Read Online 10 Rules to Sex Up a Blind Date by Heidi Rice - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Heidi Rice
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than good? Why did they have to finish it so abruptly? Surely they were in danger of getting orgasm withdrawal if they went cold turkey too quickly?
She ripped the envelope, excitement making her heart hammer her ribs. Her brows launched up her forehead as a bunch of twenty-pound notes fluttered to the floor. How odd. Had he left her money for the room? It looked like hundreds. She unfolded the starchy paper, her gaze flicking over the two sentences scrawled across it.
Tally
,
I
figure Sam already covered your expenses
,
but I hope to hell this covers all the extras.
Thanks for an amazing night.
You were worth every penny.
B
Horror slammed into her first as realisation dawned. Quickly followed by disgust and a slow-burning feminist fury. But underneath it all was the crippling, sickening, overwhelming wave of hurt.
She’d liked him. She’d genuinely liked him. She’d enjoyed his sardonic humour, his quick wit and the care and attention he’d shown her even when they’d been shagging each other senseless. But worse, she’d thought he liked her. She’d thought he admired her sharp wit and forthright attitude. She’d thought that when he held her that last time, and eased inside her, there had been an acceptance, an understanding between them that went beyond the sex.
When all the time he’d been thinking she was a bloody working girl.
She grabbed her phone, brushing the angry tears off her cheeks, and scrolled down to the photo she’d taken of Brent in the bar. Clicking through to Twitter, she stabbed out the tweet on her keypad, fury making her fingers shake and going some way to deflecting her attention from the agonising knot twisting under her breastbone.
As the post zipped off into the ether, she hoped the bloody thing got retweeted a billion times. Because as far as she was concerned, Brent O’Neill could go fuck himself.
He might be great in bed, every woman’s one-night-stand dream come true, but he was also as much of a stone-cold heartless bastard and user of women as Henry...and her dear old dad.
Which just went to prove her alpha-hole radar was still as crap as it had ever been.
Chapter Seven
#NewRule: Some dates should come w/ a public health warning: meet the #EpicHotLover AKA the #UltimateAlphaHole: pic.twitter.com/ghj78sjU
‘Hey, man, I got your voicemail. Sorry it didn’t work out with Tally. The way you were checking her out, I figured you would make a night of it.’
Brent’s temper exploded at Sam’s casual tone. ‘Are you fucking kidding me?’
He cupped his hand round the phone even though his office door was closed and his PA, Jenna, appeared to be well-occupied giving the poor guy who’d come to fix the printer the third degree.
‘The joke’s over, man. I saw her business cards.’ His insides clenched with the sour mix of regret and futile anger that had been festering in the pit of his stomach ever since he’d run out of the hotel suite two hours ago. ‘The problem isn’t that we didn’t hit it off, it’s that I spent all night banging her before I figured it out.’
Shame thickened his throat and made his head hurt. Had Sam set this up deliberately, to teach him a damn lesson? As if he needed any more of those after Della had crucified him.
‘You should have given me a goddamn heads up. I don’t know what the hell Della told you, but I don’t pay women for sex. You totally crossed a line.’
‘Whoa! Hold up a goddamn minute. Tally’s not a prostitute. What the hell?’
‘You think?’ Brent barrelled on, his fury gathering pace. ‘Have you checked out her business cards?’
‘No way. She’s a friend of Zack’s girlfriend, Melody. She works at
MyPad
, that hipster interior design magazine.’ Sam’s pained reply sounded sincere. ‘Jesus, man, I know Della kicked you in the nuts over the divorce, but you’ve gotta stop being so damn paranoid. Tally’s sharp and funny and my take is she’s also kind of fucked-up about guys. Which made you two
She ripped the envelope, excitement making her heart hammer her ribs. Her brows launched up her forehead as a bunch of twenty-pound notes fluttered to the floor. How odd. Had he left her money for the room? It looked like hundreds. She unfolded the starchy paper, her gaze flicking over the two sentences scrawled across it.
Tally
,
I
figure Sam already covered your expenses
,
but I hope to hell this covers all the extras.
Thanks for an amazing night.
You were worth every penny.
B
Horror slammed into her first as realisation dawned. Quickly followed by disgust and a slow-burning feminist fury. But underneath it all was the crippling, sickening, overwhelming wave of hurt.
She’d liked him. She’d genuinely liked him. She’d enjoyed his sardonic humour, his quick wit and the care and attention he’d shown her even when they’d been shagging each other senseless. But worse, she’d thought he liked her. She’d thought he admired her sharp wit and forthright attitude. She’d thought that when he held her that last time, and eased inside her, there had been an acceptance, an understanding between them that went beyond the sex.
When all the time he’d been thinking she was a bloody working girl.
She grabbed her phone, brushing the angry tears off her cheeks, and scrolled down to the photo she’d taken of Brent in the bar. Clicking through to Twitter, she stabbed out the tweet on her keypad, fury making her fingers shake and going some way to deflecting her attention from the agonising knot twisting under her breastbone.
As the post zipped off into the ether, she hoped the bloody thing got retweeted a billion times. Because as far as she was concerned, Brent O’Neill could go fuck himself.
He might be great in bed, every woman’s one-night-stand dream come true, but he was also as much of a stone-cold heartless bastard and user of women as Henry...and her dear old dad.
Which just went to prove her alpha-hole radar was still as crap as it had ever been.
Chapter Seven
#NewRule: Some dates should come w/ a public health warning: meet the #EpicHotLover AKA the #UltimateAlphaHole: pic.twitter.com/ghj78sjU
‘Hey, man, I got your voicemail. Sorry it didn’t work out with Tally. The way you were checking her out, I figured you would make a night of it.’
Brent’s temper exploded at Sam’s casual tone. ‘Are you fucking kidding me?’
He cupped his hand round the phone even though his office door was closed and his PA, Jenna, appeared to be well-occupied giving the poor guy who’d come to fix the printer the third degree.
‘The joke’s over, man. I saw her business cards.’ His insides clenched with the sour mix of regret and futile anger that had been festering in the pit of his stomach ever since he’d run out of the hotel suite two hours ago. ‘The problem isn’t that we didn’t hit it off, it’s that I spent all night banging her before I figured it out.’
Shame thickened his throat and made his head hurt. Had Sam set this up deliberately, to teach him a damn lesson? As if he needed any more of those after Della had crucified him.
‘You should have given me a goddamn heads up. I don’t know what the hell Della told you, but I don’t pay women for sex. You totally crossed a line.’
‘Whoa! Hold up a goddamn minute. Tally’s not a prostitute. What the hell?’
‘You think?’ Brent barrelled on, his fury gathering pace. ‘Have you checked out her business cards?’
‘No way. She’s a friend of Zack’s girlfriend, Melody. She works at
MyPad
, that hipster interior design magazine.’ Sam’s pained reply sounded sincere. ‘Jesus, man, I know Della kicked you in the nuts over the divorce, but you’ve gotta stop being so damn paranoid. Tally’s sharp and funny and my take is she’s also kind of fucked-up about guys. Which made you two
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