Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 27076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 135(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 135(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
He’s right there, arms firm around my waist, holding me up like I weigh nothing. My heart is going so fast I’m pretty sure he can feel it. His hand cups my cheek, thumb stroking the side of my face while he kisses me like it’s his job—a full, deep, you’re-mine-and-I-dare-anyone-to-challenge-it kind of kiss.
When he finally pulls back and lays his forehead against mine, his eyes are so hot and intense it almost knocks me sideways. “You don’t ever have to worry again,” he murmurs, voice low and rough.
“Thank you.” I barely get the words out before Oliver’s hand tightens on my waist, and his mouth slants over mine again, this time deeper, hotter, like he’s claiming me all over again. My brain goes full tilt. I’m pretty sure I’m about to melt into the damn carpet when he finally pulls back, locking his hazel gaze on mine.
“You don’t have to thank me for taking care of you. I fucking love you.”
I freeze. My heart stops, then kick-starts with a bang so loud, I think it echoes off his office walls. Did he just…?
There’s no going back. He’s staring straight at me, totally unguarded, like he just laid every card on the table and is daring me to run.
Holy. Cow.
I gulp as my pulse trips over itself. My voice comes out shaky and wild. “I—I love you too. So freaking much.”
And just like that, the rest of the world becomes absolutely freaking perfect.
12
oliver
It’s official. Cydney’s moving in with me, and I couldn’t be fucking happier. Well, I could if she were wearing my ring, but I’ve already got a plan to make that happen, so I’m biding my time.
She’s got her hair up in a messy knot, bright turquoise leggings hugging every curve, and a shirt that says “Do Not Disturb Until Caffeinated,” even though she’s already downed half a carafe before I made it to the bakery. Two seconds in and she’s barking orders like a five-foot-tall general with a vendetta against empty wall space.
The universe’s cruel joke? I’m so obsessed with the way she makes this place feel alive, I’d carry every last box by hand up twelve damn floors just to make her happy.
Not that I’m letting her do any heavy lifting. Not on my watch.
I wedge the biggest box between my arms and my chest, nearly popping a vertebra in the process.
“Careful,” Cydney pipes up from behind, “that one has my fancy pots in it.”
“I’ll treat it like spun glass,” I grunt, deliberately flexing as I haul the box into the elevator. She snorts behind me, balancing a bag of throw pillows on one hip and waving a rainbow shower caddy like a traffic conductor.
“I hope you don’t mind pillows.” She gives me a look, full of mischief. “I love decorator pillows.” She bites her bottom lip and shoots me her come-hither look that causes my cock to turn to stone. “They really make me… happy.”
I can’t resist the dirty comeback. “I live to make you happy, sweetheart.” I drop the box in the hallway and turn to drag the pillows from her grasp. I drop them on the sofa and pull her into my arms. “Now, stop torturing my ass so we can get your shit moved.”
She laughs, loud and bright, her head tipping back so I get a perfect view of her throat. For a second, I just stand there and stare, totally caught up in the way she lights up the whole damn apartment with nothing but a smile and a handful of pillows.
I rally. Gotta stay focused if I want to survive this move-in without throwing my back out or spraining something more vital.
We tackle the next round of boxes like a well-oiled team, but I make damn sure Cydney doesn’t lift anything heavier than a throw blanket. If I even think she’s about to haul something awkward, I snatch it out of her hands before she can blink.
She rolls her eyes and tries to lecture me about “partnership” while I carry three full tubs of baking supplies in one trip. I catch her trying to drag a laundry basket down the hallway and swoop in before she gets five feet.
“Oliver, I’m not made of glass,” she grumbles. My girl is full of fire, I’ll give her that. But there’s not a chance in hell I’m letting her lift heavy shit, not when I can do it for her. I snatch it away while the glare she throws my way could melt steel.
“You’re going to spoil me,” she huffs, all bluster and sass, but her eyes are sparkling.
“That’s the plan.” I wink at her, then haul the basket into the bedroom like it’s filled with feathers instead of what has to be her entire collection of books.
Cydney tromps in behind me, hands on her hips, lips twitching like she’s trying not to smile. “If you keep this up, I’m going to be spoiled rotten.”