Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 45531 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 228(@200wpm)___ 182(@250wpm)___ 152(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45531 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 228(@200wpm)___ 182(@250wpm)___ 152(@300wpm)
“I’ve got a small blog,” she says, “for my journalism stuff. That’s all.”
“That’s not nothing,” I say, voice fierce.
I can’t let her put down her dreams. The effort she puts into her passion isn’t insignificant. The deranged urge comes to me to tell her I’m proud, which would be insane.
“I’m proud of the enthusiasm in your voice,” I could say. “It’s the same enthusiasm we’ll both have on our wedding day, and when we bring our first child into a loving home…”
I keep my expression as neutral as possible. That’s despite the war raging in my chest, my heartbeat turned to pounding drums, and my balls aching in my underwear… which suddenly feel too tight.
It’s like my desire is trying to escape. My hands would own my woman’s legs, her ass, and her moans.
“That’s how I started,” I go on. “Small publications, chasing the truth. I never planned on all this. What was your latest story, Michaela?”
She flinches when I say her name. It’s probably my tone of voice. Some people have resting bitch—or prick—face. Others, like me, have resting jerk voice.
“I helped bust a dog-theft operation,” she says.
I don’t shock easily, but this throws me off-balance.
She steps a little closer, bringing her scent with her—perfume, shampoo, and beneath it all, the intoxicating scent of my woman.
“Did you expect me to say I covered a local bake sale or something? I want to be a serious journalist one day.”
She’s within arm’s reach. With a sweeping movement, I could pull her into my embrace, drive my hips forward and make her feel the effect she’s having on me.
I’m solid and hungry.
“How did you do it?” I ask.
“I’ve got an elderly neighbor. Someone stole his dog from his front yard, so I went around the neighborhood asking if I could get footage from our neighbors’ dashcams. I got a license plate, but the police took ages following it up. So, I…”
“What?”
“I’m not sure if what I did is legal,” she mutters.
I smirk, moving even nearer to my woman. To Michaela. It’s going to be difficult to stop thinking of her as mine
“You can tell me. Journalism and rule-bending go together.”
“I contacted somebody on the internet and paid them to track the car. They were keeping the dogs in an abandoned bar in the city. I got photos through the basement window, and then the police had to act.”
I almost clap my hands together.
“Wow, you’re smiling.”
My smirk twitches. “You don’t have to sound so surprised.”
She looks at the floor as if she regrets what she said.
“I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to keep apologizing,” I say.
She never has to apologize. Definitely not for this. Definitely not for being tenacious and determined.
“That’s impressive,” I go on. “You should be proud. I mean that. How old are you?”
“Why does that matter?”
Now, I do laugh, a gruff chuckle. “Are you always this argumentative?”
“A great man once said, ‘It’s a journalist’s duty to be argumentative.’”
“Using my own logic against me. That’s clever.”
Her smile is a gift sweeter than any business deal, any victory in the boardroom, or any hard-won story.
“I’ll take the compliment, and I’m nineteen.”
This is wrong. That’s the message I try to send to the heart of my desire. She’s less than half my age, but her youth, her wide enthusiastic eyes, that young curvy body capable of giving me not one, not two, but many children…
Is it less wrong that I want her for life, not just for pleasure?
“What’s your next story?” I ask.
“I’m interviewing one of the ex-employees. He worked caring for the dogs. He had no idea they were stolen.”
“He thought keeping dogs in the basement of a bar was normal?”
She shrugs. “He said it’s complicated. I want to hear his side of the story.”
“What about the man running the operation? Is he in jail?”
“No, he skipped town.”
My fists clench at the same time as my jaw. It feels like I’m in the gym, smashing the heavy bag, pumping the weights until my muscles ache and throb.
“You can’t go to this interview alone,” I say.
“What? Why? It’s a great follow-up piece.”
“You’re right. It is, but what if it’s a trick? What if the man who supposedly skipped town shows up for revenge?”
I don’t know this woman’s last name. I’ve spent less time with her than my female colleagues, assistants, and PR managers, yet I care more about her than anybody else. The idea of her charging into a dangerous situation… I can’t allow it.
“I’ll come with you,” I tell her. “Meet me here tomorrow around six p.m. I should be free then.”
“You’d really do that?”
“Of course.” I force irony into my tone, so she doesn’t sense the fullness of my desire. “Then you’ve got the motivation to write about what an incredible employer I am.”
She laughs, her eyes shining with affection. I know I shouldn’t read too much into a laugh, into a look, especially considering she’s my employee and probably just wants to smooth things along with her the boss, but that doesn’t stop me from savoring the sound, the wideness of her smile. It doesn’t stop me from savoring her.