Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 78193 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78193 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
"You could have reached them," I realized aloud as I turned to find his guilty - and not the least bit repentant - upper body poking out of the shower curtain.
"Aye, but where's the fun in that?" he asked, thrusting an arm out toward me, giving me a long moment of uncertainty, not entirely trusting him not to grab me and pull me in with him after all.
"Yes, it is so fun to walk across the room unnecessarily," I told him, tossing the towel toward his chest instead of pressing it into his hand.
He caught it, flicking it open with a wrist, pulling it against his stomach, and pulling open the curtain, leaving nothing but a small piece of white cloth hiding the part of him he had handled just moments before.
"Lazy arse," he taunted with a smirk, pure devil. And, oh, was anything in the world more tempting? "What are ya wearing tonight?" he asked, head ducking to the side.
"Why?"
"'Cause I find myself without a change of clothes. I need to hit the shops. Need to know my dress code."
"A dress."
"The short and tight variety, or the long and fancy?"
"It makes a difference?"
"Yeah, duchess," he said, sounding like he was smiling, but I was distracted by the way a drip of water fell from the end of his hair and started a path down his overexposed body, so I couldn't say for sure. "Men got some fancy arse choices too."
"You learn something every day. Oh, and you might want to get something everyday too. If you plan on staying. There's no guarantee we will catch him tonight. Most of my jobs go for at least three or four days. I'm rarely lucky enough - and my marks are rarely stupid enough - to be snagged faster than that."
"Got it," he agreed. "Makes no difference to me, Lou, but are ya going to stay there while I towel off? Can I take yer presence as an offer of assistance in the task?"
"Argh," I growled, raking a hand roughly through my hair on my way out of the room, yanking the door closed a bit rougher than was totally necessary.
Adler walked back out a moment later, hair tied back up, his old clothes back on. "Ya gonna gussy yerself up while I'm gone?"
"I'm dressing up for the job, Adler," I told him. "Not to be your arm candy."
"Ya are candy just the way ya are, Lou. But I'd be lyin' if I said ya being on my arm lookin' like sin in a tight dress ain't gonna make my night. Gussy yerself up for the job, for yerself, whatever. But that won't change the fact that I get to be the one to reap the rewards. Get to be the one all the other fucks will envy, thinking about how I get to take ya home."
"But you don't."
He leaned in close at that, smile small. "But they don't know that."
With that and nothing else, he turned and left me.
"Fuck," I hissed at the closed door, realizing that things maybe weren't so cut and dry with Adler, the gun-running biker, as I thought. Because there was an undeniable fluttery feeling in my belly at his words. It stayed there, relentless, unending, demanding I notice it even as I tried to focus on anything else, like getting my hair glossy, like lining my eyes, like smearing on lotion, slipping myself into a seamless dress.
I was just fastening the buckle on my heel when there was a knock at the door.
Ignoring the way my pulse quickened, I stood, moving over to the door, pulling it open to reveal Adler.
Who had been right about men's fashion.
He also, apparently, had an eye for it.
He'd shaved his neck but left his face rough with stubble, something that made the dark and dangerous man look every bit what he was. But this time, not in a leather jacket. In charcoal slacks with the slightest of a black pinstripe, a matte gray button-up, tucked in, with expensive-looking cufflinks at his wrists. His hair was still up. A light, but spicy cologne clung to his skin.
It took every bit of strength in me not to grab him, pull him in, throw him on a bed, and climb on top of him.
"Fuck, Lou. Ya poured yerself into that dress, huh?" he asked, eyes raking over me. "Maybe spilled a bit," he added, his hand raising, the tip of his finger tracing the very edge of my bodice, not touching my skin, but only barely avoiding it, a touch that still made goosebumps rise over my skin.
"Too much?" I asked, voice breathless as my gaze went down, wondering if my boobs grew or my dress shrank, but, yeah, I was overflowing a bit more than usual. I needed to learn to pay attention to 'dry-clean only' labels.