Series: Silver Spoon MC Series by Nichole Rose
Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 38632 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 193(@200wpm)___ 155(@250wpm)___ 129(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38632 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 193(@200wpm)___ 155(@250wpm)___ 129(@300wpm)
Her hair is a strange mix of deep browns and black, the kind women pay a fortune for at the salon. But I don't think hers came from a box or a colorist. It fits her too well. Everything about her fits her too well, from her beautiful body to her sun-kissed skin to her adorable pout. Dark brows crinkle in her sleep before smoothing again. Her round cheeks are pink, as if she's dreaming things she shouldn't be. It makes me curious as hell to know what's going on behind those closed eyes. Her eyes…. What color are they? Brown? Green? Blue? The fact that I don't already know bothers me.
I watch her for a long moment, my feet rooted in place.
She's a masterpiece. Every little part of her is utter perfection, as if it were handcrafted specifically to check every one of my boxes. And my dick has never been this hard in my life.
I feel like an asshole for staring at her, thinking filthy thoughts about her…yet the civilized part of my brain short circuited, leaving some primal, predatory part in charge. That part… Christ, that part likes every filthy thought currently running through my head. This angel on her knees with my dick between her lips. Her bent over my desk with that long hair wrapped around my fist… Those pouty lips crying out my name while I pump into her from behind.
Tate. Tate. Oh god, harder please.
Ah, hell.
I turn on my heel and flee the room like the hounds of hell are nipping at my heels.
"There's a woman in my office," I growl as soon as I find Jules at her desk.
She lifts her gaze from her computer screen, staring at me levelly.
"Why is there a woman in my office?"
"We already had this conversation, Tate," she says, looking at me like I'm crazy.
"We most definitely did not fucking talk about the woman sleeping in my office," I growl, glaring at her. "I think I'd remember that."
"Aww, she's sleeping?"
"Jules!"
"Tate!"
I pinch the bridge of my nose. "Why is there a woman sleeping in my office?"
"Uh, because she's tired?" Jules gives me another look that says she's questioning my intelligence. "It's not even seven and she drove in from Houston to meet you this morning. She's probably exhausted, poor thing. I think she's been sleeping in the waiting room at the hospital."
She's been sleeping in a waiting room? Why is my blood pressure rising at the thought of her sleeping in the waiting room?
"She drove here from Houston this morning?"
Jules nods.
Fucking hell. She is exhausted.
"You could have warned me she was in my office," I mutter without heat.
"I told you that you had a consult."
"I thought you meant later."
"Did I say you had a consult later? No. I said you were late."
"Shit."
"You're cursing an awful lot this morning."
I huff out a curse and then turn a sharp glare on Jules before she can comment on it. She holds up her hands in a gesture of surrender, pressing her lips together in a tight line as if to indicate she's not going to say a word. I'm almost positive she's only doing it to keep from laughing at me, but I let that slide.
I need to go wake Sleeping Beauty. Jules can give me shit about my language later. Preferably after I process how absolutely fucked I am. Because the woman sleeping in my office? I'm pretty sure interest doesn't even begin to cover how I feel about her right now. Judging by the voice currently roaring mine like a demon, interest doesn't cover it by half.
"What's her name?"
"Her name is Samara Lansing," Jules says.
Samara Lansing. It suits her. The first name, anyway.
We'll work on changing the last name to mine after I save her niece.
Chapter Two
Samara
"Sleeping Beauty."
Something drifts across the side of my face.
I groan, lifting my hand to bat it away. I'm warm and comfortable and I don't want to move, let alone wake up and deal with whatever crisis awaits me today. There have been a lot of those lately. I'm so tired. I can't remember the last time I slept for more than a couple of hours at a time.
"Wake up, Sleeping Beauty."
"It's too early," I complain, squeezing my eyes closed as if that'll make whoever is annoying me go away and stop interrupting my dream. I was on the beach, my toes in the sand, the rays of the hot California sun spilling down over me while waves crashed against the shoreline.
"Trust me, angel, I'm aware."
The amusement bleeding through the deep rumble of his voice breaks through the haze in my mind. The last lingering rays of the California sun slip away. The gentle crash of water against wet earth recedes, taking the feel of the sand beneath my feet with it.
I'm on a plush sofa, my hand tucked beneath my cheek, my neck bent at an odd angle.