Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 94279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
“I don’t need any help getting it up,” Wilder said. “Trust me.”
“Should I wait here?”
I shook my head. “He said our hotel was near here. I’ll just grab an Uber so you don’t have to wait.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. I’m going to help him up and make sure he’s okay.”
Elijah winked. “Right. Got ya.”
“No, really.”
He opened the back of the limo, still grinning. “Let me at least get the doors.”
Once we were inside, I waved goodbye to Elijah and turned to the task at hand. Wilder’s forty-five-minute power nap had made him a bit more steady on his feet, but he was still pretty drunk. “What floor do you live on?” I asked as we stepped into the elevator.
“Top.”
There were thirty-eight buttons and one marked PH. “Thirty-eight?”
He yawned. “Penthouse. The code is zero-zero-one-seven.”
NumberSeventeen. I smiled to myself thinking back to how he’d stalked my YouTube channel when we first met and found the keypad underneath the buttons and entered the numbers. Before I could push the PH button, it illuminated. I guess it knows where we’re going.
The car sped up to the top floor, and the doors opened right into an apartment. I stepped off tentatively. “Is this you?”
Wilder peeled off his jacket and let it fall to the floor as we walked in. “You want a drink?”
“No, thank you.”
“Don’t mind if I do…”
I thought he’d had enough, but at least he was home and safe. Wilder headed to a bar off the living room and poured something from a decanter while I looked around. The apartment was even more fabulous than I would’ve guessed from the fancy outside, and that was saying something. Floor-to-ceiling windows lined the living room, showcasing a lit-up London beneath. I lived in what I considered to be a decent-sized space due to my brother’s generosity, but my entire apartment could fit in this room, and there were hallways going in two different directions, too.
“Your apartment is beautiful.”
He swallowed the contents of his glass in a second gulp. “But that doesn’t get me points with you, does it?”
I sighed. “You don’t need points, Wilder.”
“Tell me, what I do need?”
I wished it were that easy. But it wasn’t about him. It was about me.
When I took too long to answer, Wilder frowned. “I’m going to bed.”
“Alright.”
“You’re welcome to stay. There’s three bedrooms. Or go.” He smiled sadly. “But I know which you’ll be choosing.”
Wilder bumped into the kitchen counter on his way down the hall and disappeared into the last room on the left. I waited, listening to make sure he got to bed okay. The apartment went quiet, so I waited a few more minutes, then tiptoed down the hall to check in. Wilder was passed out, on his back, with his shoes still on. I figured the least I could do was make him comfy. So I went in, slipped off his shoes, and covered him with a blanket. I looked down at his beautiful face, feeling so torn. I was crazy about him. But … what if he was just in it for the chase? He’d said himself that everyone had always wanted him, except me. Maybe it was the challenge that was enticing. After all, he was a competitive athlete.
Eventually, I took a play from his book, leaning down and kissing his forehead before turning off the light. On my way out, I looked around to see if everything was in order. The cap was still off the decanter, so I closed that up and rinsed the glass he’d used in the sink. A laptop sat on the island, a screen saver of some sort flashing photos, one after another. Catching something familiar in the millisecond it was on-screen, I walked over for a closer look. And I gasped when I realized what it was.
Me.
It was me.
One flashing photo after another. All me.
I stood there dumbfounded, watching it over and over to get a good look at each of them. Most of them had been taken at St. Dunstan in the East, the church ruins he’d taken me to on my first day here. I knew he’d taken a few pictures, because we’d posed for selfies. But these were of only me. Me smiling up at the sun with my eyes closed. Me smelling one of the sweet-scented flowering trees. Me trying to balance in one of the archways and almost falling. Me laughing.
I felt a physical ache in my chest. As much as he denied it, Wilder was sweet. He was thoughtful and caring. Everything he’d done for me since I arrived—no, since I’d met him—had shown me that. But I’d wanted to believe it was all a ploy to get me into bed. Because anything more scared the crap out of me. If I didn’t take a chance, I couldn’t get hurt. And there was no getting a little hurt by Wilder Hayes. Because Wilder was big love. The kind that doesn’t just take a piece of your heart when he leaves, but punches a gaping hole right through it.