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)
We stayed there for a moment, him immediately softening in my mouth, and when I pulled away, he stayed in place, both of his hands on the wooden footboard, his knees dropping to the rug as if his legs didn't have the strength to stand. I liked that, that proof of my impact, and now we were at the same level, me caged between him and the bed. He tucked himself back in his shorts and gave an awkward laugh. "Sorry about that. Next time I’ll do a better job of taking care of you.”
Next time. I said nothing as he pushed to his feet and looked around, finding his shirt and tugging it over his head. He buttoned his shorts and ran a hand through his hair, then patted his pockets as if looking for his keys. I wondered, randomly, where he kept them. If they stayed in his truck, how they didn't get lost to the wind. He didn't find them in his pockets and that didn't seem to worry him. He headed toward the door, almost out of the bedroom before he paused and turned back to me. It was almost comical, as if he had suddenly remembered that I was here and that a goodbye was expected.
"I'll see you later."
Not what I was expecting, nor what I wanted. He and Molly were over. Now was the opportunity for us. He shouldn’t be screwing me and taking off, with some flippant reference to seeing me again. I wanted dates. Attention. Adoration. At the very least some gratitude for the back-to-back orgasms. I hadn't given Brant two orgasms in one night ... probably ever.
But Lee simply turned away, slapping his hand on the doorframe, and walked out. I heard him fumbling with his shoes and then the front door opened and banged shut.
I pulled on the footboard and stood, then crawled onto the mattress and underneath the covers. Laying there, I tried to figure out what I did wrong.
Maybe it was too soon.
Maybe he needed time to heal.
Maybe he would come back.
Maybe he wouldn’t.
Chapter 42
"What's your current temperature on kids?" Brant's voice was almost inaudible over the wind.
I glanced over, not sure if I’d heard him right. "What?" I held onto the seatbelt, my hair whipping across my face. A minivan passed us on the right, a boy's face pressed against the window, his eyes wide as he stared at Brant's convertible.
“Kids,” he repeated, glancing over at me and raising his voice over the wind. "You used to talk about having a family. You haven't mentioned it in a long time."
I looked past the minivan, watching as the setting sun cast a romantic glow over a city skyline with way too many people crammed in its depths. Hundreds of thousands of them, yet I’d be willing to bet that none were in my predicament.
I trapped a loose piece of hair and pinned it behind my ear and searched for the words to translate all of the things I couldn’t say. It was an impossible task, and I finally swallowed, aware that Brant had infinite patience and would simply wait me out. "I don't really think about a family anymore."
"Why not? You're born to be a mother."
I turned to him, surprised at the statement. "Why do you say that?"
"You come to life with the kids at HYA. They love you." He glanced away from the road for a moment and met my gaze long enough to communicate his sincerity.
I wrinkled my nose. "They're desperate. My own children might feel differently."
"Shut the hell up." The irritation in his voice was so out of character that I blinked, suddenly aware that the car was slowing and that his blinker was on, the vehicle moving to the right lane. He turned the wheel further and the tires vibrated against the change in asphalt as moved into the emergency lane. He pushed the car into park and turned to me.
“Layana. I’ve never seen someone like you—a woman who is perfectly made for every situation. You could stand by my side at the company. Lie in my bed and shatter every fantasy in my head. Raise children with me who are incredible as you. You challenge me. You fascinate me. I want to spend the rest of my life growing old beside you and discovering every facet of what a perfect creation you are. Look at me.”
I couldn’t. I couldn't deal with those words, that loving tone, but also couldn’t evade it—and a discussion about having kids just wasn’t something I was equipped to handle, not right now, even if it was blanketed in words that made my heart swoon.
“If you aren’t ready to get married yet, I can understand that. I won’t rush you into that.” He looked so handsome there, his white button-up shirt undone at the top, the sleeves rolled up on his forearms, his dark hair messy from the wind. He fit perfectly into the setting—the billionaire, behind the seat of his luxury car. So poised, so in control. So understanding. “I’m not trying to get you pregnant; I’m just asking the question. I like to think about our future, to imagine being your husband, and I’m wondering if I should include kids in that vision.”