Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 83070 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83070 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
I reach for her purse and hand it to her. I need to send her on her way—get the fuck out of here—and put some distance between us before I’m balls deep inside her.
“I’m walking you inside,” I say instead. Oh, that’s fucking great. Have my brain and body forgotten how to communicate?
“Suit yourself.”
I shut the door behind her and follow her from a safe distance. She rummages around in her purse for her keys. Then, after a bit of fumbling, she undoes the lock.
“Home sweet home,” she says, reaching inside and turning on the light. Then she faces me. “I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do now. Do I ask you to come in for a drink? Or tell you to kick rocks?”
“I think you’ve had enough drinks for one night.”
She laughs knowingly. “That’s probably true.” She steps inside the foyer and takes a deep, labored breath. “Thank you for bringing me home. I know it probably pained you to be alone with me since you only wanted to see me in a public place, but I do appreciate it.”
“Will you stop it?”
“Stop what?” She flinches. “Look, I have had a lot of wine tonight, but didn’t our texts start tonight with you saying you want to meet me in public? As a matter of fact, didn’t you initiate this conversation tonight? Don’t tell me to stop it. Stop yourself.”
I stare at her. She lifts her chin and meets my gaze head-on.
Her advice is spot-on. I need to stop myself. Except … I can’t.
“This isn’t exactly public, but you might as well say what you wanted to say,” she says, narrowing her eyes as if she’s over my antics. “It’ll save us time.”
I wanted to meet her to tell her that what happened today in the maintenance closet can’t happen again, and I wanted to ensure it was a public meeting so it couldn't happen again. Because every time I’m around her, all I want to do is touch her. Keep her there as long as possible. But here we are, alone, with her looking like a fucking dream. All the strength I had earlier when plotting my plan is gone.
I want her. My God, I want this woman. I want her in every way, in every position, every day.
“Well, speak,” she says, lifting a brow. “Or don’t.”
She swings the door to shut it, but I catch it just before it latches.
I step inside the foyer as she disappears around the corner, tossing her shoes next to a little bench. They rattle as they hit the floor.
“If you don’t want me in here, you better tell me now,” I call after her.
“I don’t give a shit what you do.”
“Nice.” I groan, closing the door and following the sound of her voice. “Are you just going to keep walking away from me?”
She spins around in front of a fireplace, her eyes wild. “What would you rather I do?”
It’s a loaded question with far too many answers for it to feel safe. What would I rather her do? Get out of that dress and bend over the ottoman. What do I need her to do? Tell me to fuck off and leave.
“It seems to me that there’s nothing I can do that’ll make you happy,” she says.
I laugh in frustration. “I’ve never said that.”
A slow grin slips across her mouth, and the wildness in her eyes turns into a twinkle. She takes a step toward me, and I know I’m fucked.
“There’s no one here but us,” she says, stopping in front of me. “And I’m willing to do whatever it takes to try to make you happy.”
She nibbles her bottom lip, gazing up at me with doe eyes. Little minx.
“No one to hear us,” she says breathlessly. “No one to see. No one to tell.”
Her fingertip drags lazily across my mouth.
A fire is lit in my veins, and it races through me like a stick of dynamite. I feel alive. Energized. Turned the fuck on.
My head spins as I try to be rational. I’m flirting with a line in the sand I drew years ago. There are reasons, good ones, that I shouldn’t be here—shouldn’t be doing this. Shouldn’t be contemplating doing a hell of a lot more.
But I can’t stop. I don’t want to.
“You said it would never be enough,” she says, watching her finger trace my jaw and then down the side of my neck. “Let me ask you this. Why is that a problem?” Her gaze flicks to mine. “Since when is too much fucking a problem?”
“There’s no such thing as too much fucking, Miss Johnson.”
She nods in agreement. “That’s true. So why won’t you strip me down right now and rail me?”
“Fucking hell.” I grit my teeth, trying desperately to remember she’s been drinking. “You don’t mean that.”