The Dom With the Perfect Brats Read Online Free PDF

boy, that bet she’d thought a guaranteed money- maker – not.
    Godfrey Cross was looking at her ankle. While he was far away, he’d been scary but safe. But here, where she felt enveloped in his masculinity ... If before her groin had been aching just a little, now, she felt herself dampen.
    Do it.
    “Hi,” she said brazenly. Might as well go all in.
    His attention shifted to her face, but was it her imagination that made his gaze seem to sl ow as it travelled up her body?
    Yes. Imagination. Must be. The jet lag from two months ago was kicking in late, or something. If anyone qualified as average in the body department, she did.
    “Hi, little Miss Sorry. Everything okay?”
    The volcanic rumble of his voice rocked into her body.
    God damn. “Yes,” she squeaked. Where had her courage gone? She swallowed and tried again. “I was told to keep still so I wouldn’t get a snake with leprosy.”
    Though an eyebrow lifted in bemusement, he nodded.
    Why had she repeated that, or felt that bizarre need to explain why she was sitting still for the tattoo? Facepalm time. Now he thought she was crazy.
    “It’s pretty. A phoenix?”
    “Mm-hmm. Maybe you should get one.” What a dumb thing to say! As if he’d want a rainbow-colored phoenix.This time it was her perusing his body. Hard, muscly. God. The man was made in eye-candy heaven. “Though yours are way prettier. The pig thing on your biceps is beautiful.”
    “It’s a boar.” His expression conveyed with the minimum of facial movement that he thought her eyes needed adjusting.
    “Sorry,” she whispered. “Still pretty.” Pretty suddenly seemed the wrong adjective. Her heart picked up, thudding deeper, louder. Peeking at his face, she wondered if her eyes had widened. Because it felt like it.
    Calm. Serene. Breathe slooow. Every time she got a tattoo from now on she’d remember this ...this brush with someone who made her feel as small as a gnat. But, she’d done it, flirted.
    She caught sight of Gemma returning, her mouth open slightly as if in awe. Taken by some ridiculous moment of bravado, she arched a brow and gave her a smug look.
    Cross narrowed his eyes. “You two best friends now?”
    Thumbs tucked in her jeans pockets, Gemma sauntered to a halt beside Cross.
    “They ’ve got a be –” Jake began.
    She loudly cleared her throat. If he spilled t his and told Cross they’d bet on her teasing him, she’d die of embarrassment.
    The look Jake shot her morphed from startled to pure evil. You owe me , he mouthed before he went back to tattooing.
    Now Cross was looking from her to Jake and back again. “Something I should know, Jake?”
    “Maybe. She’s just worried I’ll...”
    Fuck. She closed her eyes a moment.
    “ ...tell you about her twitching. I said I’d get you to hold her down. Then she, you know, giggled like women do and said...” He paused again and adopted a contemplative aura.
    She covered her face with her splayed fingers.
    “She said she’d die if you did that.”
    Next shopping trip she was buying a Jake voodoo doll and sticking pins in it .
    Meanwhile Gemma was looking like she’d rupture something through holding back from laughing. Izzy scowled at her through her fingers.
    Looking both puzzled and suspicious, Cross said, “Then I guess I should do my duty and help a young lady in distress.”
    And with that, his big calloused hand settled over her ankle. The room quivered. She quivered. Jake’s had felt like a proper hand, this was like being gripped by a giant. A warm, living Titan who seemed to be saying in the way he held her, that this was now his ankle.
    And for the rest of the tattoo, all three million years of it, she sat there with him doing that. She didn’t dare say a word.
    ***
    The bet. She’d been so befuddled by Cross holding down her ankle yesterday she’d forgotten about it. All morning at the café she’d caught herself daydreaming. Her bisexuality often sent her into a tizz over men or women but