Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 74604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
“There’s a TV inside that cabinet,” I told him, pointing toward it. “The remotes are in the box on the coffee table. I can’t sleep in silence,” I said, trying to make him feel comfortable with turning it on if he felt the same way.
“Thanks, babe.”
“And help yourself to anything in the… well… there’s nothing in there, I guess,” I said, wincing at the idea of him being hungry.
“Miranda,” he said, making my gaze move back to him. “I’ll be fine,” he assured me.
“Okay. Right. Good. I’ll leave you alone then.”
“Goodnight, Miranda,” he said, and I tried not to like the way he said my name too much.
“Right. Goodnight,” I said, making my way toward the hall.
Then I made my fatal mistake.
I looked back.
I looked back and saw this already too hot man reach up and pull off his damn shirt.
I always thought that thing about feeling weak in the knees was the stuff of fiction, or at least history, back when a glance at an ankle was scandalous, before hot, mostly naked men were splattered all over billboards across the city.
But, yeah, Brock put them to shame.
And those knees of mine?
Yeah, a little wobbly.
Because, well, goddamn.
I mean, yes, I’d known even with his clothes on that he was well-built, but I couldn’t have known just what sort of perfection was hiding under that tee. The indents of his abdominal muscles, the deep little V cuts of his Adonis belt that disappeared into the waistband of his jeans, the breadth of his chest, the swells of his arm muscles.
There were also a few tattoos that I was too far away from to make out. And what looked like some scars.
I had to force myself to turn back around and make my way to my own room, closing the door, then leaning back against it, reminding myself that it was not possible to use one of those battery-operated devices of mine with him in the apartment, close enough to hear the buzzing.
“Get it together, Miranda,” I grumbled to myself as I walked through my bedroom and into the closet, picking out some pajamas. The nice ones. In case I decided to go out to the main area of the house before getting ready in the morning.
Then I got myself ready for bed, climbed in, turned on the TV to play repeats of an old favorite comfort show, then tried to drift off to sleep.
I expected it to be easy, after several restless nights in the hospital, but I tossed and turned for hours before I finally passed out.
I woke up without my alarm, as I always did, feeling disoriented and foggy.
So disoriented and foggy, in fact, that I found myself wandering out to the main area of my house, completely forgetting about the presence of a certain someone until I ran straight-on into his hot, shirtless self in my kitchen.
“Whoops,” he said, sounding amused as he put an arm around my waist, further disorienting me as my face met his bare chest, smelling a little spicy like cologne, but also a little bit like, well, him. “Not too sharp first thing in the morning, huh?” he asked.
And that hand wrapped around me?
Yeah, it started to rub.
“If it helps, the coffee just finished brewing,” he told me as I had to force myself not to take a deep breath and breathe his scent in.
“That helps,” I agreed, making myself pull out of his hold before I did something stupid. Like jump him. “I sort of forgot you were here,” I told him as I made my way to the coffee pot. “I didn’t sleep well,” I admitted as I poured us each a cup.
“It’s hard to adjust to life back at home sometimes,” he said. And maybe I should have thought that was some comment about coming home after his service, but there was just something too familiar in his voice. Like maybe he knew what it was like to be away at a hospital for some length of time. But likely just a hospital-hospital, not a mental one. Maybe he’d been injured while on duty or something like that.
“I’m sure it was just a fluke. I should be good and tired after work today. Cam is more than capable, but…”
“But he’s not you,” Brock finished for me, taking the coffee from my hands.
“Essentially, yes. I’m sure he kept everything afloat, but I always have little things going on that I don’t really tell anyone about.”
“It takes a lot to keep a company like yours afloat.”
“It does. Hence the extra-large coffee.”
“And the collection of to-go mugs,” he said, taking a sip of his coffee.
“Exactly,” I agreed.
“I wish I could offer you some breakfast, but I’m not much of a breakfast person,” I told him.
The beginning of my day involved about three or four cups of coffee that would keep me reasonably full and fueled until my lunch break.