Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73174 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73174 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Happy.
Here, with me.
It made my heart do a backflip in my chest, and also made me feel all mushy-vulnerable all over again, the same way he’d been making me feel a lot, lately.
“Maybe the snow isn’t so bad,” I said. “Not when I’m under cozy covers inside, at least.”
He looked down at me. “Fuck, Storm, you have goosebumps again. I’m sorry. I’m so used to the cold. Come upstairs and get under the blankets?”
My heart was doing a backflip before, but now it may as well have done a damn pole-vaulted triple axel.
You still want me?
I immediately felt a hot streak of shame for having the thought at all. I wasn’t supposed to care if anyone wanted me. I’d arranged my whole life around being independent, outspoken, and not giving a damn what anyone thought. Because for so long, no one wanted me. All I could do was hold up a proud middle finger in response.
But when it came to Emmett, I cared. I cared what he thought, about me and about anything else in the world. I’d fought with him so much only because I didn’t want to care about what he thought, and because I didn’t know how to act otherwise.
There was no denying it anymore.
I really, really liked that he still wanted to invite me up to his room, even if it was just to sleep next to me.
And I loved the way he looked at me.
“I wouldn’t mind getting cozy,” I said.
He held out his hand to me and I joined him upstairs. The moment we were under the covers together and I was surrounded by his scent, I couldn’t hold back. I slid over toward his side of the bed, wrapping my arms around him tightly and pulling him close.
The warm bulk of his body against mine was everything I needed.
Thoughts swirled through my mind. There were so many things I wanted to say, but couldn’t make myself.
I think I want you too much.
I might want more than just a fun hookup, and I don’t know what that means.
I know you might still hate me a little, Emmett, but… how much?
Could he ever see me as more than a hot hate-fuck? As more than a meathead football player that happened to have a good body and also want his cock?
It was still true that people like Emmett didn’t usually associate with people like me. Guys like him kept company with… heirs to corporations. Wealthy aristocrats. People who were Ivy League graduates and hung out on yachts and came from the long lines of wealth that I’d always hated, with every fiber of my being.
No matter how much money or fame I had now, Emmett knew what I’d come from.
We could have hot sex, but could it ever be anything but that?
Christ, I was getting ahead of myself.
Emmett made a small, satisfied sighing sound in my arms, and I heard the sound of his breathing change. He was asleep. Asleep, and so perfect, and good Lord I was screwed, because I really, actually was starting to like him, and it was impossible to deny any of it, now.
I spun the thought around in my mind for minutes and minutes, feeling like I was in limbo.
But then I felt his body up against mine, breathing gently. So good. So fucking sweet.
I had to break free, if I was ever going to truly live.
The same thought from earlier today lit up like a neon sign in my mind: what the hell else did I have to prove?
I’d spent a lifetime trying to prove something. Who I was, or what I was worth.
But maybe I didn’t have to prove anything to Emmett.
Fuck it.
Sure, it was almost certain that whatever was between me and him would be fleeting. But while I had this—this perfect mix of fierce passion and genuine goodness, this sexy incredible person that was in my arms—I was going to make the most of it.
I was going to treat Emmett like a goddamn king. Then maybe, years down the line when he was falling asleep in the arms of some posh lawyer or bank executive, he’d at least remember how good his short time together with a football player was.
If I was bound to just be a memory, I was going to be a good one.
17
EMMETT
I woke up feeling like I was in a cloud.
Memories of last night floated through me like hazy dreams: the beautiful snow, the bath, and then every little moment with Storm, flooding in with a rush of warmth.
It had been one of the hottest nights of my life. I’d felt closer to him than I knew I could—closer to him than I’d ever really felt with anyone, even though that was a crazy thing to imagine.
I shifted under the covers and felt the warm bulk of the side of his body, right there next to me. His words from last night hit me: I want you to claim me, Emmett. Like I fucking belong to you.