Sun God Seeks...surrogate?

Sun God Seeks...surrogate? by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff Read Free Book Online Page B

Book: Sun God Seeks...surrogate? by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff Read Free Book Online
Authors: Mimi Jean Pamfiloff
my toes and back again.
    “Yes. I think I’d like that.” His voice was above a whisper, but its depth made my girly parts quiver.
    Without warning, he reached out and ran his thumb over my lower lip. “Why don’t we go up to my suite.” It wasn’t a question.
    Sweet devil’s food cake. He hit on me?
    Me?
    For real?
    If he had, then I was sooo over my head. One touch, one look, and I was ready to agree to anything he might ask. Dye my hair electric blue? Suuure. Rob a bank armed with a Twinkie? Anyyything you want. Have your baby? Ten of them? You betcha!
    Oh, and his scent. It was an olfactory delight. I wanted someone to bottle it and put on my fabric softener sheets so I could wear it.
    I dipped my head slowly, meanwhile my mind swam in a lusty fog named Nick—um—Kinich.
    I removed myself from the barstool, and when I felt his toasty-warm palm brush across the base of my bare back, I was pretty darn sure I’d somehow acquired an addiction to him. And that meant I’d do almost anything to have him touch me again.
     
    ***
     
    An awkward silence filled the elevator ride to the penthouse while my mind did a few laps around the logic tree. It kept landing on the same exact branch: This man turned me into a ball of hormones, where logic had no clout. I wanted him. I wanted him in a way that defied rational thought or a need for self-esteem.
    Danger, Will Robinson. Danger.
    We entered the suite, and I tried to keep from gawking like the middle-class apartment dweller that I was. Expensive things, wealth, they never mattered much to me—I was too busy worrying about things that really mattered, I suppose—but this hotel was truly beyond the luxury I’d ever known. Gray and red modern furniture; expensive-looking paintings; large, open living room; and flat screen TV the size of my entire apartment. All overlooking the city.
    He proceeded to the bar in the corner. “Make yourself comfortable.”
    Got a Snuggie and some Old Navy UGG knockoffs?
    I made my way to the couch facing the panoramic window overlooking the shimmering city dusted with snow. With as much grace as I could muster, I sat and tried to hide how nervous he made me.
    He quickly returned and handed me another dirty martini. “Hope it’s to your standards.”
    I took a tiny sip. It was god-awful. “It’s perfect. Thanks.” I flashed a forced smile, thankful that I’d finally found at least one teeny-tiny flaw in the man.
    “So.” He sat down next to me, incredibly close. I felt my heart begin to thump wildly in my chest.
    “I sense I make you anxious, Penelope. Are you certain you wish to be here?”
    I took a large swig, feeling the vodka sear its way down my throat. I turned my body to more easily see his face.
    Mistake.
    He made me absolutely tongue-tied. And my reaction to him, simply put, was unknown territory for me.
    Yes. I’d dated men before. I’d even managed to have two relationships. One when I was seventeen and the other when I was twenty-two. Each lasted about a year, but even in the “I’m so into you” phases of those relationships, I’d never felt so lacking in control over my emotions. Maybe that’s what excited me about Kinich—Nick— still can’t decide —he made me feel like…like… not me .
    Escape.
    I craved it.
    “Yes,” I finally replied after several moments of silence. “I want to be here.”
    He reached out with his hand, but then jerked it away when the door buzzed. He made a little growl. It was so sexy, that my nipples instantly perked.
    He got up and headed for the door. I heard the low rumble of voices, then the door closing.
    Kinich returned with a bottle of Dom Pérignon in a silver wine bucket and placed it on the glass coffee table in front of us.
    “What’s the occasion?” I asked.
    “A debt being paid.”
    “Sorry?”
    “I bet my sister that she could not have a party without the police being called.”
    “You mean the party last night?” I recalled Cimil mentioning something

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