Page 64 of Stolen By the Billionaire
Sarah was everything Blaze wanted, but she was Logan’s little sister.
19
A Dried-Up, Cow-Milking Prune
Sarah
Sarah sat in the bed in Blaze’s guest bedroom, her knees drawn up to her chest, staring out of the windows at the night-laden air hovering above the pool and the void expanse of Lake Michigan beyond.
The sky had stars. The lake seemed to swallow all the light that hit it, even the blue aura from the dim deck lights and glowing pool water.
The blue deck lights seemed like the arctic blue of Blaze’s eyes was watching everything around the house.
When Blaze had been tying her up in his office with those soft, silken ropes, his thick biceps had flexed under his shirt as he moved.
She’d seen the muscles in his forearms flexing as he’d restrained every part of her.
He’d watched her with his ice-blue eyes, calculating every inch of her body for the knots in the ropes.
In that office's darkness, the computer screen’s glow had gleamed on his hard cheekbones and the line of his jaw, and his hands had firmly manipulated her body to do what he wanted.
He could have done anything to her—and all the terrible things that serial killers did to their victims tumbled through her mind—but he hadn’t.
He’d untied her and left her trembling.
She was still trembling.
Her hands shook on her knees.
He was just down the hall.
He’d told her that his bedroom was at the end of the hall.
That had been an invitation, right?
On the serial fiction sites where Sarah read romance stories, if a hot man with his sleeves rolled up had said that, it definitely would have been an invitation, if not an outright command.
But things like that didn’t happen to small-town farm girls like Sarah.
Suppose she walked into Blaze’s bedroom, whipped her long tee shirt off, and let it drop to the floor at his feet.
He’d probably roll his eyes and tell her to get out, that he only dated pretty women, not gross bloppy farmers with broken fingernails and callused hands who still smelled like cow manure and corn fertilizer because that stink never fully washed off.
He probably dated women who didn’t cut their own hair by tying it into a ponytail on their forehead like a unicorn and hacking away at the split ends with kitchen shears.
Women who could afford makeup, hand lotion, and toenail polish.
Heckers, she’d been literally tied up right in front of him, utterly helpless, completely at his mercy, and he hadn’t even stolen a kiss.
Blaze wasn’t interested in a dirtbag like Sarah.
No one was.
So, it was probably for the best that she didn’t know any single men because none of them would be interested in anything with her, anyway.
Sarah was going to be a dried-up, cow-milking prune soon enough, having wasted her life hanging out with Remi and Muffintop.
Maybe she should just walk into Blaze’s room and beg.
