Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 30717 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 154(@200wpm)___ 123(@250wpm)___ 102(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 30717 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 154(@200wpm)___ 123(@250wpm)___ 102(@300wpm)
“Second thoughts?” Patrick drawls in a careless voice before taking another sip from his tumbler. “It’s too late, Ashley. You bet your curves, and they belong to me now.”
What a douche. He’s stating the obvious, and I don’t appreciate that. Hell, he didn’t even get up to welcome me into his suite! He didn’t offer me a drink, and merely sits there, casually handsome in his tux. Seriously, I want nothing more than to beat that handsome face in before strangling him with his bow tie.
But I manage to keep my dignity.
“I’m not having second thoughts,” I say in an arch tone, looking down my nose at him. “I’m perfectly fine, thanks. Not that you care.”
A black brow goes up at my snarky attitude.
“Quite the hellcat, aren’t you?” he purrs. “I like it. But I do care about you, sweetheart. Come, sit down,” he gestures. “Make yourself at home and we’ll talk.”
I take a few steps to the sofa next to him and manage to lower myself down somewhat gracefully. My red column dress is tight around my waist and hips, and the fabric seams strain when I sit. Not only that, but the red column dress has a deep vee at my décolletage, and as Patrick stares, the shadow between my breasts deepens and darkens with my movement. The man’s blue eyes gleam, and I get the distinct feel of a predator. He’s masculine, dangerous, and obviously, very, very hungry.
But Patrick comes back to his senses, his blue eyes flicking up to mine. A dimple deepens in his right cheek, and outrage fills my form again. OMG, he’s not even embarrassed to be caught ogling my curves! Most men would be ashamed but instead, he just grins, flashing those white teeth.
“Where are my manners?” he asks, rising to a great height. “Let me get you a drink, sweetheart. What are you having?”
“An old-fashioned.”
He shoots me a look.
“It’s not my place to ask, baby girl, but I’m going to. Are you old enough for alcohol? I noticed that you didn’t have a cocktail earlier tonight.”
I swallow because this is so embarrassing.
“I’m old enough,” I grit through clenched teeth.
That black brow raises again, his hand poised in the air as he reaches for a decanter of some sort.
“Are you now? What year were you born?”
My mind spins furiously, but at this moment, I’m incapable of any math whatsoever, even basic addition.
“Fine,” I huff, spots of burning color on my cheeks. “I’m eighteen. Not old enough to drink, but I’ll take an old fashioned just the same.”
Patrick grins at me, his visage so handsome that it’s frankly unbelievable. This man could be a male model, and yet here he is, sparring with Ashley Finnegan as I stew helplessly on the couch. He finishes mixing the cocktail and then slips the glass to me.
“You’re drinking under the supervision of an adult,” he winks. “Although I made your old fashioned with just a splash of bourbon. We don’t want you getting drunk, do we, on a night like this? But I did add two cherries because I know little girls adore cherries.”
I stare at him, an even hotter blush covering my cheeks now. OMG, I probably look like a fire engine because he makes me so mad! But I manage to keep my cool and merely smile in his direction.
“Thank you so much. I do love cherries, and I’m sure I’ll love your concoction.”
Then, I take a sip and true to his word, there’s practically no alcohol. I’m sipping on what tastes like sugar water mixed with orange juice, and Patrick grins again as he takes a seat on the couch next to me once more.
“So tell me how an eighteen year old came to be playing at the high ante table in the Degas,” he says in a silky tone. “Your presence tonight was unexpected.”
I take another sip to fortify myself and then look him in the eye.
“Well, I’m a high school dropout,” I say baldly. “I never got my degree, and would be considered uneducated by most standards.”
The dashing billionaire shrugs.
“Doesn’t bother me. Are you from Vegas originally?”
I shake my head slowly.
“No, I’m from Buffalo, New York. My hometown is about as far from Vegas as you can get, in both miles and style,” I say in a soft tone, my gaze going faraway for a moment. “Buffalo is in Upstate New York. It’s freezing cold in the winters, and has been in the throes of an economic downturn for oh, about five decades now.”
Patrick’s black brows rise.
“I can’t say I know Upstate New York very well. But I’ve heard it’s beautiful. That’s Westchester County, isn’t it? Sorry for my ignorance. I’m Irish, if you can’t tell,” he winks.
But I shake my head, blonde tresses swaying.
“No, Westchester is the area directly outside New York City. Buffalo is way on the west side of New York State, bordering Lake Erie. In fact, that’s part of the reason why we’ve been in an economic downturn for so long. Buffalo used to be a center of transportation linking trade between the Erie Canal and the Hudson River, but the rise of trucks and trains kind of obliterated the centrality of the Erie Canal. As a result, Buffalo went down with it.”