Total pages in book: 45
Estimated words: 41634 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 208(@200wpm)___ 167(@250wpm)___ 139(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 41634 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 208(@200wpm)___ 167(@250wpm)___ 139(@300wpm)
We’ve crossed a line we can’t uncross. I don’t pull out right away. I want to stay in her, want my cock to soften inside her, want to believe that maybe, for once, I’ve found my home.
When I finally roll onto my side, she comes with me, twining her limbs through mine. We lie tangled on the sheets, cooling sweat sticking us together, the city lights painting shadow shows on the ceiling.
She’s quiet for a long moment, just breathing, her head pillowed on my shoulder. Then she laughs, soft and incredulous, and it’s the sound of everything I didn’t know I wanted until tonight.
“Wow,” she says, voice hoarse.
“You can say that again.” I kiss her hair, inhaling the mix of sweat and vanilla-raindrop perfume, content to let the silence stretch as long as it needs to. I want to say something, something that will make her understand what she truly means to me. But for once, I think maybe actions really are louder than words.
I run my palm down her back, feel the shudder that ripples through her, and pull the blanket up over both of us. She’s already half-asleep, her body heavy and pliant against mine. I don’t remember ever being this tired, or this at peace.
When I wake, it’s still dark out, but she’s in the same position, arms wrapped around my chest, face tucked into my neck. I want to freeze the moment, preserve it in amber, but I know it’s only a matter of time before the world comes crashing back in. For now though, she’s exactly where she belongs.
CHAPTER TWELVE
HARPER
My eyes pop open, and the first thing I do is panic and try to sit up. I instantly regret it. Everything hurts in the best way possible. I drop back next to him while my stupid heart pounds and my body feels like I’ve been run over by a truck. I glance around. Floor-to-ceiling glass, skyline lit up, and the scent of expensive everything. Jaxson’s penthouse.
And Jaxson. I force myself to look to my right. Holy hell. The man is next to me, passed out cold. He looks nothing like the stoic goalie every sports reporter drools over. His dark hair’s a mess on the pillow, a stubbly shadow on his jaw. Sheets barely covering his assets. God. I can’t help but stare at his gorgeous body. I’m only human.
It hits me then. I broke every rule. I slept with the guy I swore I’d never touch. Holy heck. I fell hard and fast for my brother’s worst enemy. Do I regret it? Not even a little. Well, maybe the part where Ryan is going to lose his shit if he ever finds out, but lying here with Jaxson, the only thing I feel is… satisfied. And alive. For the first time in as long as I can remember.
I study his face for a second. Even in sleep, he looks tense. Like he’s waiting for the next shot to come. I want to touch him, brush the hair off his forehead, but I stop myself.
I just lie there staring at him. Memorizing everything. Because I know, the second he wakes up, everything gets a million times more complicated.
The air between us is thick, charged with the kind of electricity that precedes a massive storm. Jaxson shifts in the bed next to me, all that muscle and six-feet-whatever of raw male power wrapped in tangled, Egyptian sheets. He blinks awake, blue eyes catching on mine. For a split second, he looks stunned. Then he grins, slow and wicked, like he’s just scored the game-winner and I’m the prize.
Holy hell. That smile could melt the polar ice caps.
“Morning, firecracker.” His sleepy rumble vibrates straight through my body, waking up my hussy lady parts.
I try not to ogle him, but let’s be real. It isn’t possible. Why even try? The man is something out of a fever dream. Dark, messy hair, a scrape of stubble along his jaw, eyes locked on me like he’s never seen anything better in his life. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s a little shy. But that’s the thing about Jaxson Thorne. There’s always more happening under the surface.
He reaches over, palm big enough to cover most of my bare waist, and drags me closer until I’m tucked under his chin. I can feel every inch of him, warm and heavy and very, very real.
“Didn’t think last night could get better,” he murmurs against my temple, lips brushing my skin. “But waking up with you… fuck, Harper.” Another soft laugh rumbling in his chest. “That’s something I could get used to.”
I bury my face in his neck, grinning like an idiot. I want to pretend I’m unaffected, but screw it. The second he kisses the side of my neck, I’m gone, melting like butter on a stack of pancakes.