Total pages in book: 18
Estimated words: 16504 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 83(@200wpm)___ 66(@250wpm)___ 55(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 16504 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 83(@200wpm)___ 66(@250wpm)___ 55(@300wpm)
Abby and the other girl had barely sparked an interest, while this woman practically set me on fire with five words and an impressive, haughty glare.
Wanting to see how far I could push her, I tipped my lips to a taunting smile. “No need to apologize. I’d be happy to have you join our conversation.”
“No.”
Not no, thank you. Not a rejection with a polite smile. Not a soft dismissal with an excuse to join later. Nothing that you would expect in a social situation. Just a simple, blunt, cold no.
My cock twitched behind my pants.
Fuck, this woman called to me.
“Excuse me,” she said blandly. Making sure to not allow even a single brush of our clothing, she curved her body away from mine as she reached beyond me to grab a wine glass and bottle from the counter, leaving just as quick as she came.
“Who the fuck is that?” I muttered.
“Amara,” Ian answered. “Carina met her at a business conference a couple years ago, and they’d made fast friends.”
“Dear, God. I think he’s drooling,” Erik teased.
“Who the fuck wouldn’t be?” I responded unashamed.
“See, this is how it starts,” Ian explained. “Next thing you know, you’ll be in love.”
A bark of laughter broke free. “Yeah, fucking right. All I want is to bend her over and fuck that sass right out of her. So, the next thing I know, she’ll be begging for more.”
Both men snorted and shook their heads, meeting each other’s gaze with some unspoken conversation that looked heavily tinged with doubt. Did they know something I didn’t? Maybe. But I also knew that I could be one determined motherfucker when I wanted something.
And I couldn’t remember the last time I’d wanted a woman like I wanted Amara.
AMARA
The day had been shit. Hell, the whole week had been shit, and walking into the kitchen to hear the arrogant shit being said was the cherry on top.
No.
The real cherry on top was the way my nipples pulled into tight, painful buds of need when the man spewing so much arrogance turned and looked me up and down like a fucking dessert he was deciding if he wanted or not.
Hard. Fucking. Pass. Sir.
At least, that’s what my morals said. Everything else almost begged to be the lucky lady he fucked. All that masculinity lording over me? Yes, please. Especially when his lips barely tipped, and sheer arrogance flared behind his eyes—a hint of blue in the dark depths. That kind of confidence came from a man who took pride in making a woman crumble under the pleasure he dished out
But…looks were deceiving, and I was in no mood to find out. All I needed was to give in and then discover his roguish smirk was a cover for being a minuteman. I’d rather not fuck at all than have the hope of an orgasm, only for it to be taken away. Besides, a cold shoulder of rejection could do a man with that much confidence good.
“You found the wine,” Carina cheered.
“I always do.” I smiled and sat in the empty chair. “You didn’t have to get this for me. I can always bring my own.”
“I know, but it’s your favorite, and I know your week has been shit. It also meant you got here sooner for dinner. More time to chat.”
“Here, here,” Alexandra cheered with a raised glass.
I filled my wine more than halfway before joining the clinking cups in camaraderie.
“By the way, this is Brianna and Abby. They work at the office.”
I greeted the two women on either side of Carina. “Does that man also work at the office with you?”
“I wish,” the redhead, Brianna, gushed. “He’d be the perfect eye candy to make a day at work a dream.”
“And that soft British undertone?” Abby joined in. “Staff meeting attendance would be at an all-time high if he led them.”
All the women giggled, and I forced myself to join in. Usually, I loved gossiping about delicious men, but something bitter twisted in my chest at the thought of this woman throwing herself at him.
Internally rolling my eyes, I took a long swallow of my wine.
Jesus. This week must have been taking more of a toll on me than I thought if I’m having tinges of possession over a man I’ve said less than ten words to.
Get your shit together, Amara.
“Are you seeing anyone?” I asked.
“No,” they both answered.
“Well, then you should go after him. He’d be lucky to have a chance with either of you.”
“Or both of us,” Abby muttered, leaning into Carina.
The women laughed, and I think I may have heard a molar crack.
My inner voice couldn’t even find words to help me. Instead, all I heard was internal screaming.
All I could do was put this moment of insanity down to an utter lack of sleep, stupid men with inflated egos, and other people’s mistakes causing me to lose client opportunities and bonuses. Not that I cared about the bonus—I had plenty. I just liked winning. I liked the rush of success, and I hated, loathed, despised failure—whether it was my fault or not.