Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 91497 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91497 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Is it hugely telling? I hope not. It’s not like I’ve drawn hearts all over it or superimposed an image of myself beside him to see what we would look like as a couple (though the thought has occurred to me).
Even still, it’s not nothing.
He tucks the bookmark back into Klara and the Sun then rests it gently back on my nightstand. His gaze rises and our eyes lock, and even though I’m the one standing naked in my shower, I feel like of the two of us, I’m the voyeur. I look away quickly and grab my conditioner, finishing up as fast as I can.
After I turn off the water, I’m careful to crack open the glass door only enough that I can wrench my towel off its hook and yank it inside. I manage to do it all while staying mostly concealed in the shower. I think I hear a faint chuckle from my bedroom, but I can’t be sure and I’m too chicken to look up and confirm if he’s watching me right now as I fumble with my towel in this confined space.
I’d love to put my clothes on in here too, but I forgot to bring them with me. I don’t usually have a man waiting on my bed while I shower…so I wrap my towel around my middle, concealing the important bits: everything between upper chest and midthigh. Then I throw my shoulders back and stroll out of the bathroom as confidently as possible.
Grant sits on the edge of my bed, watching me like a predator. He doesn’t speak, but his gaze follows me as I head toward my dresser.
I don’t want to, I really thought I could avoid it, but I lose the battle and glance over at him at the last second. Our eyes meet and that familiar awareness tingles down my spine, settling like a warmth in my lower belly.
He cocks his head to the side. “Should I try to convince you to be my girlfriend?”
I stay quiet, but he can see the little quirk of my smile I’m trying to hide.
He doesn’t let me reach the dresser where my pajamas are waiting for me. He pushes up off the bed and cuts in front of me, blocking my path, as impenetrable as a concrete wall.
I swallow my nerves and look up, but I don’t make it all the way to his face. I can’t. I settle for his broad chest, which, quite frankly, feels difficult enough on its own.
He takes a step closer, and I stand stock-still. I hold my breath when he lifts his hand to feel my towel between his fingers. He rubs the cotton at the center seam that runs down my chest and stomach. He’s not even touching me yet and I still shiver.
Damn. This isn’t a fair fight.
I clutch the two ends of my towel with a fiercely tight grip, white knuckles and all, as he slowly slips his hand past the opening. His hand smooths over my naked waist, gripping it firmly.
“Should I?” he asks again as I sway toward him. “Convince you?”
“You had your chance by the magazines,” I argue, completely annoyed that my voice has lost all conviction now. I’m hopeless.
“Ah, so we’re doomed already…” he quips, rubbing his thumb up and down the front of my hip bone.
Doomed is one way to put it, for sure. I certainly feel like whatever this is, it’s inescapable, for better or worse.
His hand moves higher in the towel and my breath hitches. My mistake. I should have thrown on an oversized robe or a zip-up onesie. I’m ripe for the taking in this cotton towel, and he uses it to his advantage. His hand slides around my back, parting the two sides of the towel even more as he bends to take my mouth. He kisses me soft and sweet, gentle and tender. For a few moments, we stay like that, with his strong arm banded around my back as he holds me tightly. There’s a sweeping swell of emotions building as our kiss turns desperate. He backs me up toward the bed as our tongues explore each other. We’re taking our time, and yet I feel how much he wants me. It’s in the firm grip of his hand, his whispered “Fucking hell” as he breaks the kiss and stares down at me.
I’m unsteady without him, tipping back onto the bed. He doesn’t help me. He lets me fall and then he hauls me higher so there’s room for him to climb up and over me. His knees rest beside my hips as he tugs his shirt off, tossing it over the edge of the bed. He doesn’t make it to his jeans before he impatiently bends down to kiss me again. We get swept up in it. I think it was only meant to be a fleeting pause in the middle of him undressing, but now my fingers are tangled in his hair and the towel is slipping off me. He pushes the two sides apart so his hands can cover my bare skin wherever he’d like. Tightening around my bicep, skimming over my breasts, pressing down my navel, peeling apart my legs. He takes his time, and I grow more and more restless.