Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 23971 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 120(@200wpm)___ 96(@250wpm)___ 80(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23971 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 120(@200wpm)___ 96(@250wpm)___ 80(@300wpm)
“Mr. Barlowe,” Brantley says, nearly giving me a heart attack. I didn’t hear him sneaking up on me. I was too focused on my girl. “I’m terribly sorry about that. Shall we begin the tour?”
“Um,” I say with an itch in my throat. I turn back to my girl and her eyes are already off me. She’s speaking to the group. I wonder what she’s saying. “Yes.”
I take one last long look at her and then follow Brantley along the deck. He’s talking about the teak floors we’re walking on, but all I’m thinking about is her.
“This yacht has it all,” he says as he opens a door and we head inside. “It came with a helicopter, can you believe that?”
This morning, I would have been impressed. Now, I would trade everything I have—I would trade all the treasures in the world—to be able to wake up in bed next to that angel. To climb on top of her and see her tired, smiling face under me as I slide into her hot wet pussy.
If I had her, I’d be the richest man in the world.
It wouldn’t even be close.
VanMorgan shows me a few luxurious bedrooms—each with an ensuite bathroom, and then he shows me the office area. There’s a massive conference room with a giant table surrounded by black leather chairs.
“Would you like to know why I bought the Hyenas?” Brantley asks. “I could have bought any team in the league, but I wanted the worst one.”
“Yeah, why did you pick the Hyenas?” I ask with a chuckle. They were dog shit for decades. Always ranked last for everything and the arena barely had a thirty percent occupancy rate for the home games.
“I love hockey,” he says as we walk through the giant kitchen where a dozen chefs are scurrying around, preparing appetizers and desserts. “And I wanted to make my mark on the league. I could have bought a highly-ranked team, but what challenge is there in that? If I had success, people would say I achieved it with my wallet. But if I took the worst team in the league and molded it into the best? Then, everyone would have to admit that we did something special.”
“You’ve done amazing so far,” I say as we head into the wine cellar. My mouth drops when I see all of the bottles lined up to the tall ceiling. “The Hyenas made it into the playoffs for the first time in a long time.”
He grins and nods. “Yes, but the job is not done yet.”
“We’ll get there,” I say as I check out an old bottle on display. The handwriting on the label is all faded.
“I know,” Brantley says with a smile. “I believe in our group. And I believe in you.”
He picks up the bottle and shows it to me.
“From the royal cellar of Louis Phillippe the First, King of France,” VanMorgan says with a grin. “Almost two hundred years old. Worth an obscene amount of money, but probably tastes like rotting grape juice by now.”
“Are you ever going to drink it?”
He grins. “Win me a championship and I’ll crack it open. We can drink it from the Stony Cup.”
I laugh, eager to experience that. “You got it.”
He returns the bottle and we head back out.
My mind darts back to the mystery girl on Coach’s arm as VanMorgan tells me to have fun and then leaves to schmooze more of his guests.
I search the crowd for her, my heart pounding harder with every second I don’t see her. Finally, I find her by the bar and I take a breath of relief.
My possessive eyes track her every move while I imagine what it would be like to possess her, to have her all to myself.
Those pink lips are making my body ache. I’m all shaky with a desperate edgy feeling in my core. Seeing her surrounded by all those men… Fuck, watching them look at her is making my blood boil. It’s making me want to go over there, throw her over my shoulder, and bring her into one of those bedrooms I just saw. She’s for my eyes only. Those mesmerizing hips, those intoxicating breasts… this girl is killing me.
I walk toward her, cutting through the crowd with a single purpose on my mind—making her mine.
“Barlowe,” the coach says in a deep voice as he suddenly pops up in front of me.
He looks me up and down with an appraising eye and then grunts, like he begrudgingly approves of my suit.
“I trust you’ll be a good representative of the team tonight,” he says in a stern tone.
“You don’t have to worry about me, Coach,” I say as I glance at my girl over his shoulder. She’s talking with some of the wives and girlfriends of the team. Her blue eyes dart over to me and my knees nearly buckle.