Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 89898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
The late morning sun streams through my office windows as my brother starts in again.
“Anyway,” Boone begins, “Mom called this morning and wants everyone over for brunch next week since Coy will be home. I’m supposed to spread the word.”
I tap the edge of Blaire’s credit card against my desk. Each tap makes it seem like my brain is being split farther in two.
Half of it is here, in my office, processing my conversation with Graham Landry and listening to Boone. The other half is perplexed with a dark-haired woman who I’m now considering might be fucking with me.
I don’t really believe that. She’s not the game-playing type. I’m positive about that. Mostly. But she’s also not the leave-your-credit-card-behind kind of woman, yet here I sit, holding it. It makes a man wonder if this is a game or some fucked-up gift from above.
“You’re coming, right?” Boone asks.
I sit back in my chair and pull my thoughts back to the present. “Of course.”
“Okay. I’ll let her know.”
“Like Mom’s not going to call us all and give us a run-down on her menu and ask if we have any requests.”
“She asked for my help,” he says with a hint of pride. “I’m just doing what I said I would.”
I scoff. “Whatever. She’s just trying to keep you busy so you keep your dick out of … what’s-her-name.”
I can hear Boone’s jaw drop. Or maybe it’s just the way he gasps and hides a chuckle right after. Either way, his reaction makes me laugh.
“Mom does not know who my dick is in,” Boone says.
“The hell she doesn’t. Mom knows everything, and the sooner you realize that, the better.”
“She can’t possibly know I’m fucking Daphne Monroe.”
The edge of Blaire’s card presses into my thigh as I move it back and forth.
“Boone,” I deadpan. “You don’t think Daphne is running her mouth to everyone who will listen—especially to all the women at the country club? That girl is shooting for the Mason family trifecta or whatever it would be called with five people.”
He laughs. “You mean four because Wade isn’t gonna fuck her.”
I laugh too because he’s right. Wade’s not going to get a piece of that because Wade doesn’t get a piece of anybody. If Oliver and I are workaholics, Wade is whatever the next level of that is because no matter how busy Ollie and I get, we do our own versions of dating. Wade does not.
“I’m not fucking her, either,” I say, wrinkling my nose at the thought of banging Daphne Monroe. “I guess trifecta works, after all.”
I flip the card into the palm of my hand and rub my thumb across Blaire’s name.
Maybe I should just stick it in the mail or have someone run it over to the Landry’s.
The raised, gold letters spelling her name prickle against my skin. I can’t help but remember how she felt against me last night. But as I think back, I realize the best part wasn’t the curve of her waist or the way she fit so perfectly around my cock.
The absolute best part was watching her choose to cede control—to let me have my way. It was a deliberate, calculated decision, and there’s something inherently sexier about it than when a woman just rolls over for me.
Fuck.
“What are you doing today, anyway?” Boone asks.
“Going over Wade’s plans again. You?”
“Not sure. I’ll tell you what I’m not going to do—go watch golf with Oliver and Gramps.”
“I’m sure you’ll find something to waste your time.” I pull the phone away from my face and see an incoming call. “Hey, Boone. I gotta go. I have a call I gotta take.”
“Sure, man. Later.”
“Bye.” I waste no time in clicking over to the other line. “Hello?”
“Hello, Holt.”
My heartbeat quickens at the sound of Blaire’s smooth, sweet voice.
I sink back into my seat. My shoulders soften against the leather as I take a moment and listen to her breathe.
“I was starting to think you weren’t going to call,” I say finally.
“To be perfectly honest, I wasn’t going to.”
A grin plays on my lips. I toss her credit card onto my desk, and it skids into my keyboard before it stops. “May I ask why not?”
“I just thought things would be better if we left things between us in the hotel room.”
At the mention of things being left behind, my hand slides into my pants pocket. The lacy fabric slips between my fingers as I imagine her arching a brow in a quiet challenge.
Challenge accepted.
“Like your panties?” I tease.
She coughs in surprise before recovering quickly. “I was thinking more along the lines of not making our encounter awkward or complicated.”
“We aren’t wild animals, Miss Gibson. We didn’t have an encounter.”
“You know what I mean.”
I lean forward, my forearms resting against the desktop. My cock twitches as memories of our encounter flash before my eyes.