Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 28026 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 140(@200wpm)___ 112(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 28026 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 140(@200wpm)___ 112(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
Besides, how old is she now? Last I saw Emily, she was probably fourteen or so, and a gruesome sight to behold. The girl was acne-ridden with coke-bottle glasses and shapeless clothes. Pamela barked at her daughter to stand up straight, and hell, I think said daughter even had braces at the time, giving her a metallic smile. But now, the awkwardness of those pre-teen years is gone, and a fucking goddess stands in my driveway.
“Sorry,” Emily murmurs apologetically. “My mom dragged me here. I had no idea things were this bad between you two.”
“You didn’t, huh?” I growl, stuffing my hands into my jacket pockets. Goddamn, it’s freezing and the tips of my fingers tingle, but it’s not just from the cold. It’s because I want to touch and stroke the secret spaces on this woman’s body. I want to see if I can make her moan ... except that she’s my ex’s daughter.
Like a fucking nightmare, Pamela screeches from the porch then.
“Get your bags, Emily! We’re spending the night here. We’ll be here for the rest of the week, Christian, so maybe you should move out of the cabin.”
Red rage descends on my vision. My fingers grip into fists again, white-knuckling inside my pockets, because this is a nightmare come to life. I retreated to the wilderness in search quiet and tranquility, but instead, my bitch of an ex has appeared out of nowhere, determined to ruin my peace. Even crazier, Pamela has her gorgeous daughter in tow ... and the young girl’s staring at me like she wants a piece of me too.
2
Emily
He’s gorgeous. Christian Degas is at least six four, towering over me in a woolen shirt that strains at his broad shoulders while emphasizing that burly chest. His long legs are sheathed in denim, those powerful thighs bulging against the fabric, and I already can see him in my imagination, hefting an axe in the air, shirtless and sweaty, before bringing it down onto a helpless log with a loud thunk.
Yum.
My mouth waters because wouldn’t I love to see those abs flex as sweat runs down his chest? Wouldn’t I love to see him huffing and grunting, exertion making that bronzed skin gleam? After all, the alpha male is a mountain man gone wild. Sure, Christian is actually a billionaire hotel magnate with too much money for his own good, but at this moment in time, you’d never know. His dark hair is shaggy, dropping over glowering blue eyes and harsh, masculine features. His nose is proudly Roman, and that chin made of granite. His lips look far too mobile, but also dominant and ruthless, like he’d kiss the life out of any woman mewling beneath him in bed.
Too bad he hates me.
Those blue eyes glare as he stares me down as if I’m a tiny pile of shit that doesn’t belong on his property.
“Who are you?” he demands. “Emily who?”
“Pamela’s my mom,” I clarify in a steady voice. “Remember? Pamela has a daughter from her first marriage, and I’m that daughter. I think the last time we met was three years ago, but I haven’t gone anywhere, Mr. Degas. I just grew up, that’s all.”
Harsh streaks appear on the man’s high cheekbones as he continues to glare at me with disgust. My heart’s fluttering in my chest as my stomach feels funny because the truth is that we didn’t just “meet” three years ago. Or rather we did, but he doesn’t know that I saw more of him than I expected.
After all, I visited his home for the holidays one year, and we were introduced. I was a fright to behold then, with my frizzy hair, bad skin, and revolting overbite. Food literally dropped out of my mouth sometimes when I chewed, and honestly, Pamela was more than a little embarrassed that I was her blood relation. As far as I know, my mom’s always been gorgeous and never suffered the indignity of adolescence.
But she made the introductions, and we had a normal-enough dinner together on Christmas Eve. Pamela and Christian were still in their lovey-dovey phase then, and gazed into each other’s eyes as we ate our food. It was disgusting, to be honest, but I couldn’t help but notice how handsome my new stepfather was. He was every inch the dashing billionaire, with penetrating blue eyes, an arrogant air, and a powerful masculine body made for sin.
Obviously, I was embarrassed at these dirty thoughts because this man and I were now related. How could I even be thinking these things like a naughty girl? Cheeks blushing, I basically bolted my food and then excused myself after dinner to hole up in the guest room because I couldn’t handle the high-wattage gaze of my new stepfather. I was a bad girl, and so embarrassed yet titillated about the attraction.