Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 126589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
“Busted.”
That was all he said. The word quiet and resigned.
“But…why?”
For the life her, she couldn’t figure it out. She wasn’t one who traipsed around her house naked or anything like that. Her sleepwear consisted of modest shorty pajamas or thigh high nighties in summer and flannels in winter.
“Initially? Purely enemy surveillance, which then morphed into, I don’t know, curiosity maybe? There were times when you looked so sad and I wanted to know why.”
Beth sucked in a breath, not sure how she felt about this. Knowing that he’d seen such private moments, such vulnerability. Yes, she’d spied on him as well, but always when he’d been at his strongest and most impressive.
“Then, the night before Cam’s party—before we slept together that first time—I saw you crying, and I didn’t like that. It fucking bothered me. If we’d had a different type of relationship I’d have come over. Talked to you. But I knew I wouldn’t be welcome. That’s why I approached you the night of the party. The reason I followed you onto the porch, and then I found you crying again. You know what happened then.”
He leaned toward her and for a split second she wondered if he’d seen the tears that were silently flowing down her cheeks, and he if meant to brush them from her cheeks. Instead, he reached for his beer and sat back down on the wall.
She heard him take a sip, before he started talking again.
“After that night, I watched you because I wanted to be sure you weren’t crying again.”
There had been nights when she’d cried—mourning Spock’s loss—but always after she’d settled into bed, when she’d been left with nothing but her thoughts.
“What would you have done if you’d seen me cry?”
“Come over, of course,” he said, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world. “Distracted you. Teased—or annoyed—you out of your sadness.”
Gideon had taken it upon himself to be the watchdog of her emotions and she wasn’t sure if she found that charming or, well, adorable. Because she damned sure couldn’t bring herself to be outraged or offended by the unexpected sweetness of it.
“I tried to stop watching you, I knew it was an invasion of your privacy. I knew you’d be mad and possibly feel violated.”
Only she didn’t—not really—because it would be hypocritical of her to feel that way, considering her own latent voyeuristic tendencies where he was concerned. But she wasn’t quite ready to confess any of that to him yet.
“So why didn’t you stop?” she asked, keeping her voice neutral.
“Because I find you totally fucking fascinating. Because I like watching you. Because I want to know more about you. And, because of our ridiculously hostile relationship, I knew you wouldn’t want to spend time with me so that we could get to know each other better and I wanted—”
“You could have asked,” she interrupted the mini tirade reasonably.
She sensed the moment her words registered and his rant stumbled to a halt. “W-what?”
“You heard me.”
“I could have asked you what?”
“Whatever it was you wanted to know about me.”
“You’re shitting me, right? Have you forgotten what it was like between us just two months ago? Any such request would have been met with suspicion and distrust. Admit it. You would have wondered what the hell I was up to.”
Her lips twitched. Well, he was right about that.
She didn’t respond. Instead, she asked, “Got one of those beers for me?”
“’Course,” he acquiesced, and sprang up immediately.
He was back in a minute. The first thing he did was light the three scented candles he’d brought out with him, immediately bathing the porch in a warm glow and sending the subtle aroma of bergamot and jasmine wafting upwards on the slight, chilly breeze. He handed her an already opened bottle of beer before retaking his position on the porch wall directly across from her.
Beth was staring at the brightly-lit interior of her house again and she shook her head with a disgusted little snort.
“Just so you know, the peep show’s over, buddy. Those curtains will be drawn at sunset tomorrow.”
“I wasn’t being a creeper or anything,” he protested, and she laughed.
“You were watching me without my knowledge or consent,” she reminded him—then immediately felt like a total fraud when he winced.
“I’m sorry.”
No more attempted explanations, or excuses, just an obviously sincere apology.
“So what did you learn about me after all these months of spying?”
“You’re a creature of habit. You love cooking and baking. And you enjoy dancing while you’re doing it.”
“Oh my God.” She cringed and brought her palm up to cover her face. She was such a dork when she danced.
“You’re a great dancer,” he told her.
“And you’re a fantastic liar.”
“I’m serious.”
“Shut up.”
“You forget, I’ve actually danced with you.”
Oh God, she actually had forgotten that. With everything that had happened between them over the last couple of months, it was easy to forget that all of this craziness between them had started with a slow, sexy dance in a dark, private corner of their friends’ patio.