Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98345 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98345 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Her name falls from my lips in a hoarse exhale.
It’s a handful of thrusts before she detonates—squeezing me so tightly I follow right after her.
Casey.
Chapter Fifteen
CASEY
“Keep your damn article.”
Phillip’s words surprise me. I didn’t realize he was awake. I’ve been lying here in his bed, tucked up against him, naked. It’s early in the morning—too early even for the sun to show its face—but I can’t seem to go back to sleep. I’ve been studying various parts of Phillip. The blanket is tucked up around his hips, but above that, I can revel in his toned chest, the dusting of hair, the muscled arm bent up beside his head, that stark profile, his angular jaw.
When he speaks, my eyes fly up to his. He looks sleepy and soft compared to his usual austere persona. He hasn’t donned his businessman mask yet.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
He sweeps my hair off my bare shoulder, and it makes me shiver. “I’ll have my team approve it. It’s done. Push it forward.”
I frown as I try to keep up. Last night he was outraged by what I’d written. He called me to his suite to admonish me about it. Now, this morning, he’s magically come to terms with it? Approves it, even?
My jaw tightens reflexively. I remember what he said last night about feeling guilty the morning after we first slept together. Is this more of the same?
“Is this because of what we did last night after our argument? It’s not why I—I slept with you.” I have a hard time pushing the words out. “It’s not why I’m still lying here. You have to separate the two.”
He swallows and shakes his head. His own expression has turned contemplative and moody, especially compared to the gentleness I saw in him a moment ago. “No, this has nothing to do with last night. I don’t want to keep dragging this out. I want peace. So have your way and be done with it.”
Belated excitement has me sitting up, clutching the sheet to my chest for some semblance of modesty.
“Are you serious?”
He smiles and reaches up to cup my jaw. He nods, studying my face reverently.
I have to fight the urge to lean into his touch. To give in to that feeling again. Last night was one time too many. A one-night stand is just that, one night. Though this was maybe necessary. One more romp in his bed to satisfy those lingering feelings. And the way I feel now, desperate for more of his touch? Well . . . I haven’t had my coffee yet. Maybe I’m just a little tired.
This would be easier if I hadn’t stayed the night, and some part of me wishes I hadn’t. I didn’t stay over the first time we slept together, and it felt easier to wake up the next day with that clean break. This—us lying naked in his bed together—introduces all sorts of complications.
“Did I fall asleep on the couch?” I ask, wondering now how we actually made it to his bed.
He smiles. “Yes. After the second time.”
My cheeks flush, and I look away. “Right. Whoops.”
I’m starting to crawl out of his bed, my eyes already scanning his room for my abandoned clothes. Just my luck, I must have left everything in the living room. I’ll have to scramble out of his bedroom naked or—
“Let me have this sheet,” I say, tugging on it hard.
It doesn’t budge. His body weighs it down.
He laughs. “Stop yanking it, would you? Just give me a second, and I’ll hand it to you.”
He sits up, and I’m treated with too much man for this early in the morning. All that tanned skin . . . all those muscles . . .
I momentarily lose track of what I was doing beyond checking him out like it’s my life’s greatest purpose. God, look at him.
He clears his throat, mocking me.
I think I hate him now more than ever.
“Here you go,” he says, tugging the sheet free from the blanket and holding it out to me.
Of course, once he does, he turns and stands, not the least bit embarrassed by his nakedness.
I get a good look at his butt—consider it a parting gift—wrap the sheet around myself à la college toga-party attendee, and then book it out into the living room.
My panties and bra are strewn on the side of the couch like evidence of my poor decision-making. They taunt me as I approach. Oh, girl, you’re really in for it now.
I slip them on like I’m being timed and then grab my dress, wrinkles and all, and tug it on. I feel much better once I’m fully clothed.
In all that time, Phillip has only managed to find himself a pair of low-slung pajama pants. They accentuate that tantalizing V men have that leads our eyes straight down. I avert my gaze before I fall victim to that V.