Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95606 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95606 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Remembering the way he kissed, a shiver passed through her. “I live with my mother.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll find us a nice place.” His open mouth rode over the slope of her shoulder. “I wouldn’t lay this body down in anything but the best sheets, Chlo. The only rough thing you’re going to feel is me.”
She bit her lip to catch a moan. “You really have a way with words.”
“I don’t usually use them this much. It’s . . . you.” He wrapped his other arm around her, hugging her from behind and she felt an unexpected prick in her throat. “It’s you, okay? Don’t blow me off.”
“I won’t,” she whispered. “I couldn’t.”
“Good.”
He nuzzled the crown of her head, hesitating briefly before loosening his arms.
Chloe blew a kiss over her shoulder and jogged for the parking lot, already counting the minutes until she saw Sig Gauthier again. There was no way this dinner was going to be a fraction as interesting as him and what he made her feel.
Oh, but she was wrong.
Chapter Three
Sig pulled up to the lavish estate and raked a hand down his jaw, hoping to drag the dopey smile off his face. No chance of that, though. Hell, smiling was the last thing he’d expected to be doing before a rare meeting with his father, but here he was.
Chloe Clifford.
Son of a bitch.
Meeting the girl of his dreams wasn’t on his bingo card when he woke up this morning. He didn’t have some mental archetype of how his dream girl would look. How she would act. Make him feel. None of that. Up until the lobby of that country club, he’d been fine being single. Getting a little action on an as-needed basis, but never feeling pressed to commit.
But Chloe?
Yeah, he already knew he’d commit to that. Fucking hard. She already wanted to come to Boston, didn’t she? He’d just do the long-distance thing until she decided it was right for her. And he’d make it right. He’d bring her down to Boston and show her everything. Every corner. She didn’t think she was built to thrive there? He’d help her believe the opposite.
Sig unbuckled his seat belt, because the stiff nylon was adding pressure to a chest that already felt like a powder keg. He rubbed at the twinge at the center, but it wouldn’t go away. Something happened tonight. Something important. God, he couldn’t wait to see her again.
Might as well admit it, too. He couldn’t wait to fuck her.
He shook his head on a pained laugh as his cock started to fill and extend, testing the denim fly of his jeans. Not a good time for a hard-on, but he’d been fighting one since she’d opened her mouth for his tongue and rubbed her belly against him. She liked making trouble outside of bed. What kind would they make inside of one? The goddamn filthy kind, if Sig had his way. He didn’t know any other way to fuck and something told him she wouldn’t mind being thrown into positions those country club boys could only dream about.
Get this dinner over with.
Track down the girl. No. Lock down the girl.
Take her back to Boston tomorrow, if she was willing. If not, he’d buy a new truck so he could make the three-hour trip as often as necessary. It wouldn’t be easy during the season, but nothing worthwhile was easy, was it?
When Sig was ten, his mother couldn’t afford to buy him hockey gear. With the tryout approaching in just a few weeks, he’d gotten on his bike and tracked down every secondhand, beat-up pad, helmet, and jersey in the county. He’d actually tried out for the under 11s team in mismatched skates. And when the other kids had made fun of him in front of his mortified mother, he’d informed them they were all pampered pussies who needed their parents to take them shopping. No one had bothered him after that—and Sig had kept that attitude all his life. One he’d developed for his mother’s benefit, but over time, had become his method of thought. Of dealing with his lack of funds or his lowball contract.
Occasionally, he looked at one of his higher-paid opponents and thought it would be nice to make eight figures. To buy a vacation house in Hawaii. Drive a Porsche SUV. But his mind would come back with but you don’t need it.
Parting with his faithful ride would suck, but breaking down again between Boston and Darien would suck more. Even the AAA mechanic he’d eventually called out to the country club parking lot had pondered out loud if the old bucket of bolts was worth saving. At least the guy hadn’t taken long to arrive—only twenty minutes—so while he was late for dinner, he wasn’t that late. Which was good. Because the sooner this dinner was over, the sooner he could find Chloe and finish what they’d started.