Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 131651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 658(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 658(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Predictable.
So fucking predictable it makes me smile.
She’s still got it in her to draw me, and it’s a lot less flattering than last time. Perhaps I am a raging asshole to her, but that doesn’t mean I’ll leave her to wake up sore and limping.
Her attitude hasn’t changed much, and neither has mine.
After I spent a solid decade looking after this girl, old habits die hard.
She’s warm silk as I carefully slide my arms under her and hoist her to my chest. Between Leonidas’ grandkids and Kit, I’ve had a lot of practice carrying little people to bed without waking them. It’s not much different with a grown woman.
With a small noise of contentment, she settles against my chest.
That apple smell invades my nose, damnably enticing.
I silently curse it, and her, and this ridiculous position the old man put us in.
I carry her to the master, the only one with a mattress where anyone’s going to sleep tonight.
This would be so much easier if she wasn’t so soft, if her weight wasn’t warmth and supple curves.
If she didn’t smell this good.
If she didn’t feel so delicate, begging to be savaged.
Enough, you filthy fucking goat.
I try to shake the thoughts from my head as I lay her down carefully, tucking her under the covers.
Her bottom lip juts out.
For the briefest second, it looks like a pout, and it makes me think that maybe she misses my warmth.
Then she moves, folding herself up in the blankets, forming a little nest. Just like she did on the plane.
Dead to the world and, luckily, to me.
I hesitate, considering my next move.
As much as I don’t want to share a bed with this girl under any circumstances, I’m not risking a back spasm on that miserable fucking sofa.
With a sigh, I strip off my shirt and leave my shorts on, then slide into bed beside her, lying at the very edge, keeping ample fucking space between us.
I wedge a spare pillow between us for good measure.
And I think I stare at the ceiling for a whole two hours, ignoring her soft breathing and a thousand demon thoughts gnawing me raw.
I angrily shift my shorts a few times, disgusted with the hard-on from hell.
Like it or not, we have to trust Fairfax for whatever comes next.
The longer we’re trapped together like this, pure disaster is all but guaranteed. I can smell it in every apple-scented breath that hollows out my soul.
I lurch awake.
The bed beside me feels cold and empty, and it’s daylight.
I vaguely recall time passing slowly, Cleo’s oddly adorable snore, even if it could be distracting as hell sometimes. It took a lot of mental fortitude for me to ignore her presence and pass out.
Where the hell is she now? And fuck, the egg—
My eyes flick to the space next to me on the floor. I reach for the suitcase and feel the cold shell.
Still locked. Still secure.
I stand up and stretch, emerging in the great room to find Cleo swallowed by a large chair next to the window.
There’s something in front of her and a tall, green smoothie, plus two coffees that fill the condo with the smell of rich, black decadence.
Just how I like it.
Her hair looks swept up in a messy bun today, bleached stripe twisted like an ice cream cone, and she’s drowning in a red sweater about three sizes too big.
My stomach growls at the smell of food and coffee.
“Ordered you a breakfast burrito,” she says, nodding at the bag on the counter.
I walk a little farther into the room, wary, and it’s only when her gaze drops that I remember I’m not wearing a shirt.
Shit.
“Your peace offering,” she says as I turn to leave. “You know. Because I don’t really cook like you.”
“You went out and got this?” I sigh and face her again, rubbing my cheek through a yawn.
“I ran down and grabbed it from a delivery guy down in the lobby. I wouldn’t dare leave the building and give you a heart attack. Perish the thought.” She holds up her hands innocently and uncurls those long legs before she pads over. Taking my arm, she drags me to the other chair next to her. “Sit and eat before you get dressed. Are you always this stubborn? I would’ve asked what you wanted, but you were pretty dead.”
Shamefully, she’s right, and nothing about this is.
I’m supposed to look after her, but I passed the fuck out when sleep finally found me. Ironic.
“I was more tired than I thought,” I grumble, reaching into the bag for a burrito.
“They’re both for you. I got three,” she says.
I raise an eyebrow. “Both?”
“Don’t think I haven’t noticed how much you eat.”
“Pot, meet kettle,” I growl back, tearing off the wrapper and biting into it. The first bite takes the edge off my hunger.