Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 67757 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67757 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Maybe we need a few hard hate fucks to get over, ourselves and then we can ignore each other in peace.
“Fuck you, Lucky.”
I smile. “You wish, Princess.”
She narrows her eyes and gets up from the stoop. After a pause, she glares at me and stomps her foot before turning away and marching back inside the house, giving me a long look at her world-class ass. Tight and round and punctuated by long legs, it was worth making her mad just to see her storm off like that.
I walk down the path toward my bike and light up a cigarette in peace with daydreams of Aria’s legs wrapped around me while I fuck her so hard she’s crying real tears by the time I let her come. I only let her after I’ve made her beg for it properly.
I smile at the thought, even though I’m torturing myself. I have to spend the whole fucking day with her at her office at the Morgan International building.
And a part of me is looking forward to it.
Maybe my brother and Grandma are right. Maybe I am a fucking glutton for punishment.
CHAPTER FOUR
Aria
My office inside Morgan International is about the only thing in my life that isn’t totally pink. I have a pink laptop and mouse, a hot pink pen holder full of pens I rarely use, and a few other pink accessories, but Daddy kiboshed the whole pink thing, calling it wildly unprofessional.
As if.
What difference does professionalism make if I’m doing a job I was given just to make sure I’m always close to home? Always stuck within the confines of Angel Harbor.
I’m good at my job, but my talents are wasted at an import-export company. Daddy’s business hardly calls for marketing know-how, and most of it is cryptic as hell. People don’t really like advertising that the priceless items they own are temporarily not under lock and key, not even the sketchy people who may or may not have stolen goods.
What does Daddy expect me to do? Advertise on Facebook or Google that we can move your stolen art from one art thief to another and no one would be the wiser? Hah!
I push away from the desk with a frustrated sigh.
“You okay?” Lucky’s gruff tone pulls me from my thoughts, but when I glance up at him, his hazel eyes aren’t annoyed. They are full of concern.
“Yes. No. I don’t know.” I have no idea why I’m being honest with this guy, but I’m starting to hate him a smidge less than I did yesterday. “You’re not going to make a joke about the poor little rich girl?”
He shrugs his broad shoulders casually. “Just because your life is better than most doesn’t mean it’s as good as it could be.”
His understanding is almost overwhelming after the stupid fight I had with Chase and then Daddy. “Thanks for that.”
His full lips pull into a grin. “My pleasure.”
Our gazes lock for what feels like forever, and my body heats up with each passing second. My nipples bead, and my breath quickens, and I can’t believe this is happening. I am seriously close to panting over the biker.
Suddenly a loud bang shatters the silence along with the sound of dozens of footsteps. The sound startles a shriek out of me, but it’s Lucky’s movements that truly terrify me. He positions himself between me and whoever is breaking into the office. “FBI! Nobody move!”
FBI? This makes no sense. “Daddy?” I jump up from my desk and attempt to sidestep Lucky, who refuses to budge. “Move.”
“Can’t do that.” He turns and gives me his back as two people in blue windbreakers enter my office. “Agents?”
“Ma’am, step aside,” says a woman a few years older than me.
Her dark scowl gets my attention, as does her hand on the holster of the gun at her hip, but Lucky doesn’t give me a chance to comply. He steps aside and places a hand low on my back.
“This is Aria Morgan. I assume you have a warrant?”
Her mirthless stare matches the blank expressions on the faces of the other two federal agents, but Lucky’s touch sends fire pulsing through my body. My nipples stiffen even worse—almost painful—and the fear of the agents combined with his fiery touch leaves my panties wetter than the ocean outside my office.
The agents, one short and chubby, the other dark-haired and fatherly, look from me to Lucky and back again. “Daughter of Geoffrey Morgan?”
Before I can answer, Coco appears from under my desk, barking his little head off. The agents look down with matching bemused expressions.
I take a step forward, and Lucky pushes me behind him, his hands moving from my lower back to my belly, indecently low. “What about Daddy?”
The agents look at each other, nod, and exit my office, but Lucky’s touch remains, the fire smoldering inside of me.