Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 121755 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121755 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
He grunted, put the plate on the bed and got into it with me.
He handed me my mug and then dug my Angel burner phone out of the pocket of his joggers (yeah, you guessed it, he put on pants but no shirt, such a lucky girl was I).
“That was buzzing in your bag,” he said and handed it to me.
I took a sip of my coffee and saw I had a voicemail.
Interesting.
I flipped open the phone, went to voicemail, hit play on the only voicemail that had ever been left on that phone, and put it to my ear.
“Well done, Angels,” Morgan Freeman’s voice said.
I flipped the phone shut on a smile.
“Good?” Gabe asked.
I looked to my handsome man.
Then I leaned into my handsome man and gave him a kiss.
“Everything’s awesome,” I whispered.
After saying that, I grabbed a crumb cake and sat back with it and my coffee.
And in bed with my guy, my Gabe…
I lazed.
TWENTY-SEVEN
SMASHING SUCCESS
Six days later…
Gabe and I sat on the patio outside Binkley’s.
I was having a moment with an amuse-bouche.
Gabe was having another moment (it was far from the first that night) with my bare legs.
Watching him have his moment, I decided to wear dresses and heels more often.
Gabe decided to tear his eyes from my legs in order to lean toward the little table in front of us where the server put a plate of bite-size works of art that started our evening’s culinary extravaganza.
In his move, I caught the black cashmere material of Gabe’s sweater lovingly hugging his shoulder and lat.
I reacted instantly to that visual stimulus.
My condition didn’t improve when he sat back, and I saw the way the dark-gray lightweight wool trousers molded to the muscles of his knee and thigh with such precision, a sculptor could use it to carve his naked thigh to perfection.
Thus, I was having a different kind of moment, and my new moment meant I had to uncross my legs and cross them again.
Doing this, I decided Gabe and I had to have these special nights more often if I got to see him dressed up like that.
It was casual, just a nice crewneck sweater and trousers.
But it packed a punch.
Even as Gabe put the food in his mouth, he caught my leg shift, and his attention dropped to them again.
I did not miss the lazy, heated possession in his gaze as he chewed and swallowed at the same time skated a hand over my shoulder exposed by the sleeveless, high neck, halter-top dress I wore.
He did this so he could claim a lock of hair and curl it around his finger.
At his touch, a slow, but strong tremor crept through my body and detonated in my hoo-ha.
Good God, we were in danger of having spontaneous sex on the patio of Binkley’s.
Maybe we shouldn’t have more special date nights.
“This isn’t working,” I declared.
Gabe’s eyes moved from my legs to mine.
Yep.
That lazy, heated possession was still there.
And yep.
I felt that in my hoo-ha too.
Gah!
“What’s not working?” his deep rumble rolled toward me, relaxed, content, and a repeat of the yep, hearing it, I wanted to pounce on him.
“I’m not sure we can get through this three-hour meal without having a quickie in the bathroom,” I said under my breath.
Slowly, a cocky, devilish smile curved his mouth.
I watched it, never having seen it before, instantly enamored with it, and snapped, “You’re not helping.”
“Sometimes, waiting is good,” he said.
“When?” I asked. “When, oh Sage One, is waiting ever good?”
“Christmas morning wouldn’t be Christmas morning if every morning was Christmas morning,” my wise, well-educated, possibly genius boyfriend replied. “It’s Christmas morning because you have to wait a whole year for it.”
“Well then,”—sadly but perhaps opportunely losing his fingers in my hair, I bent forward to grab my next work of art in order to consume it— “shall we see if that’s correct and wait a year to have sex again?”
“No,” he said, his voice vibrating with manly humor, possibly because he thought I was funny, possibly because he knew no way in hell could I wait a year to get his cock inside me again.
I sat back, popped the morsel in my mouth, allowed the tour de force of flavors to explode on my tongue while chewing, and I swallowed.
Then I decreed, “You need to be less hot.”
He chuckled richly (so, so loved that sound) and recaptured a lock of my hair.
“You’re not being less hot, Gabriel Stark,” I warned.
“Not sure I can dial that down, cupcake,” he returned. “Any more than you can dial down the gorgeous. You don’t hear me complaining about that dress and how you did your hair tonight.”
I didn’t miss his look of naked lust when I’d walked out of my bedroom earlier, all ready to go out on our special date.
It was a million times better than any whistle Kevin had given me.