Total pages in book: 45
Estimated words: 41143 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 206(@200wpm)___ 165(@250wpm)___ 137(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 41143 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 206(@200wpm)___ 165(@250wpm)___ 137(@300wpm)
"I've been lucky enough to taste some of May's pastries." He chuckles. "My God, Decker will be the fat man from the circus within a year. And, let's face it, you and I have our favorite flavor of Poptarts in common, so I can't be all bad."
He sets the plates down and smiles as he pats his stomach. It's broad and flat, his dress shirt stretched tight across. For a beat, the thought of what he looks like under his clothes hits me again. Is the rest of him covered in the dark hair dusting the backs of his hands and knuckles?
Would I like that? God, yes, I would.
And, God, what about his abs? I imagine them defined and hard, my fingers tracing the valleys between them. Does he have those cut lines that run from his hips, down toward—
"Leah? Where'd you go?"
"What?" I shake off the burn in my cheeks, certain my thoughts are floating over my head like a cartoon bubble. "Did you say something?"
"I said, I want you to come to my place."
His place? My mind turns each word over, hunting for the sense in them, and comes up blank. "What?"
"I can't have you here alone. I'm sorry, I just can't. And this place." He looks around the streamlined modern kitchen. "I don't feel comfortable with you here. I'll be the perfect gentleman. I've got a guest suite on the first floor. It's all made up already, you won't have to do a thing. I keep it clean. I want you to come. Or I'm going to stay here with you, sleeping on the couch. And that couch doesn't look like it will last a night with me."
We both look over and chuckle at the squared-off white leather sofa anchoring the living room off the kitchen. Barely half of him would fit.
"Decker gave me a cell phone. I'll be fine."
The truth is, I've never spent a night truly alone in my life. Not counting the nights they locked me in the basement, and even then, I knew a guard stood outside the door, so I never quite felt it. Out here in the guesthouse, with May and Decker gone from the main house tonight, is as close as I've come, and it already feels lonely. I could ask him to just move us both over there, but I won’t.
Because I want him to ask me again. I'm pleading for him to take control. To insist. To take the decision out of my hands.
"A cell phone won't help if you can't get to it. Or you need someone to run out and buy you some Ben & Jerry's at midnight. Or there's a spider in the bathroom, and you need me to come with a flamethrower and kill the rat bastard. These are things I can do. A cell phone can't. I'm better than a cell phone, you'll have to trust me on that."
A giggle spurts out of me at this enormous man. I've never met anyone quite like him. Decker comes close, but Allister is somehow harder and softer at the same time.
Decker runs serious, and May can ruffle his feathers with barely a wink, but with me, he's stayed quiet. Allister feels like a giant teddy bear that could turn grizzly at the drop of a hat.
I'm dragged down from my moment of euphoria by the weight in my stomach. If I stay with him, there's no hiding all my contraptions, the hardware it takes to keep me mobile. I may have been like this for a while, but letting other people see all of it still makes me wildly uncomfortable.
All my insecurity kills what could be a perfectly lovely moment.
I have to look away because the desire in his eyes only makes me feel more humiliated, like he can't possibly understand what my life actually looks like.
"Well, I'm all settled in here, but…" It's a weak excuse, and he's across the kitchen in a heartbeat, crouching beside my chair.
"You'll be settled in better at my place." The command in his voice sets off another round of tingles between my legs. "You're coming, that's settled. I'll take care of you. Now, where's your wheelchair and your crutches?"
He slaps his hands together and rubs them.
The matter-of-fact tone in his voice when he uses those words, words that would normally make me shrink with embarrassment, has me so turned on. And the way his eyes lock on my face has me lifting a hand and pointing down the hall, no more protesting.
"Great. You want me to go ahead and pack some of your things, too? Or you want to come with me?" He stops, making a face. "Sorry. I'm trying not to be overbearing, but I'm failing. I'll let you decide what to bring. You point, I'll pack."
"What? No, I can manage. I may look helpless, but..." I catch myself, because all this defensiveness with him is pointless. He only wants to help, and he means it. "Sorry. I mean, thank you, but I can get my stuff together."