Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 95676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
She takes the proffered coffee, gaping at me.
"You going to invite me in?" I cock a brow at her, trying not to laugh.
"Didn't think I needed to," she grumbles, lifting the cup to her nose and inhaling the rich scent. "You didn't wait around for an invite yesterday."
I narrow my eyes on her in silent warning.
She chooses to ignore it. Naturally.
"Sure, Detective Lewis," she says loudly, rolling her eyes and throwing the door wide open. "Come on in."
Looks like my little kitten wants to play today.
I step inside, crowding her even though there's plenty of room for me to step around her. She shivers, swaying toward me even though she tries to fight it. Yeah, baby girl. I've got your number. You fucking love having me close, don't you?
I keep crowding her until she's pressed up against the door and we're sharing the same little sliver of space. My mouth lands beside her neck, so close I could flick my tongue out and taste her porcelain skin. "I dreamed about that smart mouth all night," I mutter right beside her ear. "So don't fuck with me if you don't want me giving you something to fill it with."
A soft whimper touches the side of my face.
Fuck, she sounds so sweet when she's turned on.
I step back before I get carried away and turn to look at her apartment. It's small, but she's managed to turn it into a real home. Thick rugs cover the living room windows. The dark furniture is deep and comfortable, the carpeting plush. Photographs of her and her family, and a few more artsy shots of San Francisco, as well as artwork from her students, adorn the walls and shelves scattered throughout the room.
The place looks lived in and cozy instead of cramped and crowded.
"Nice place," I murmur, wandering around to look at the photos while I sip my coffee. She's beautiful in every single one of them. Some people were made to be in front of the camera. Ivy Kendall was one of them. She's at home in her own skin, and never takes a bad shot. Even candid photos look beautiful.
She watches from the doorway the entire time. I can practically hear the wheels of her mind turning as she tries to figure out what I'm doing here. She fidgets and mutters and huffs, working herself up until she just can't stand the curiosity any longer.
"Seriously, what are you doing here, Detective Lewis?" she finally blurts, as I pick up a photograph of her as a teenager. I believe the girl with her is her younger sister, the one who died in the car accident with their mom. Poor kitten.
I carefully set the photo back on the shelf along with my coffee and turn to face her. "I know what you look like getting off on my hand, baby girl. Call me Cam."
She blanches, sloshing coffee all over her hand. Hissing, she flings it off, managing to splatter it all over her tank top in the process.
I shake my head, unable to hide a smile. She's a mess in the best way possible. There's something beautiful about how artless and innocent she is. I've met models before her. Far too many are calculating, their images carefully crafted and maintained. Not Ivy. She isn't carefully made up or afraid to be herself. She's exactly who she is and doesn't make apologies for it.
"What?" she growls, setting her cup down on a table before slamming her hands down on her hips to glare at me. "Stop laughing at me!"
I chuckle at her attitude. She really is a little kitten. She hisses and claws, but she's harmless.
She throws her hands up in the air and tries to stomp around me. I snag her around the waist, pulling her into me. She immediately tries to push me off, but I'm a lot bigger than she is. I subdue her with ease.
She growls wordlessly, practically spitting fire at me.
"Stop fighting me," I murmur in her ear, nipping at her skin and then soothing the bite with a flick of my tongue.
"What is your game?" she demands, going limp in my arms. Her voice trembles as if she's on the verge of tears. "What do you want from me?"
I nuzzle my face into her throat, trying to soothe her raw nerves. And then I pull back and tilt her chin up until she meets my gaze. "Why do you think I'm playing a game with you, kitten?"
"Stop calling me that!"
"It suits you. You hiss and claw like a little tigress, but you're harmless."
She narrows her eyes on me and growls again.
Another smirk twitches at my lips before I can stop it. And then I sober, not wanting to piss her off or reinforce her belief that this is some joke to me. It's far from that. She's far from that. But I also don't want to send her running in the other direction. She barely knows me. If I push too hard too fast, she may shut me out entirely. "I'm not playing a game with you. I'm attracted to you. You're attracted to me. Seems self-explanatory to me."