Home For The Holidays - Jordan Silver Page 0,17

made up. All that’s left to be worked out is if I want to change the original deal from one fuck to a whole week with you in my bed.”

This diabolical fiend! I’m here to tell you if that thing you’re swinging is real, you’re not getting anywhere near my snatch with it.

“I’ll go real slow.”

“What?”

“You did it again.” I blinked at him like a ninny, not quite understanding what was going on here. I’ve never in my life had this problem; it must be him doing it to me.

“I’ll invite you to stop listening in on my inner thoughts; it’s rude.” I’m now officially the queen of the comeback. Luckily for me, he seemed to see me as some kind of entertainment, like a new mascot, because he just laughed and carried on dragging me into his three thousand square feet monstrosity of a penthouse apartment.

“Minimalist, are we?” I could roughly guess the size of his place because it was damn near empty. There was a sofa with a few matching chairs, a very furry rug, and a coffee table in the middle with the wall-sized fireplace making a nice backdrop. Because of the open floor plan with windows surrounding the entire space, I could see straight through to the dining room table.

There were a few potted plants strewn around here and there, a Picasso and a Rembrandt on opposite walls, but other than that, bumpkis. “No, I’m not; I left it like this so that my wife can do with it as she pleases.” I felt like someone had thrown a bucket of ice-cold water over my head. This time I was able to tug my hand from his as I tried valiantly to fight back the tears that threatened and barely avoided rubbing my fingers over the sudden ache in my chest.

“You’re married?” The voice did not sound like mine, and when he cupped my cheek and looked down at me with a worried look of tenderness on his face, I almost hated him. “I worded that wrong; no, I’m not married, not even close. I meant that I left my home this way so that whatever woman I marry can have the honor of making it her home.”

He studied my eyes and ran his thumb along my cheek, and that’s when I realized a tear had fallen. What the hell? “I’m sorry I hurt you.” There was a strange tone in his words, and when he lowered his head to mine, I held my breath in anticipation and fear. But he just brushed his lips against the corners of mine. “What a jip.” I sneered. I rolled my eyes when I realized I’d said that out loud again, making him laugh as he continued on to one of the chairs across from the fireplace.

I felt exposed and naked after my little display, but he was smooth in the way he moved on as if that hadn’t just happened. Now was not the time to delve into what the hell has been happening to me in the last hour or so since we met, but if I didn’t know better, I’d swear this is what love, at first sight, feels like.

It’s nothing like you’d expect, or that I would’ve. I don’t see butterflies and flowers in a rose-colored world. Instead, I can already imagine waking up beside him every morning just to see his face. I can imagine having all of that hot sexiness he has hidden under his clothes all to myself. And the fact that I wanted to die when he said he had a wife is pretty much just the icing on the cake.

JARED

Whoa, hell, she’s the real fucking deal. If I didn’t know better, if I hadn’t been the one to hack her and see with my own two eyes what she was before coming here today, I would’ve sworn that someone had tapped into my inner thoughts and pulled my ideal woman out of the ether. My ideal doesn’t have much to do with looks, though she has those in spades.

Instead, my ideal woman has a certain moral standard that resonates with me in all ways. It’s about the only thing I ask for, in fact, when I’m thinking about the kind of woman I want by my side. A man in my position can’t afford to play Russian roulette with his love life; that’s why I don’t have a string of lovers in my wake. Okay, I have more than a