Total pages in book: 204
Estimated words: 193115 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 193115 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
I look at my reflection in the window. Straighten my tie. Brush down the lapels of my jacket. Run my hand through my hair. I look good, better than I did on Friday, and she struggled terribly to contain her awe then. So today? She’s doomed.
I just need to pick up my feet, get my arse inside this bar, and knock her back with my smile. Kill her doubt with a swift reminder of our electric connection.
Yet ten minutes later, I’m still hovering outside, conflicted. She’ll think I’m a nutcase, if she doesn’t already. But . . . Just a chance encounter, that’s all. I laugh to myself. I’m fucking deluded.
I push my way in, spotting her immediately at a table with a redhead. My eyes naturally fall to the glass of wine before her. Drinking on the job? I’m not sure how I feel about that. Or her drinking at all, actually. Alcohol makes you vulnerable. An easy target. It has you making stupid choices.
A waitress approaches and slides two plates on the table, and Ava rises. I dip into a recess, managing to keep her in my sights as she heads for the ladies’. Perfect. Get her on her own. Get close. Give her no option but to deal with the sparks that fly.
Remind her.
“Can I help you, sir?”
I turn around and find a frowning waitress hovering behind me. Can she help me? Can anyone help me? I’m stalking a woman, for fuck’s sake. I lock and load my dazzling smile and blast her back ten paces with it. “Just waiting for a friend,” I say smoothly, as she blinks rapidly and backs away, leaving me to continue with my stalking. I should punch my own face in. What the fuck am I even going to say? Oh, fancy seeing you here? What a surprise? She’ll know. Of course she’ll know.
I look toward the ladies’. She’s been awhile, and I wonder if I’ve missed her coming out. Did she spot me and run for it? I pull my phone out and dial her, just as the door opens and she exits, rootling through her bag. I drop my mobile from my ear, smiling as she walks toward me.
It's all I can do not to laugh when she pulls her phone out and rolls her eyes at the screen. So cute. “Reject.” She declines my call haughtily, tossing her mobile back into her bag as she marches on. Reject? Ouch. I put myself in the center of the corridor, filling the space, and her head starts to lift. My heart braces for impact.
And when it happens, my whole world goes up in smoke, and I inhale, feeling like I’ve been taken out by a boulder. My arm is out fast, holding on to her waist, not just to steady her, but to steady myself. I’m dizzy, my head spinning, her scent saturating my senses.
“Oh God, I’m sorry.” She freezes, her face practically squished into my chest, and I drag in air, fighting for breath. This. This is why I feel like I’m going crazy. This feeling. This madness.
“Reject?” I whisper, looking down at the back of her head. She looks so right nestled into me. “I’m wounded.” I really fucking am. In agony, in fact. Reject. She can’t. I won’t let her rob me of these new feelings. She’s spiked them, so she can damn well deal with the consequences of them.
She pushes herself away quickly and laughs. Yes, I agree. This whole situation is quite funny, Miss O’Shea, and if you knew me at all, you’d laugh even harder.
“Is something funny?” I ask, wondering why she won’t face me. Look at me!
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going.” She goes to move past me, and my hand shoots out in panic, grabbing her. What? There she goes again. Running. I’m not prepared to let her walk away without at least looking me in the eye, and when she does, I hope she sees what I need her to see. Want. Desire. Promises. A desperate need to be fixed.
I shake my head and silently implore her to face me. See me. But my silent prayers aren’t answered. Stubborn. My natural magnetism fails with this woman. I can’t smile at her if she won’t look at me. Can’t admire her if she avoids me. Can’t talk to her if she refuses to listen. Fuck this. I’ve tried to be diplomatic. I’ve tried the softly, softly approach. I’m working my bollocks off here, stepping outside my box, and she’s stonewalling me at every turn. Enough of the games. It’s back to boldness.
“Just tell me one thing before you leave, Ava,” I say quietly, and her gaze slowly climbs my body until we’re eye to eye. That’s better. Hear this, Miss O’Shea. Let’s see you try to ignore this . . . “How loud do you think you’ll scream when I fuck you?”