His Big Mountain Axe 2018 by Faye Madison

Author:Faye, Madison [Faye, Madison]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance, Miltary, New Adult, 4.8 stars, 159 reviews
Published: 2018-03-17T00:00:00+00:00

4

Colette

The second the banquet hall doors closed behind me, I ran. I ran all the way back to my room, my heart racing and my pulse skipping every other beat.

Oh my god, who was this man? Who the hell was Rourke Cannon that he thought he could talk to me like that? More importantly, who the hell was I that I wanted him to? Who was I and where the heck had any of my sensibilities gone that him speaking those filthy things to me, and putting his hands on me, and making me…

I slammed the door to my room shut behind me and sank against it, my pulse still galloping.

Whoever he was, and whoever this insane version of myself was that he’d somehow lit inside of me, it didn’t matter. Whoever he was didn’t change the fact that I was absolutely soaking wet for him. It didn’t change the fact that every inch of my skin tingled with this aching heat that’d started on my knee, where he’d put his hand on me under the table. And I wanted to deny it, but the truth was, I’d wanted his hand to keep going. It was horrible, and I knew it was filthy and so wrong, but all I’d wanted back at that table was for him to keep touching me. All I’d wanted was his hand to keep moving higher until he’d gotten to exactly what he wanted.

…Maybe that’s why I’d finally just run from the room like a crazy person, masking my pure lust for him under bratty, snide comments.

Quickly, I grabbed my laptop and sank into my bed. I’d done it before, but now I was even more motivated to figure out who the hell Rourke was. Google gave me nothing though - only that he was obviously insanely wealthy, and that his company was involved with mining and drilling. Everything about him — the wealth, the cockiness, and the cavalier way he’d had me wrapped around his finger in seconds - made the case that he was just another rich playboy. But then, there was no evidence of that anywhere. No tabloid pictures of him with bikini models on a yacht somewhere, or living large on some tropical beach or in a casino or something.

Nothing.

I bit my lip and grinned before I rolled my eyes at myself. What was I, glad there were no pictures of him with other girls? Please, the man had player written all over him. Just because google hadn’t given me anything, that didn’t change who he clearly was.

And this man was going to be my husband.

I felt my face turn red again, thinking of his crude talking and his rough, yet completely panty-melting touch. Those hands felt so wrong touching me, and yet here I was craving them even now.

I shivered as I stood, pushing the laptop aside and stepping into my walk-in closet. I slipped out of my evening dress, my skin tingling at the memory of Rourke’s hands on it.

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