Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 82214 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82214 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
I could picture Andrew’s weight on me, his hands entrapping me in his torturous movements while his body kept me pinned in place. I bucked when, for a moment, I forgot my hand was thrusting inside me, not Andrew, his hot breath brushing my ear as he cradled me in a shroud of warmth.
“Andrew,” I murmured, wishing he’d respond. Wishing he were Ryan and surprising myself with the realization.
I stopped, the growing orgasm fading with the images in my mind. My body throbbed with need, but I couldn’t get myself going again. When I tried, Ryan came to mind, but I was too frustrated with him to give even the thought of him the satisfaction of touching me again.
No matter how badly I wanted him to.
I curled around my pillow. Until I fell asleep, I tried to find excitement in my morning phone call to Mayhew Industries, all the while wishing the phone would ring with my knight on the other end of the line.
Chapter 8
Ryan
I didn’t really care about my old phone. I bought a new phone with a new number; it wasn’t as if I had much on the old one besides pictures. Those and all my emails and contacts were in the cloud, so I had access. I made a few calls while I made my way to the warehouse, anxiety twisting my stomach into knots as I spoke to suppliers about jobs my crews were starting. I called a few people I’d saved in my phonebook months ago who were supposed to help me set up an office to take the local calls – a call center or something like that. Missy wasn’t sure I needed one. Right now, all of them were coming through the office here, which I had yet to go to, and they were calling my crews in Waco, Austin, San Antonio, and Houston, where I was working on expanding. Where I met Christie.
I eyed the phone on my bedside table and immediately felt like crap. I’d been ghosting her like an ass. Who knew how many times her mom had called at this point? I almost answered once or twice, but the last thing I needed was another crazy woman yelling at me. I sat on the mattress and stared at the phone, slapping mine against my palm as I considered calling her.
She was a business person, right? She’d said something about it when she mentioned her conference. I looked at the clock. It was after midnight, but that woman was so wound up every time we spoke that I could imagine her still awake.
And I sure as hell needed a drink.
I picked up her phone and called her number—my old number—and waited.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Christie?”
She sighed, already annoyed. “Who else would have your phone.”
“Well . . .” I paused, deciding it wasn’t a good idea to admit I got a new one. And deciding it would be even worse to tell her that her mom was calling over and over and it drove me batshit crazy, not to mention it made me anxious. “I’m sorry. A lot’s been going on. I’ll give you your phone, and again, I’m sorry for keeping it from you. Buy you a drink?”
“Is that a question or an offer?”
I sniffed, too tired to laugh. “I’ll buy you a drink.”
“Where?”
I gave her the name of the bar down the street from the warehouse. It wasn’t far from the convention center and was within walking distance for me because I sure as hell wouldn’t be able to drive home.
An hour later, I was two tequila shots in at the bar when I realized I forgot the damn phone. I wanted to slam my head against the counter for being such a freaking idiot. I couldn’t believe I could be so stupid. Buy a drink, deliver the phone—a simple transaction. Probably the simplest and easiest thing I could have done today, and I’d managed to screw it up. I looked toward the door, thinking I could make it to the garage and back in less than ten minutes, when I saw her.
She was like a fire coming after a lick of oil when she saw me, her deep-blue dress hugging her curves like she was out on a hot date. This would be hot, all right; the thought gave me a glorious image that I sure as hell wasn’t going to tell her, but when she sat on the barstool with a smile full of optimism, I shit on that too.
“So what’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?”
She frowned, and my head swam with ways to recover. Bad way to start a compliment. It wasn’t often that I saw my one-night stands two nights in a row. I decided that downing my third shot was a good start, and even though I still had another on the counter, I threw up two fingers when I caught the bartender’s eye. I needed to get my thoughts in order and fast.