Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 154728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 619(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 154728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 619(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
KANE
I hadn’t wanted Avery to leave. Watching her get dressed, walking downstairs and hailing her a cab had gone against all of my better instincts.
Not that I thought I had better instincts.
The sheets smelled of her. My mouth tasted of her. As soon as she left, I felt the urge, the fucking hunger to chase her down the street and fuck her against a brownstone. Fuck who was watching.
In fact, the thought of doing it, doing her in the street, had my cock standing at attention. Not that it wasn’t already painfully hard from her walking around naked, apparently not feeling the need to cover up. If I had it my way, that woman would not wear a thing to hide the perfection that was her body. Her curves.
Except the thought of another man glimpsing the dark pink of her nipples or the hair covering her pussy had me clenching a fist. I was not jealous. Not by a long shot. All of my relationships—if you could call them that—had been open. I wasn’t into chaining a woman to me, and I sure as fuck didn’t want chains. It didn’t bother me that the women I was with were also with other men—sometimes other women. It comforted me. I didn’t want the pressure of being their one and only. Much too dangerous.
But the thought of another man, or woman, touching Avery, tasting her, even fucking holding her hand… I shuddered with fury.
A shower. A cold fucking shower was what I needed. Giving in to the fury licking at my throat would do nothing for me. Would ruin years of work.
The cold shower did little to help. I made myself come against the spray thinking of Avery. Not of her tits nor her ass nor her cunt. But to that half-smile of hers that I got the sense people didn’t see often. I felt possessive over that smile.
“You’re late,” Julian, my publicist informed me when I called him.
He was on the set of the fucking photoshoot I’d regretted agreeing to since I woke up with Avery’s body in my arms this morning.
“I need you to get me into a restaurant,” I said in reply.
“And I need you to get to 450 West Thirty-One Street five minutes ago. Have you even left yet?”
I’d closed the door to the brownstone just seconds before he posed the question. I had the urge to buy it off of Kris now that I had the memories of fucking Avery in the entryway.
I’d have to pay over market because the fuck liked to make money, and he’d sniff out that it was personal. But I didn’t give a fuck. I wanted to halt all renovations on my penthouse, sell it and move into the place where I’d first tasted, first owned, Avery Hart.
“It’s called Inferno,” I said, jogging the few feet to my bike.
My cock twitched at the memory of her behind me last night, her heat pressing into me. I’d been sure I’d have to ease her into the ride; she was uptight—in a way that made me desperate to unwind her. Classy. She was not someone who looked used to being on the back of a bike. She’d surprised and delighted the fuck out of me when she’d demanded I’d go fast.
Trust... She’d trusted me with her life within ten minutes of meeting me. And that was something I’d gathered was out of character for her.
“Are you fucking with me?” Julian practically shrieked.
I considered what it was about me that made a woman as beguiling and interesting and in control as Avery Hart to trust me. “No, I need a table there tonight.”
“You are not shitting me,” Julian muttered. “The waiting list for Inferno is two years long.”
Though I expected some kind of waiting list, that gave me pause. When she’d said that last night, I thought she was teasing me. Clearly, she wasn’t. Avery was good at what she did. Powerful. Talented. I liked that.
“You good at your job?” I asked Julian.
I could almost feel his chest puffing up. “I’m the best in the fucking business.”
“Well, get me that table.” I fingered the leather she had sat on last night, imagining fucking her against it at some point.
“It’s impossible.”
“Buy the fucking restaurant if we have to,” I demanded. “I’m getting that table.”
I got on the bike.
I wasn’t done with Avery Hart.
Not by a long shot.
Four
AVERY
My mind was elsewhere during the dinner service.
Which was a bad thing.
No matter what was going on in my personal life—though I hadn’t had one to speak of in years past—the kitchen melted all of that away. There was nothing but the task in front of me, the three other tasks ahead of that and the various elements that had to be started and finished all at the same time in order to create the perfect dish.