Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 103530 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103530 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
Charlotte Holmes doesn’t fall in love; she falls into bed. And car. And cruise ship stateroom. Matthew Ashe falls in love way too easily; he’s a sucker for a pretty face. And falling too fast. And getting impulsively engaged. The only thing the two of them have in common is their mutual love of kinky, casual sex….and the fact that Charlotte’s brother is Matt’s best friend.
All Charlotte knows about Matt is that he’s the billionaire heir to a hospitality empire. All Matt knows about Charlotte is that she’s bound to break his heart. When a destination wedding fling turns into months of long-distance flirtation, Matt invites Charlotte to Ascend Red, his private resort where guests live out their wildest fantasies. Even limitless indulgence and abandoned inhibitions can’t satisfy his craving for something deeper with Charlotte. And Charlotte is beginning to think Matthew Ashe could be the one man she doesn’t want to walk away from…
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
CHAPTER ONE
(Charlotte)
To take the pink bikini or not to take the pink bikini…
“You’re taking the pink bikini, right?”
I turned my dropped-jaw expression on my best friend. “Are you reading my mind?”
Sarrah shrugged, looking as effortlessly cool as ever as she lounged on the sofa that provided a line of demarcation between my bedroom area and my living room area. She tossed her glossy black ringlets, and the beads of her dangly boho earrings clicked together. “I’m just here to play costume designer.”
“I’m packing for my brother’s wedding. Not playing Madison Square Garden.” I turned back to the mound of clothing on my bed. I didn’t need a costume designer, but I definitely needed someone who could stop me from trying to take every item of clothing I owned along for my brother’s destination wedding.
Sarrah sighed her patented fed-up-with-Charlotte’s-bullshit sigh. “Packing for your brother’s wedding at a tropical resort—”
“It’s in South Carolina.”
“Packing for your brother’s wedding at a resort where there is still going to be a pool and an ocean and plenty of opportunities to wear the tiniest swimsuit you own,” Sarrah amended. “Believe me, you need to look hot. Twenty percent of married people met at other people’s weddings.”
“That’s not true.” I picked up a much safer pink gingham one-piece—when one lived in one’s parents’ pool-house-slash-guesthouse, one tended to have enough swimsuits to choose from.
“It’s probably not,” Sarrah conceded. “But you do know that at least one eligible bachelor will be there.”
“Ah yes.” I snorted a laugh. “The elusive billionaire my brother mooches off.”
“Says the woman who lives in her parents’ guesthouse,” Sarrah pointed out. “Besides, if you had a superrich best friend to finance an amazing destination wedding at a four-star resort—”
“Which he owns, okay?” I kept reminding everyone of that; it wasn’t like Matthew Ashe had dug deep into his pockets and saved his pennies to pay for my brother’s fiancé’s dream wedding.
“We take what we are offered.” She finished with a satisfied flourish of her wrists.
She had a point. My parents weren’t hurting financially—a guesthouse, for Chrissake—but they didn’t have resort-wedding-on-Hilton-Head money.
They would have, if you hadn’t wasted it. The closer the date of my brother’s wedding got, the more critical of myself I became. I didn’t want Sarrah’s evaluation of my situation to sting, but it did. I’d dropped out of college. I’d wasted a huge chunk of money that could have paid for a beautiful wedding for my brother. I had nothing to show for my frustrating, on-and-off relationship with college. They might as well have used those funds on the non-disappointing child.
“Isn’t the bride’s family supposed to pay for the wedding?” I grumbled under my breath.
“What?” Sarrah asked.
I shook my head. “Never mind. I think you’re probably right, though. Scott does have a lot of rich friends. Maybe it’s time to consider the life of a trophy wife.”
“Right, better get hitched before you’re an old maid.” Sarrah gave me two thumbs up. “You’re twenty-five and unmarried. You’re a burden to your parents.”
“I know you’re joking, but ouch.” Not that it was Sarrah’s fault my feelings were hurt. I’d spent most of my life feeling like I let everyone down. Especially my brother. Scott deserved a nice wedding.
And why was I being so bitter about the fact that his best friend was rich? I had the best best friend.
And she gave good advice. I wadded up the pink bikini and tossed it in my suitcase. “Fine. But I refuse to become a cliché. I’m not going to throw myself in front of the rich guy.”
“Agreed. Financially comfortable guy. Or girl.” Sarrah paused. “Does your brother even have any women friends?”
I scoffed. “Of course he does. He’s not some kind of misogynist weirdo.”
“Well, you make his friends sound so unappealing,” she pointed out.
“Unfair of me. I haven’t met them. It’s not like we hang out a lot, socially.” Scott had been fourteen when I was born. He’d been out of the house before I remembered him living with us.
“Well, this weekend is as good a time as any to get to know one. Or two. At the same time.” She waggled her eyebrows.
I ignored her and zipped my suitcase shut. “There. One bag. Nobody can complain that I took too much.”
A knock on the door drew my attention. Through the blinds, I saw the tanned forearm that indicated my father was back from the golf course.
“It’s open,” I called.
“Hey, Sport,” Dad said as he stepped in. He noticed Sarrah on the couch. “And Sarrah. Am I interrupting?”
“I’m helping Charlotte winnow down her wardrobe choices, Mr. Holmes,” Sarrah said in her most kiss-ass voice.
“Good. There’s a weight limit on planes. We don’t want to crash.” Dad chuckled at his own remark.
I groaned inwardly and patted my suitcase. “This is the only one I’m taking.”
Dad’s expression took on a worried cast. “Are you feeling okay?”