Bend - Bromberg K. (читать книги онлайн бесплатно серию книг txt) 📗

As she stands there with her hands on her hips, glaring at me like she’s she knows how big and bad I am, I’m shifting to try and hide my erection.

I can’t keep my eyes from returning to her breasts. They stretch her long-sleeved gray t-shirt. I run my gaze down to her curvy hips and wonder what she’d do if I grabbed her ass right now.

I can’t believe my reaction to her. The way my dick salutes her. The way my balls draw up like she’s tickling them with her tongue.

It’s not because she’s classically beautiful. She’s got a strange look: long, straight, red hair; red lips; pale skin with a smattering of freckles on her nose. Her blue eyes are big and wide. If I had to paint her as an animal, I’d make her a fox. Sleek. Striking.

I roll my gaze down her small, lithe body, lingering on her hips, encased in jeans. I wonder what her cunt would taste like.

Strawberries, I bet.

I imagine thrusting two fingers into her slick, pink flesh; working my pinkie into her tight asshole.

I’d love to see those legs sag open for me.

I want to hear her moan and pant, feel her writhe under me.

“This is a really terrible thing to do to someone,” she says, hands on her hips. “You’re using my financial issues to manipulate me.”

I arch a brow. “I’m offering you an easy chance to drive off tomorrow with a check for sixty thousand dollars and an opportunity to net much more for your grandmother’s foundation.”

“Really? Because it looks to me like you gave me thirty thousand dollars, then snatched it away in order to control me. I’d rather be poor and homeless than manipulated by an ass like you.”

Christ, she’s sexy.

I struggle to suppress a smile.

“I’d like you to come and see the island,” I try.

“So I can decide if I want to give it to you?” She snorts. “I can tell you right now, my answer is ‘no.’”

“Reconsider.”

She bites down on her lower lip, and my dick pulses. I wonder if she’s red between her legs.

“Why should I get into a boat with you, wolf?”

I hate how she keeps calling me that—my real last name—so I’m a little terse when I say, “Do it because I asked.”

A little laugh, soft as the wind. “Are you sure you were my grandmother’s employee? Something about you feels really…lawyer to me. Lawyer or…hmmm.” She strokes her chin. “Maybe banker.”

I force myself to breathe. “You’ve got it all wrong, Rojo.”

I step down into the boat to give her the illusion of space. If she turns to leave, I’ll go after her, but she doesn’t need to know that.

I watch her look from me to the parking lot, so obviously considering her choice. I’m still hard, so I lean on the dock and try to find something about her I don’t like.

Freckles.

Never have liked them.

She has freckles.

Except on her, they emphasize just how fucking smooth and soft and unblemished the rest of her skin is. I wonder if she has freckles on her breasts.

I grit my teeth again, and when I look back at her face, I get this feeling like she might be checking me out, too.

Another surprise: The scrutiny makes me squirm.

Squirming makes me angry. I’m not who I used to be, and most days I think it’s for the best. But this is pathetic.

I reach out and grab her around the knees, throw her over my shoulder, and set her down inside the boat. I snatch her bags from the dock and say, “Come on, Rojo.”

Her lips twitch. “Are you really calling me Rojo?”

I shrug. “I think it fits.”

I hedge my bets and turn away from her to finish breaking down the sail. I’m watching, though. She doesn’t run—not yet, anyway. By the time the sail is secured, I’m sweating like a hog over a pit, so I unbutton the top of my shirt and lean against one of the boat’s wood benches.

“Come see the place, Rojo. I have some poems for you, and pictures.”

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and glances at the dock. “How long did you work for Gertrude?” she asks pointedly.

I can tell from her intense stare that my answer is important, so I don’t say ‘four years.’ It sounds insubstantial, which it’s not.

“We met in Madrid, at an art exhibit. Have you ever heard of ‘W?’”

I know she has. I’ve done my homework.

“He’s one of my favorites,” she confirms.

“I met Trudie at one of his first cafe shows.”

Her face transforms—a look of wonder; maybe even envy—and I’m irrationally pleased she appreciates my work.

“We both liked nature, and being by ourselves. I moved here to help her keep the island up.”

She bites her lip again, inspecting me from beneath her long eyelashes. “Tell me something about my mother. Anything you know. And you will know something if you really knew Gertrude.”

“Her middle name was Anna, and she liked butterflies and worked as a professor.”

She juts her chin up. “Where did she work?”

“University of Alabama at Birmingham.”

Again, with her teeth on that tasty little lip. My dick, which had been settling down, is all the way up again, and I want to groan.

“Okay, so you really worked for my grandmother. That doesn’t mean you’re not a manipulative asshole. I’m afraid I have no interest in helping you. I’d rather take my money-grubbing self and starve.” She grabs her bags and starts to climb out of the boat, and I’m on her; my hand on her elbow, fingers closing around her smooth skin.

“C’mon, Rojo. Just come see it with me. All I’m asking for is one night. How about this? If you come with me, I’ll pay you ten thousand. Either way. I promise.” I put my heart and soul into the word, because what’s left of them is anchored to that damn island. I can’t exist anywhere else. I jerk my gaze around the docks, suddenly terrified someone will recognize me and I’ll lose my chance with her.

Her mouth puckers. “I want to see your photo ID or I won’t even consider your ridiculous request.”

Fuck!

“I don’t have it on me.”

“Really. ’Cause that’s not strange or anything…”

“I don’t often leave the island.”

“Also strange,” she says. “Why is that?”

“I’m uncomfortable around people.” It’s the closest I can get to the truth, which reads more like I hate everyone.

That’ll win her, James.

As if she hears my thoughts, she says, “What’s your name?”

“Race,” I tell her. It’s my college nickname.

“Race what?” She’s frowning at me like she thinks I’m stupid.

“Race Hollister.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Really?”

“Do you have a problem with it?”

“Only that I can’t believe you. Without some sort of ID, I have no idea who you are. What the hell would make me go anywhere with you, let alone a deserted island where you could chop me into little pieces and feed me to your pet turtles?”

“Turtles aren’t meant to be pets; most animals aren’t.”

“Even posing as a humanitarian, I still don’t trust you.”

I take a step away from her, suddenly drained. “I’m not going to keep begging, Rojo. If you don’t need ten thousand dollars, walk away. If you do, get in.”

RED

My stomach twists when I think of the money he’s offering. Ten thousand dollars is enough to tide me over until I find work. Sixty is enough to take a year or two off. Enough to travel almost anywhere I want.

“You must really want this island badly.”

He rubs his forehead, reminding me of a tired child. “I do.”

Even now, standing close enough so I can see the sweat on his brow and throat, he’s beautiful. A handsome villain.

I sigh. “I can’t believe I’m desperate enough to consider this.”

“I’m sorry I called you a money-grubber.”

I meet his eyes and am surprised to find they’re softer now. Probably an act.

I look down at my bag and purse, then around, at the other boats, then out at the sea, which is choppy from the breeze. I drag my phone out of my pocket.