Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92827 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92827 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
After drying and lotioning up, I slid into one of my dark red slips, the silk cool against my heated skin, ready to sink under the covers and sleep off the strain of such a long day.
I froze upon exiting the bathroom, the steam from the room following me into the bedroom.
“What in God’s name are you wearing?” Cannon snapped from where he was already tucked under the covers, a hardback clutched between his fingers.
“When did you get home?” I popped a hand on my hip.
“In the middle of your bath,” he said. “I didn’t want to interrupt. The audiobook you were listening to sounded…interesting.” He cocked a brow at me, and my skin flushed. The romance novel I was currently listening to had just come to the incredible part where the hero and the heroine make love for the first time.
“You could’ve told me you were home.”
“Were you worried about me?”
Yes.
“Do you need to be worried over?” I countered. “Figured there was nothing you couldn’t handle.”
He eyed my slip again, his opened book resting against a chest. A chest I now noticed was bare. I’d only seen it that one time in the locker room and now with him so close…sweet heavens, I wanted to pull those sheets back and see where those tattoos led.
“Again,” he said. “What the fuck are you wearing?”
I glanced down at my slip—sure, my cleavage was on display, but the length cleared my rear with a lace hem. “I sleep in this.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Yes, I do. It’s hot.” I stepped toward the bed, and he snapped his book shut, the motion halting my progression.
“We have air conditioning. Rule number seven, you do not wear that to bed.”
I huffed. “It’s a southern July, Cannon Price! What would you suggest I wear?”
“Anything!” he growled. “Anything but that.” He flung his arm toward his closet. “Grab literally anything in there, and it would be better than that.”
A laugh escaped my lips—the intensity in his eyes, the crazed sort of panic in the tenseness of his body. “I didn’t think I was your type,” I whispered to ensure the words didn’t carry across the hall to where my sister likely was sleeping or taking selfies. “Didn’t think you found me attractive.” My voice wavered a bit on that one, the truth and rejection fueling the tremble. His kiss had definitely said otherwise…but had he done that to prove a point? Prove that I could wind up underneath him, out of my mind with lust, just like every other girl he’d ever been with?
“Put. Something. Else. On.” He cocked a brow at me.
The demand in his tone, the primal urgency in it, had me rushing toward his closet. Because damn it, I liked that tone. I liked that I made him uncomfortable. And I’d been thinking about his mouth on mine for a week straight.
I grabbed one of his T-shirts at random, tossing the silk in a corner as I yanked the soft cotton over my head. The gray material felt well-worn and nearly paper-thin, instantly melting against my shoulders and stopping mid-thigh. Some dark blue logo of a Viking rested atop my breasts, now peaked against the material as I walked out of the closet.
“Fucking hell,” Cannon grumbled, sitting his book down again. “That’s even worse.”
I glanced down at the shirt and shrugged. “High school?” I asked.
He nodded, gripping the edges of his book a bit tighter. “The only one I ever liked.”
“You went to several?” I asked, using the casual question to walk around to my side of the bed. I peeled the sheets back with the careful fingers of one defusing a bomb. My heart stalled as I sank into it, worried Cannon might bolt at a moment’s notice.
“Yes,” he said, the word clipped. “After Mom…” he cleared his throat. “I moved around a lot. One year I was in three different schools.” He nodded toward the shirt as I tucked my bare legs underneath the sheet. “That school was the longest and my favorite. One year straight.”
“It’s important,” I said.
Another nod.
“I should take it off.” I moved toward the edge of the bed, but a gentle hand on my wrist stopped me.
“Don’t,” he said and groaned as he closed his eyes. “For the love of God, don’t take anything off.”
I laughed softly and turned to lay on my side, facing him.
He swallowed hard before marking the page in his book and setting it on the nightstand next to him. After he clicked off the lamp, he lay on his side, facing me, to my utter shock and delight. It took a few moments for my eyes to adjust to the dark, but once they did, Cannon’s were intently on mine.
Mere inches separated us, and every beat of my racing heart was a plea to cross that invisible line. Heat sizzled in that space between us, and it flicked and licked the edges of my skin so much I had to shift my legs in an attempt to soothe the ache.