Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 35307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
Christ Almighty.
I'm here because, for the last three days, I haven't been able to think of anything except him. I've tried to forget he exists. I've tried to be mad as hell that he had me arrested. I've tried to go about my life like it never happened. Nothing is working.
"Uh…"
"My eyes are up here, princess."
"Yes, but your abs are down here," I mumble, earning a chuckle before he hooks a finger beneath my chin and tips my head back. My eyes lock with his behind his glasses.
"Mighty brave of you to show up on my doorstep again," he murmurs, grinning at me.
"Mighty brave of you to open the door without a bodyguard."
"You here to murder me?"
"Undecided."
"Want coffee while you decide?"
I absolutely, one-thousand percent should not follow this half-naked man into his house.
"Sure."
Look, I didn't say I wouldn't follow him into his house, just that I shouldn't.
He releases me and steps back, waiting for me to follow.
I don't even hesitate.
His house is beautiful, not that I'm really surprised. He kind of seems like the anal retentive, a place-for-everything-and-everything-in-its-place type. The white tile floors gleam in the early morning sunlight. There isn't a single speck of dust on the furniture or hovering in the air. Everything is just crisp, clean, and tidy.
"I'd ask if you're even human, but you're an ass, so I know you are," I grumble, glancing all around. "You could at least leave a pair of dirty socks on the floor to prove it, though, River."
"And spend an entire writing day thinking about the dirty socks on the floor? No, thanks," he chuckles. "If shit isn't where it's supposed to go, I can't focus."
"Of course you can't."
He leads me through the living room into a bright, sunny kitchen. It's bigger than my entire house. It's also stunning, with windows everywhere, overlooking the gardens out back. The scent of brewing coffee fills the entire space.
"Your house is beautiful."
"Glad you like it," he rumbles, striding across the kitchen to grab mugs from a cabinet. His back flexes as he moves, the muscles bunching and rippling. Jesus. How much time does he spend working out?
"You have a home gym, don't you?" I ask.
"Yes."
"Of course you do," I groan. "You probably spend three hours a day in it, too."
"Two."
"Ugh." I scowl at him when he turns around. "That's just inhumane."
"You don't work out?"
"I do…usually my mouth." Lilah and I go to the gym at least once a week. We both hate it and swear we're never going back, but we still go.
His gaze immediately drops to my lips, his eyes darkening.
"That is not what I meant."
"Oh, I'm well aware, princess." His lips curve at the corners. "You've been using that smart mouth on me since we met."
"You deserve it."
He just grins, sauntering toward the coffee pot on the edge of the island. "So…you're still pissed about jail, huh?"
"They fingerprinted me, River."
"They didn't submit them."
"How do you know that?" I demand.
"Because I made sure," he shrugs.
"I…" I just gape at him, thrown for another loop. Who the fuck is this man? Definitely not a middle-aged college professor with anxiety issues, that's for damn sure. I'm not even sure he's the insufferable ass I've been trying so hard to convince myself he is, either. He's something else. Diabolical, unhinged. Beautiful.
"What brings you to my doorstep today?"
I hesitate for a long moment, fidgeting with my hands the way Sarah Tolliver, our clerk, does when she's nervous. I don't even do nerves, but this man has me ready to jump out of my own damn skin. "I have questions."
"So do I."
"I get to ask mine first."
"Fine. Shoot," he says, pouring coffee into two mugs.
"Why'd you drop the charges?"
"Never intended for them to stick."
"Then why have me arrested at all?"
He carries my coffee over to me. "Because every time I bring up a date, you panic. Figured if I gave you enough incentive to agree, we could cut through that."
"I do not panic!"
"You do," he murmurs, taking a sip of his coffee. "Why?"
"Maybe I have a thing about not getting involved with people I admire," I mutter, stubbornly refusing to look at him. "And maybe I like your books enough to want to keep that innocence alive."
"Ah, so you think I'll turn out to be a total dick, and you'll never be able to read me again, is that it?"
"Something like that." I shrug, taking an experimental sip. The coffee is actually good. Strong. "In my experience, heroes rarely live up to the name. Why risk a good thing?"
"You consider me a hero?"
"What? Hell no."
"You're so full of shit."
"Whatever. Why don't you like meeting readers?"
He leans back against the island. "I did a meet and greet at a major bookstore a few years ago, and the store decided to do this big giveaway. Anyone who bought the book was entered to win my entire backlist. Things got out of hand. People were pushing, trying to get to the front of the line. I felt like a goddamn sale item on the rack, and that was before it turned into a brawl. A reader ended up with a nasty head injury. I haven't done one since," he says, his voice soft. "I didn't sign up to be the reason people get hurt."