Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 97724 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97724 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
“So it’s not only ballet that you do?”
Skyla shakes her head, then tips it side to side as if contemplating her answer while eating.
“Ballet is the only dance I’ve done professionally,” she says. “But I’ve taken so many classes over the years. Jazz, tap, modern, you name it. It’s all fun. But ballet is rigorous in different ways than the others. That’s not to say that the others aren’t difficult or beautiful.”
“I get it. Explain what you mean by more rigorous.”
She licks her lips and steals a carrot from my plate even though she has plenty on her own plate, and it makes me smile.
She likes to share.
“Well, as a ballerina, I have to contort my body in ways that aren’t natural. When I was young, I had a foot stretcher.”
I lift an eyebrow at that.
“Yep, it’s what it sounds like. You know how we arch our feet and walk on our toes?”
“Sure.” I take a bite of my food and grin when she reaches for a piece of my chicken. From now on, we’ll eat off one plate.
“I need my feet to arch much farther than what comes naturally.”
“That sounds painful.”
“Definitely.” She nods and eats her own rice. “It’s agony, and it never stops. It’s not unusual to always be bruised, sore, hurting. My feet are horrible.”
“You have cute feet.”
“You’ve only seen them in socks,” she reminds me. “And if I have my way, that’s the only way you’ll ever see them.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “No.”
“They bleed, or they did, when I danced every day. The toenails are almost completely gone now. I’ll never be a woman who comfortably wears a cute peep-toe heel. And that’s okay.”
“How does your ankle feel?”
That question has her eyes sobering. “It’s the same. Not normal. But I can dance for fun, and I guess that has to be good enough. As I age, my back will hurt, and my knees will ache. It’s the price a dancer pays. I’m actually lucky that I didn’t get more beat up than I am because of the way Mik would fling me about. He’s not gentle.”
With my plate cleared, I lean back in the chair. “Is it gentle you want, Irish?”
“I’m not fragile,” she says with a chuckle. “And I ate half of your dinner.”
“I don’t mind. Do you want more?”
“No, I’m full, but you might need a second helping to make up for what I took. Some people get cranky about sharing their food.”
I chuckle but shake my head. “I don’t. There are far more important things to get cranky about.”
“Such as?”
“Hungry children. Oppression. Stalkers.”
She snorts. “You’re not wrong about that. Also, what about the fact that neither the cereal companies nor the chip companies can get in bed with the Ziploc people? Isn’t that a simple phone call?”
Laughing, I thread our fingers together. “You’d think that someone could make that happen.”
“It’s time to clean up.”
“I can do it,” I reply, but she’s already shaking her head and standing.
“No, we’ll get it done faster if we just dig in and do it together. This was delicious. You’re an excellent cook.”
I’d rather she didn’t clean up. Not because I think she’s incapable but because I want her to relax. If I’ve learned anything about this woman over the past few days, she won’t take no for an answer, so we clear the table together.
“I like this shirt,” she says as she drags her hand down my arm, from shoulder to elbow. “It hugs you in all the right places.”
The flirting, the touching, the fucking allure of her all evening has kept my blood simmering, and she continues the teasing while we clean up.
And I fucking want her.
She’s at the sink, rinsing dishes for the dishwasher, and I walk up behind her, brush her hair aside, and plant my lips on her neck, just below her ear.
“I’m fucking obsessed with this thick, gorgeous hair, Irish.”
“Mmm.” She tips her head back, leaning against me. “It’s a fine spot you’ve found there.”
“Your voice,” I whisper against her, “is going to be my undoing.”
“It’s a cliché to be attracted to the accent, you know.”
“It’s not just that.” I drag my lips to her shoulder and tighten my arms around her. “It’s the tone. A little raspy, as if you’ve just rolled out of bed after a night of fucking. Add in the accent, and you keep me permanently hard.”
Her breath catches, and her hands clutch mine. After kicking the dishwasher door closed, I turn Skyla in my arms to look at her stunning face and drag my knuckles down her cheek. I’m trying to be a gentleman and let her set the pace.
“You look conflicted,” she whispers.
“I’m trying to go easy. It’s only our second date, so if you tell me you want to sleep in the guest room, I’ll be fine with that, Irish. You’re the boss, but fuck me if I don’t want you.”