Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 97525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
I tried to push him out of my mind and focused my attention on Brant. I moved more of my items into his house. Took a second office near his lab. We bought a house together in Hawaii. Spent a day at Big Sur. I tried, desperately, to forget Lee. Tried to find parts of him in Brant. Failed miserably at both.
I started to call Lee again. Week seven passed. Then eight. Still no voicemail, still no answer. I went back to Toasty's. Twice. I asked too many questions but got no answers. He was a ghost to them as much as he was to me.
And then, four months after our first meeting, I found him.
Chapter 26
FOUR MONTHS LATER
"What are you doing here?" Lee came to a stop beside his Jeep and flipped his keys in his hand as he stared at me. The man was not afraid of eye contact. While Brant's eyes were constantly on the move, following his mind, this man's gaze glued and rooted me in place, his focus unnerving. Maybe because his mind didn’t move, didn’t function enough to wander.
"I saw your Jeep. Thought I'd say hi.” I gave a breezy smile and tucked a runaway strand of hair behind my ear.
"Just driving by?" His eyes flicked over the street. Found my car, then returned to my face. "Doesn't seem like your neighborhood."
It wasn't my neighborhood, but the hardware store was less than a mile from where we met. Two blocks from the bar where he ordered me onto my knees in the bathroom. I shrugged. “I was visiting a friend." Stalking you.
"Still that rich dick's bitch?" His gaze didn't leave my face when he said the crude words. They rolled off his tongue like marbles, smooth and glib, and the heat of his gaze was causing arousal to coil in my belly. Damn, I wanted him. His stance, legs slightly spread, full masculinity on display, the strength of his body showcased in the tight shirt and worn jeans, work boots on his feet.
"Yep." I stepped closer, my heels crunching on the gravel, and his dominant stare journeyed down the length of my body, a smirk forming at my red pencil skirt and white button-up top. "Still want to fuck the rich dick's bitch?"
His smile fell and he reached forward and hooked his large palm around my waist and pulled me flush against him. I stumbled, my heel turning in the gravel, and I grabbed his strong arms for balance. He leaned back against the Jeep; his mouth hard as he kissed me hungrily. My hands tangled in his shirt, prodding, feeling, and he hissed against my tongue when I found and gripped the crotch of his jeans.
"God, you are one fucked up woman." He placed his hand over mine and let me feel his hardening erection, the emerging push of it against his jeans. I squeezed, savoring the feel of him.
"Okay, stop," he muttered, pulling his mouth off mine as he pushed my hand away. "Fuck," he swore, rubbing a hand over his mouth and studying me over his knuckles with a wary glance. I stepped back, sensing his trepidation, unsure what was prompting it. "Fuck," he repeated. "You are crazy."
I met his gaze and said nothing. I was crazy. Being here, looking for him, falling right back into his arms without asking any questions … it was all crazy, especially the way my body was crying out for more, more, more. It wasn't like this with Brant. I didn't know why it was so different, didn't understand it, but regardless of the reason, my sexual connection with Lee was so much stronger. He had to feel the electricity between us. His eyes said he did. They were steady on me as he chewed on his thumb, thinking.
"I have a girlfriend," he said finally and dropped his hand. He pushed off of the Jeep and lifted his chin. "Is that a problem?”
The moment froze and crystallized, like shards of ice on a pool, spiderwebbing and crinkling underneath me until the statement slammed, full force, into the center of my heart. I have a girlfriend. Is that a problem?
I tried not to let my face show the war of emotions that were throwing a panic party in the front living room of my head. This was bad. Horrible. Heartbreaking. "No," I whispered, and I cleared my throat. “No,” I repeated, hoping he couldn’t hear the lie in it.
“Well.” He climbed into the Jeep and glanced over at me. "It's a problem for me. So, I guess I’ll see ya, Lucky." He sneered the nickname, as if I was anything but, and the tone hit like a slap in my face.
I was still standing there, heels askew on the gravel, my face red, panties damp, mind whirring, when he floored the gas and left me in the middle of the hardware store parking lot. His head didn't turn, and he didn't look at me when he drove past. He just left, and probably to go to her.