Total pages in book: 225
Estimated words: 218500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1093(@200wpm)___ 874(@250wpm)___ 728(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 218500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1093(@200wpm)___ 874(@250wpm)___ 728(@300wpm)
When I get to the end of my sandwich, I lift my napkin and dab my mouth before crumpling it and dropping it on the polka dotted lunch plate. Derek’s plate is the same, but different colors. I own a dress that’s almost a perfect match of the pattern of his plate.
The previous owner of this place even left these fabulous dishes. I loved seeing the dining room styled with these plates in the real estate listing. It took me a hot minute to find the pattern. I bookmarked a set of them online but hadn’t invested in them yet.
He drinks back some of the champagne from the glass he put in front of me, grabs my face and kisses me, making sure I get some. I pull back, hop off the stool, and am about to storm off, when I’m hauled up in the air over Derek’s shoulder.
“Argh!” I protest.
He slaps my ass.
“Hey!” I shout.
“We’re going to bed. We’re christening this joint.”
“You want to wear my lunch down your back? If not, put me down.”
He lifts the champagne glass, dumps the contents into the sink and I hear the clink of the ring hitting the porcelain. He sticks his hand in the sink, so he must grab it, I’m not getting the best vantage point over his shoulder. The next thing I know, he’s climbing the stairs.
“If I throw up on your back it’ll serve you right,” I grumble.
“Serves who right for those ten or twenty images on a certain blog that I downloaded a full backup of via the Wayback Machine? All those images of bare-chested guys with half-naked women draped over their shoulders?”
My mouth opens in outrage at the accusation, but I clamp it shut and fire back, “So, it’s my fault you’re like this?”
“Absolutely. Your blog gave me all sorts of ideas.”
We’re climbing stairs now and I hold on tighter. “Clearly there’s an expectation versus reality lesson here and believe me, Derek, I’ve learned. Put me down.”
He laughs heartily as he drops me on the bed. Immediately, he reaches out and snatches my ankle and pulls me down the bed a little before he undoes my shoe buckle to get it unstrapped. He drops the shoe without dropping his gaze, which is pointed at my face. He repeats the motion with the other foot and as soon as my foot is free from the binds of the straps, he leans down and puts his lips to the top of my foot while flinging that shoe over his shoulder. It lands on the dresser with a thunk.
And I’m lying here not stopping him. Not blinking. Maybe not even breathing as I watch him toe his shoes off, shuck his blazer and undo his cufflinks, setting them on the bedside table. I see they’re black with monogramed silver letters on them.
The tie gets loosened and then it and the shirt are gone. My eyes drink in the expanse of muscled chest and abs, defined shoulders and biceps and I’m momentarily hypnotized by the sight of my crazy stalker.
He drops the suit pants and toes off his dress socks and then he’s got a knee to the bottom of the bed and he’s moving until he’s hovering over me in just his tight black boxer briefs.
“You want what was in the glass?” he asks.
I shake my head and internally cuss myself out for the intrusive thought about wanting what’s in his underpants.
“Wanna see it at least?”
I shake it again.
“Hm,” he muses. “Guess we’ll figure that out before tomorrow. For now… we can occupy ourselves.”
I’m staring and thinking all sorts of thoughts about my Derek problem. Bitchy doesn’t work. Fighting mad doesn’t help; he’s too strong. What if I just lie here? What if I don’t react to the stunts he pulls? What if I freeze him out by being as unemotional and unexpressive as I can be? Would that do it? Would that make him give up this ridiculous game he’s playing?
His eyes close and I’m fascinated by his eyelashes for a brief moment. So fixed on them I miss the descent and now his lips press to mine.
I remain still.
He backs up an inch before he moves back in, lips touching mine with the addition of him touching the tip of his tongue to my cupid’s bow as he leans down and rests on his left elbow, right hand moving in, now cupping my jaw.
“This is where we’re gonna raise a family, Chloe. This house, that yard out there.” He tucks some of my hair behind my ear and rubs the tip of his nose against mine. “Have kids climbing in here with us on Saturday mornings to cuddle or jump on the bed, wanting me to get up and make pancakes and play outside with them while you get to lie in bed reading a book until you can’t stand missing out on the laughter and join us in that treehouse.”