Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 106935 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106935 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
I can’t hide my flirty smile.
Nick Adams looks even better than he did three months ago, especially when his lips curve into the most knowing grin I’ve ever seen. “Hey, beautiful.”
I nearly melt. Christmas has come early.
14
DADDY BANCROFT
Layla
Sure, I run into people I know in New York every day. But Nick is the last person I expected to see at this diner.
What are the chances I’d bump into him on…wait…is this his first day in town? I’m staring up at him next to me as I ask: “When did you land in New York?”
“Earlier today. I’ve been in meetings since I touched down. Maybe I should have…” He shakes his head like he’s dismissing his remarks about being busy. He drags a thumb along his jawline but stares at me as he goes, like he’s imagining touching me with that thumb. He eyes me up and down. “You look…”
He can’t seem to finish the thought.
But I can. “So do you,” I say, sounding as intoxicated as he does.
Yes, the vibe is still strong between us. Maybe even stronger. I suppose that’s what weeks of texting and FaceTiming will do for people. I embrace the corset superpowers even more. I stand, step close to him, give him a chaste hug.
Oops. I lied.
It’s not so chaste at all, since the second my breasts brush against his chest, he growls. Low, carnal, just for me.
“Mmm. I like surprises, and you’re a very good surprise,” he murmurs, then slides a hand down my back, settling possessively at the base of my spine. He presses harder, as if declaring mine.
I feel like his. I didn’t expect to want that, but now I do. Perhaps because I feel like his in a passionate way, a sensual way, even under the fluorescent lights in this retro diner, with “My Sharona” playing overhead.
With his hard body a magnet for mine, I have another answer to my earlier worries—things aren’t different now that we’re out of Miami. They’re better. Stronger. We didn’t just happen because of the heat, the scene, the decadence of South Beach.
It was the decadence of us.
But if he keeps holding me like he wants to strip me naked tonight, I might turn into a puddle on the linoleum floor tiles.
Or come.
On that sexy but sobering thought, I wrench away. He darts his gaze to the entrance then back to me as if weighing something, he asks in a dark whisper, “What are you doing later?”
Feeling bold and daring, I answer, “I believe the question is—who are you doing later?”
Another groan, then he says, “Come over. I’ll text you. I want to see you tonight and tomorrow.”
Forget silver and gold. I’m diamonds and platinum. I’ve never felt so wanted. I’ve never known how good it would feel to be wanted like this. I’ve never understood why people would climb proverbial mountains for a lover, but at this moment, I get it.
I want to clear my whole damn schedule for this man and his desire—a desire that’s taken hold of me, too, and won’t let go. “I’ll be there,” I say. “Just name the time.”
Then he breathes out hard, rough. He jerks his gaze to the door again, assessing something. I’m not sure what though.
I peer outside, looking for David. He’s still pacing, his back to us. He looks caught up in his call. I should say goodbye to Nick, though, so I can give David my attention when he’s done with Cynthia.
But when I look back at Nick to tell him I’m busy with a friend right now, that sexy, sultry glimmer in his eyes is long gone. He looks like…a hard-ass negotiator.
Hmm. I gird myself for whatever’s coming next.
“Lola,” he says, then scratches the back of his neck. “I need to go. I’m meeting someone here.”
My senses tingle but not in a good way. “Why would you need to go if you’re meeting that person here?”
My heart gallops, powered by fear and worry. Did he lie, after all, about not being married?
He shakes his head, swallows, then runs a hand through his hair like he’s rearranging his thoughts. “I’m…meeting…my—”
But he stops when footsteps interrupt—the familiar clomp of Vans. Then, a warm, bright voice says, “Dad!”
What?
I freeze, thoroughly confused.
But David’s not at all thrown off by the powerful older man standing next to me. He beams, and the hair on my arms stands on end.
“Oh, man,” David groans, “I wanted to introduce the two of you.” But he sounds less disappointed and more delighted, which makes zero sense. “But I see you’ve already met my friend Layla. Layla, this is my dad.”
I can’t breathe.
I can’t catch air.
I can’t even move.
I’m a horrible actress after all. Because my face is numb with the shock of this news.
Somehow, I swallow down the bitter taste in my throat and then point to the man next to me. The man I bought the corset for. The man David teased me about cheating on him with.