His Curvy Castaway Obsession – A Man Who Knows What He Wants Read online Flora Ferrari

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Romance Tags Authors:

Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 29515 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 148(@200wpm)___ 118(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)

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His Curvy Castaway Obsession - A Man Who Knows What He Wants

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Flora Ferrari

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Seeing her from across the street, I damn near get myself run over trying to get closer. To convince myself she’s real.
She’s real alright, and so are those curves. I end up pressing more than my face against the glass as I watch her, wanting her.
Needing to claim her. What could such a gorgeous, curvy younger woman see in an older man like me? Muscles and money? I’ve never gone for girls like that.
But I want a real woman. A man who knows what he wants needs something worth having. Worth keeping. Forever.

Two weeks wages for a day’s waitressing? Sign me up. It’s on a what now? Ah… the catch. It’s on a yacht. Bikinis and bimbos, that’s my first thought. Until I see him.
Until I see the effect I have on him. Until I forget how to waitress and decide all this pent up innocence of mine should really be going overboard, where it belongs.
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Flora Ferrari

Chapter One


“It’s double a week’s wages, that’s why! If he hadn’t asked for you specifically I’d be doing it myself. D’ya want the job or not?”

Ranka, is my temp agency boss, where I got my waitressing job from. If she had hooves and a trident she could moonlight as something else, but I know she’s right.

Two week’s pay for a day’s work? Friggin’ jackpot.

“But it’s on a boat…” I whine, wincing as I hear how pathetic I sound, panicked by the thought they might want me to wear a swimsuit, or worse.

“You’d better haul ass if you wanna do it, he said he’d be making sure I sent you… said he saw you someplace and knew you’d be the perfect fit, whatever that means… paid in advance so who cares? Now get goin’ kid or you’ll be late.”

My hands shake as I sign off on the job, contracting myself for labor and waiving my right to sue satanic Ranka should anything go wrong, which I hope it doesn’t.

I groan as I notice the harbor address, its miles away and parking will be a bitch, but hey. I just hit pay dirt. I might even Uber it now I’m in the money.

Hurrying to get away, I turn quickly and walk straight into someone.

I can smell him before I look up, which feels like three stories up, the man’s huge.

He smells like the perfect male who’s been cast from luxury soap in the woods. I’m trying to open my mouth to apologize, but all I can do is breathe him in.

I’m no featherweight, but this guy must be at least three of me except he’s pure muscle. I notice both my hands pressed against his blue polo shirt, instinctively clutching his rock hard chest and I resist the urge to pull them away, gasping.

My neck cranes up and I see the deepest, darkest eyes set into Michelangelo’s David, hewn from man flesh staring straight back at me. His smile, like his eyes, are bright and fresh but with a deep, mysterious vibe behind them.

His eyes are almost sad until they narrow in time with the low growling sound coming from someplace deep inside that thick chest.

“It’s a yacht, not a boat,” his deep voice assures me, the corner of his lightly stubbled lip turning up into a challengingly friendly grin and I feel one of his huge hands covering mine, pressing it right into his heart.

If I were a boat, I’ve just sprung a leak. Something about that amazing smell, OMG height and solid muscle first thing in the morning has me wishing I’d packed myself with gauze before leaving home, but who counts on literally bumping into god’s gift when leaving for work in the morning?

I can feel myself saying something, most likely something stupid, but I can’t hear it over the rush of blood in my ears, the pounding in my chest and the certainty that I’ve just wet my panties.

“I’m Michael,” he says, his voice like spiced honey as he takes my hand into his, making it a formal handshake, breaking up what must be a frightening scene for Ranka, my boss.

“I see you’ve met, Zoe,” she says apologetically, Michael only growls again and still holding my hand, he takes a step back, appraising me with satisfaction, making me flush a deeper shade of red than the one my body’s manufactured from the pleasure of his touch.

“Zoe.” He says with finality, as if it’s a stone rolling over a cave to seal my fate.

“You’ll come with me then, I was just passing, thought I’d give you a lift?”

I notice the look he shoots Ranka, like they have a shared secret of some sort, but I figure it’s about money, so I don’t say a word.

“Sure!” I squeak, forgetting how to waitress altogether before we even get to the door.

“It’s just a small, informal gathering for some of Mr. Parker’s investors. A bit tedious, but mainly drinks with a selection of hot canapés, lunch will be on the island and then home again. You should be back by evening…”

He’s holding the door open for me and I miss whatever Ranka’s saying behind us. But this Michael cloud I’m floating on, I want this to last as long as physically possible.

“You’ll be there?” is all I can manage, already struck with fear that he might not be coming, or worse, that he has a date. A girlfriend… a wife.

Oh my god, I knew it…

I feel myself deflating by the second, I even shudder of emotion as tears threaten to ruin everything before we’ve even left the building properly.

“Oh, I’ll be there. Have to be.” He assures me, “And it’s just me. You and me.” He adds, as if reading my mind, lifting my heart right back where it should be with one sentence, with one look.