Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 101622 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101622 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Poking her head out, she says, “I can’t keep you out of our bed.”
I rest my left hand on the counter, staring at her with my mind going to places it probably shouldn’t. “Is that an invitation?” Too late.
I win a smile out of her. “You wish.”
“I actually do wish.”
Rolling her eyes, she disappears with a laugh back into the bedroom.
I pause for a moment too long, watching the empty doorway as if she’ll reappear. Shaking my head, I turn and pull a glass from the cabinet, ready to fill it with water. It occurs to me that I could drink something stronger since I’m not taking any more pain medication. The occasion certainly calls for it. The occasion referring to Delaney.
Pulling a bottle of bourbon from the bar set up in the dining area, I fill the glass halfway before taking a sip and then topping what’s missing back up.
Delaney?
Delaney . . .
Is that even her real name?
With no other sound to disrupt, irritation rushes through me. I’m sure as fuck that Landers isn’t her last name despite her claim to it. Like the bed she’s about to tuck herself into. How is she so fucking good at this?
I need to get invested. 100 percent. The situation, a.k.a. Delaney, should be monitored at all times. But first, I take a gulp of the amber liquid. The bourbon goes down smooth, tempting me to take another drink. I don’t need liquid courage to handle her, but one more gulp won’t hurt.
With the glass in hand, I head down the hall.
It’s not been ten minutes, but I walk into a scene of seduction. A candle flickers on the nightstand, and something exotic fragrances the air. The lights are dim, but she’s tucked in a book like she can read in the dark. Or at least giving it her best effort.
I reach the doorway a moment before she knows I’m here. My Harvard shirt has been replaced by a thin top with spaghetti-like straps, and her nipples are pertly at attention. Delaney is downright sexy, sitting in my bed and looking like she belongs. When she looks at me, she asks, “What are you doing?”
“What does it look like I’m doing?” I stand there as if I need permission to enter my own bedroom. I walk in and cross the room toward her. “I’m coming to bed.” A small frame sits beside the candle, the crystals sparking with each flick of the flame. Interesting . . . “I like what you’ve done in here. You’re really making it your own, almost like you intend to stay.”
Her eyes don’t leave the book in her hands, but I know deep inside she’s dying to peek. “It feels homey again like before I left.” She turns a page, and then I’m struck with a devious look in her eyes. She gets such pleasure from triggering me.
Take a breath. I struggle to maintain a face of indifference as I stand next to the bed, but I manage to get by. Barely. Setting my glass on the nightstand, no coaster, just barebacking that wood like it won’t be ruined from condensation, I strip off my shirt and rub my hand over my abs. “That was a good burger. Too bad I’ll never be allowed back in the joint after the spectacle you put on.”
Is that drool?
Her tongue dips out and runs over the corner of her mouth before she bites her lower lip. I think I just found her Achilles’ heel. It’s more predictable than I would have expected of her. With her eyes glued to the six-pack of muscles I work hard for, she huffs through her nose. “You, um, I . . . It is so good. I mean, was. The burger. Ugh. You know what I mean.” She closes her book without the impact I think she was hoping for since it’s a paperback. Licking her lips, she asks, “What’s gotten into you?” I start on the button of my pants. “Warner.” A cautionary tone from her lips doesn’t stop her eyes from drinking in the view.
I keep teasing her by stroking my abs. “What?”
Finding the will to pull her attention away, she glances at the glass on the nightstand before darting to me. “Are you drunk?”
“I’m not drunk, sweetheart, but I feel our connection.” Bumping against her to settle in the little space on the edge of the bed, I manage to make some room. When she refuses to move, I shove my hip against hers, causing her to tumble sideways to the mattress. “Tell me, do you feel it, too?”
“What are you feeling exactly?” Propping herself up, she scoots to the middle to give me room. I quickly hog more space than I need to make myself at home next to her. “The only thing I’m feeling is that I’m being tested.”