Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 96850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
He paid and got back on the road, immediately transitioning to the fast lane. His eagerness to see Eve was likely to get him pulled over and slapped with a speeding ticket, but he couldn’t convince himself to slow down. A week had passed since their courthouse wedding and he’d replayed that first kiss as her husband every time he closed his eyes. He’d nearly rubbed himself raw knowing the next time he saw Eve, he could very well take her to bed as his wife, if she allowed it. How many times had he imagined twining their ringed fingers together over her head and driving himself deep while their mouths reunited?
He’d lost count somewhere around a thousand.
Madden took his foot off the gas pedal upon realizing he was doing ninety.
Who could blame him with a woman like Eve waiting on the other end of the drive?
Morning fog still sat low in the valleys he passed, the sun just beginning to peer through the greenery on both sides of the New England highway. She’d know he’d left New York at four in the morning—and he didn’t care.
Good. Let her know how badly he wanted to see her.
* * *
About an hour later, Madden stood outside Eve’s apartment door, teddy bears in one hand, flowers in the other. White orchids. They were funeral flowers, aye, but they also had the kind of old-fashioned glamour he associated with Eve. With her club.
A soft rain had started to fall outside, just beginning to dampen the asphalt surface of the parking lot when Madden got out of the car. Now it picked up little by little, pattering on the roof of the building and muting the light in the hallway. As such, her face looked even softer than usual when she opened the door in her gray silk shorts and white tank top. She wore her hair in one of those sideways buns with little pieces sticking out. Feet bare.
He was turned inside out in seconds.
“Madden.”
His grip tightened around the cellophane wrapping of the bouquet and they both heard it, his reaction to hearing his name in her voice. And the sudden press of need in his stomach wasn’t only the unbearable hunger to get between her legs he’d been living with for years, it was a hell of a lot more. The week away on the road had been grueling and now comfort stood in front of him in the form of Eve, her eyes tracking his mental state in a sweep, the way they always had. God willing, they always would.
“Eve,” he said thickly.
“Long week?”
Briefly, the echoing shouts from the locker room invaded his mind, before he silenced them again. “Yes.”
She turned sideways to allow him inside and he went, their bodies brushing slowly as he moved past her, the contact making her eyes close, Madden leaning down to unrepentantly sniff her hair. “I love orchids, you know,” Eve said gruffly, taking the flowers out of his hands, continuing into the kitchen with hypnotic sways of her hips and, Jesus, the way his fucking blood pounded watching her go. “So dignified and graceful. Smooth and unblemished on the outside, hiding the most interesting parts of themselves.”
“I had a feeling you’d like them,” he managed, using his boot to nudge the door closed. “It occurred to me you didn’t have flowers at the wedding, so . . .” Madden paused in the act of removing his jacket when he saw the framed sketch he’d given her a week prior hanging on the living room wall. Pride rolled through him in a golden wave.
“I might not have had flowers, but I had that,” she said, darting him a vulnerable look while placing the orchids in a vase of water. “Um. Why was it such a long week? Apart from having to squat and hold up a glove for five hours every night.”
His lips jumped. “Someone has to keep the umpire company.”
“Guess so,” she murmured, coming around the kitchen island to hover in the living room. “Do you want to sit down?”
Madden gave a nod and joined Eve in the living room, both of them standing in front of the couch, him in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, boots. Her in those little pajamas. Why was the stark contrast of their clothing making it so hard to concentrate?
Because if he got on top of her, she’d feel next to naked.
Hard on fragile.
They started to sit down beside each other on the couch and, god, that pleased him, the fact that she didn’t try and sit outside of his reach. Before she could find her seat, however, she popped back up. “I didn’t even ask if you wanted coffee—”
“Eve.” He caught her wrist before she could dash off. “Why are you nervous?”
“I don’t know,” she said, huffing a laugh. “I think because . . .”