Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 25267 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 126(@200wpm)___ 101(@250wpm)___ 84(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25267 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 126(@200wpm)___ 101(@250wpm)___ 84(@300wpm)
"Marcus, you’re wonderful," I say, stopping by my driver’s side door. "Truly. But I don’t think I’m in the right headspace for this. It’s not you, I promise."
He looks disappointed but understanding, the hallmark of a genuinely nice man. "I get it, Mia. You seemed... distracted. If things change, you have my number."
I watch him drive away, a heavy weight settling in my stomach. I’m an idiot. I’m turning down a stable, kind doctor for my infatuation with a hockey player. I drive home in silence, the streetlights of Seattle blurring into long streaks of yellow and white. My apartment feels too small when I get there, the silence inside an accusation. Fudge I miss Rory.
A few months ago, I set her up with Ryan Coleman, Harper’s brother. They instantly fell for each other and the next thing I knew, she was moving out to marry him. I told myself it would be great to have the place all to myself. Wrong! Without Rory here, loneliness mixed with desire for a man I shouldn’t want is eating me alive.
I don’t even turn on the lights. I just drop my keys on the table and head for the kitchen to pour a glass of wine. My hands are shaking. I lean against the counter, staring at the dark living room, and that’s when a loud knock echoes through my small apartment. My heart stops.
I walk to the door, my pulse thrumming in my ears. I pull it open to find Mick is leaning against the doorframe, his face shadowed by the dim hallway light. He doesn't look like the strong silent type tonight. He looks like a man who has reached his breaking point. The mischief is gone, replaced by a dark, simmering intensity that makes my knees feel weak.
"Mick? What are you doing here?" I whisper, my voice catching. "It’s really late."
"I saw you tonight," he says, his voice rougher than usual. He doesn't move to come in, but he’s taking up all the space in the doorway. "I saw you with him. Smiling. Laughing. Pretending that you were actually interested in what he had to say."
"I wasn't pretending," I lie, weakly. It’s the best my mushy mind can come up with. "And it’s none of your business who I date."
Mick takes a step forward, crossing the threshold into my apartment. The air between us is suddenly thick, charged with the kind of electricity that precedes a massive storm. He smells like the night air and that clean, masculine scent that always makes my brain short-circuit. He’s too close. He’s in my space, and I’ve never wanted anything more than for him to stay there.
"Bullshit," he says, his voice dropping to a low growl. "I’m making it my business. I can’t fight my feelings for you another goddamn second." I back away, my heels clicking on the hardwood, but he follows, his eyes never leaving mine. I hit the edge of the kitchen island, trapped between the cold marble and the heat radiating off him. My breath is coming in short, shallow gasps. I should push him away. I should tell him to leave. I should remind him why this is a bad idea and why we can't do this. “Mia, I’ll fucking beg you if I have to.”
I look up into his intense brown eyes seeing the desperation shining back at me and all of my resistance melts away.
"This is such a bad idea," I say, but even I can hear the lack of conviction in my voice.
"It’s the best fucking idea I’ve ever had," he says and reaches out, his hand cupping my jaw, his thumb tracing the line of my lower lip. His skin is rough and warm, and the contact sends a jolt through my entire body that makes my toes curl. "I need you more than I need my next breath."
My defenses are crumbling, the walls I’ve built around my heart dissolve under the heat of his gaze. I’ve been so afraid of the messiness of his life, of the travel and the injuries and the public eye, that I’ve been ignoring the fact that I’m already messy. I’m already in deep. I’ve been in love with him since the night we met, and the rejection was never about him. It was about my fear of getting hurt.
Damn. I realize I need him, too. "So what are you going to do about it?" I ask, the words barely a breath. My heart is pounding so hard I’m surprised he can't feel it through his own chest.
Mick doesn't hesitate. He leans down, his forehead resting against mine for a brief, agonizing second. I can feel the warmth of his breath on my lips, the scent of him filling my lungs until there’s no room for anything else. Then he closes the distance. The kiss isn't gentle. It’s not a ‘just friends’ kiss. It’s a claim.