Page 132 of 'Tis the season of Wicked Deeds

Under the photo, I learn his full name. When I click on a link to read his full bio, my world once more tilts on its axis.

Kingston Bucher.

Billionaire playboy.

Retired NBA player and founding member of Odyssey Agency.

“Oh fuck!” I curse. “I really am clueless about sports.”

With each article I peruse—there are literally thousands flooding the internet—I learn more and more eye-opening details that pop the romantic bubble I was living in.

Only one epiphany remains.

I gotconnedby the biggest Casanova on the planet.

WICKED DEEDS

1.Get risqué behavior in public.

2.I wanna be your slave.

3.Be my Daddy tonight.

4.Slut me up, Mr. King.

5.Make love in front of the fireplace.

6.No falling in love.

CHAPTER – 36

Kingston

“You’re not Julian.”

The words freeze me in my spot in front of the floor-to-ceiling glass wall. I’m not shocked or curious about how she found out the truth. My only regret is that it wasn’t from me. A single phone call and the damage is already done.

All I pray for is that she listens to my side of the story and forgives me.

That I haven’t broken us beyond repair.

My hand slips from the glass as I slowly turn around and face her.

The girl of my dreams, whom I’ve been obsessed with and stalked over months like a lovesick fool, stands near the entrance to the drawing room, in my shirt that dwarfs her petite frame, staring at me like I’m a stranger.

Being on the receiving end of it hurts like agony.

Yet my heart beats faster at the mere sight of her. Her gorgeous beauty with a hint of innocence steals my breath awayevery time I look at her. I’ve been around countless beautiful women, but none wielded the power to bring me to my knees like she does.

Silky brown hair falls in waves just below her breasts, while the olive skin of her face is flushed from the earlier orgasm. Even her pouty lips are still swollen from my rough kisses. However, her soft eyes hold none of the warmth I’ve grown to love, which is a crushing blow to my sternum.

I’m to blame for it.

The distance between us is as wide and as unpredictable as the ocean, when mere moments ago I had her in my arms.

Was it my imagination that I glimpsed hope on her beautiful face before we got interrupted? She was about to tell me something.

Did I fuck everything up more than I already have?

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