Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84901 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84901 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
My lungs forgot their job, and my chest felt scandalously exposed—which, to be fair, it was. But I blamed him and not this chandelier pantsuit.
His expression changed with a deeper, intense heat. Protective. Tender. “Until then … this room should stay off-limits, Natasha. Don’t you think?”
I nodded, breathless. “Mm-hmm.”
Half an hour later, we laughed over pizza dough, fingers dusted in flour. The crooked-heart-shaped dough covered in cheese. Surprisingly, we liked the same toppings. Lachlan had thought of it all. Even icky anchovies. A hard pass for us both.
I slid the pizza into an oven large enough for a grammy to do damage. When I turned around to clean the island, I felt him behind me. Hot. Close. His arms bracketed me against the island, and his hand brushed the wavy hair at the nape of my neck. He leaned in more solid than ever, pressing against me.
Trouble. My brain flashed the word like an emergency flare while kisses adorned my shoulder and neck, sparking fireworks everywhere his mouth stopped.
Breathless, I turned, and his simmering eyes captivated me. That sculpted jaw. The stretch of his V-neck over his chest. The way he watched me like I was his. Another flare broke off. Two this time. This was double the trouble. Just watching him, watch me.
“Natasha,” he murmured, “you look good in my house.”
“Thank you.” My breathy reply passed feather-light through my lips.
He kissed my cheek, warm and deliberate. “I’m missing a hoodie from my car. White stripes? Seen it?”
Guilt punched me straight in the gut.
His laugh was deep, lazy, like he’d already known.
“Keep laughing, Lach. I’ll hold your hoodie hostage forever.”
“Like the cologne you tried to steal? That I gotta purchase in person in Greece.”
Dang. So memorizing the brand to find it at Saks Fifth was out of the question? I smirked. “Okay, your bottle might vanish tonight. For the record, I didn’t intend to snatch the cologne. Just needed the name.” Okay, Cutie Pie. No, I didn’t call myself that, but this triggered a palm-to-forehead moment. I sounded all kinds of stalkerish.
Lachlan didn’t glance at me as if I were a weirdo. Enzo, I suspect, would exhibit a smug grin, picturing me spraying his cologne on my pillow.
Ugh. Why did that guy come to mind? Lachlan knew I volunteered with him on Mondays because of my Rain connection. But now was not the time, and Enzo didn’t make my heart sing.
Lachlan scrubbed his jaw. “That bottle’s nearly out. Let’s get matching bottles? His and hers. Tonight?”
“In Greece? What about our pizza?”
His expression read he didn’t give a damn about the pizza, and the gentleman in him was dying the same painful, slow death as my heart. Man, we had no business being in this apartment alone if I wanted my legs to remain closed.
“Let’s go to Greece?” I said, trying out the idea.
“Let’s go to Greece!” Lachlan shouted like he was announcing a walk-off home run.
Without warning, I was in his arms, legs wrapped around his waist as he paced with urgency. He dropped me onto the couch, and our mouths crashed together. His hand found the curve of my waist, anchoring me as we sank deeper into the cushions—and each other.
He … kissed … me like he meant it. Slow. Fierce. Forever.
A ripple of pleasure ignited across my abdomen.
Lachlan’s lips moved from my mouth to my jaw and along the hollow of my throat. I arched toward him, clutching the hem of his shirt. I gasped his name, and he tortured me, slow and merciless with kisses.
Beep! Beep! Beep!
The fire alarm screamed. We hadn’t even smelled the smoke. Was that half the reason our breaths grew heavy? Kissing. Hugging. Inhaling toxins?
“Crap!” Lachlan shot up, sprinting through a dark cloud to the oven.
I stood in a daze. Smoke teased my sight of the muscled ripples in his back. I snatched the shirt I’d pulled off him and fanned the smoke detector.
He tossed the charred pizza into the sink, flipped on the faucet, laughing.
Over the beeping, I shouted, “Are you serious about Greece? You know my vacation brain has no self-control. One minute I’m dreaming of Santorini in those eyes, the next? Boom! I’m kissing you like your body is the all-inclusive package.”
He grinned at me, eyes wild, hair a mess, heart wide open. “Good. Because, babe, I don’t mind being the all-inclusive package for you.” He shrugged a shoulder. “Forever.”
13
LACHLAN
Forever …
Damn. I started dropping hints the second I saw her—the soft material of her red pantsuit, stretched over ripe breasts, round hips. Who wouldn’t drop hints? At least, I assumed I’d given hints. Baby Jake claimed women clung to the small things. My kid brother revamped what I thought a hint was.
When a pitcher inadvertently reveals what pitch they were about to throw, that was a hint.
His version of a hint—psychologically speaking—was what I’d pulled out of my arsenal: I can’t wait to really have you. And now my suggestion of forever. Aye. Forever should’ve summed it up. But you didn’t get her father’s blessing, Lach.