The media covering the event takes hundreds of stills in less than a minute before acting like the Amazon River is wedged between Maksim and me.
“Can you move closer?”
“Maksim, stop acting like you’re not enjoying this.”
That gets a laugh from the masses.
“Lower the check and tilt in closer.”
Their shouts become nothing but a buzz when Maksim bands his arm around my back and rests his hand low on my waist. His fingertips tickle the skin barely covered by the strings of my bikini bottoms and send a throb of excitement through my pussy.
“Perfect.”
“Yes.”
“Just like that.”
A stern voice breaks over the journalists’ approving chants, and it cakes my skin with sweat. “If you wish to continue using the facilities once the competition ends, do it in the cabana closest to the stage.”
When Maksim nudges his head to the cabana he exited mere seconds before a blonde with sex-mussed hair, I attempt to walk away.
He snatches up my wrist before I can, tugs me back until my breasts are squashed against his chest, then tilts in so close he looks seconds from kissing me like one journalist continually demands.
His minty breath fans my lips when he continues barking out orders. “It comes with a private bartender. Order drinks from that bartender and only that bartender.” His fingers on the hand still circling my wrist flex before he adds, “I will have a coverup delivered shortly. Use it.”
“Or what?” I ask, shocking myself.
I never knew I had a rebellious side until now.
I shouldn’t find Maksim’s flaring nostrils and thumping neck veins attractive, but I do. “Or I’ll make sure you pay your dues in ways you would have never considered when you decided to test just how far my leniencies stretch.”
The sneer of his words would have you convinced his reply is a threat. However, my body doesn’t agree. It thrums with excitement as my eyes beg for him to make true on his pledge.
When he remains standing firm, my slaughtered ego speaks on my behalf. “Why are you acting like this? You had your shot, and you blew it.”
“Because that prick”—he nudges his head to the bartender who’s been serving me for the past two-plus hours—“doesn’t deserve an ounce of your time.”
“That prick”—my tone dips when I mimic his scorn—“has been nothing but kind to me. Unlike you.” His silence announces he’s being cruel on purpose, and it snaps my last nerve. “I don’t know what the fuck your issue is, Maksim, but you need to get over yourself. I saved your mother—”
“After nearly ending it!” he roars loud enough to silence the paparazzi going crazy.
“What?” That’s all I can get out. One measly word. I was referencing how I saved his mother from going under the scalpel, but his interruption makes it seem far more sinister than that. He’s acting like her life was dangling precariously off a cliff.
I guess he isn’t that far off the mark. They were planning to do an investigational surgical procedure before I arrived on the scene. But shouldn’t that place me in his good books, not out in the cold, wondering what the hell I did wrong?