Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56294 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56294 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
“Thanks,” she says, back to her cold tone again. “Feel free to take a seat if you want.”
She says if you want, but it sounds like she wants me to move out of the way. She’s got a wild look in her eyes as if she’s holding back the urge to snap at me. Maybe I’ve annoyed her in some way without realizing it. It’s not like I’ve got much practice flirting, not that we are flirting.
She brings the drinks to the couch near the double doors, overlooking the beach. Several dogwalkers pass in front of the window, making me think of a future where Sophie and I have dogs, children, the whole deal, walking together. It’s a fleeting, insane image. I bury it quickly.
“Paul will be home soon,” I tell her. “Maybe as soon as tomorrow. He’s going to get better.”
“Of course he is,” she replies as if she can’t even entertain the notion that he wouldn’t. “He’s strong. He always has been.”
“Always,” I repeat, knowing that I’m warping the bond we share over Paul by these thoughts flurrying into my mind. She folds her legs, making me want to slide my hand between her thighs. Then she’ll keep her legs closed, trapping me there, making me so hot and wild I can barely take it.
“How long do you think you’ll stay?” she asks, blowing on her coffee. With her lips pursed like that, my thoughts go to many steamy, lascivious places.
“As long as Paul needs me to,” I reply.
“What about work?”
“I’ll be taking meetings remotely, and…” And I’m abusing your brother for content. “And the board’s just going to have to accept it.”
“Paul always says he’d rather lose an arm than do your job,” she comments.
“He does?”
She nods, looking off into the distance, getting a dreamy, captivating look. That’s not saying much because every look of hers is dreamy and captivating. “He needs to be free and wild, but I guess CEOs have plenty of chances to be wild?” She arches her eyebrow. I’m not sure she has any idea how beautiful and cute she looks when she does that.
“Define wild,” I say.
“You know, typical rich-guy stuff: caviar, cocaine, and loose women. Don’t worry. I won’t judge.”
I don’t remember Sophie being this cutting and confident. She was a kid the last time I saw her, so what do I expect? Of course, she’s going to be massively different. Or maybe I never paid much attention to her back then. She was just a shy, dorky little girl.
“I don’t do any of that,” I tell her. “I work. I work out. That’s about it.”
“Really?” she says. “That doesn’t sound very fulfilling.”
I place my coffee down, lean forward, lay my elbows on my thighs, and look closely at her. It would be so easy to lean forward and kiss her right now, then close the doors, ignore the ocean, and indulge in her young, perfect body.
“It doesn’t matter if it’s fulfilling,” I tell her. “The company relies on me. My employees rely on me. I stopped caring about how I felt a long time ago.”
“Whoa,” she mutters. “That’s deep and a little depressing.”
I shrug, picking up my coffee. “It’s the truth.”
I’m not lying, but I am a little unsure why I’m telling her any of this. I’m not usually this forward with people I don’t know. Hell, with anyone except for Paul. For some reason, I feel weirdly comfortable around Sophie, almost like we belong together. Stop!
“What are you going to do for the rest of the evening?” I ask.
She looks over at the beach. The sun is beginning to set. “Maybe go for a walk. Maybe have a nap and go back to the hospital. I’m not sure.”
“It’ll be easier when Paul is home,” I tell her.
“Sure, for me, but he’s going to go nuts not being able to exercise. It’s his drug. I’ve never understood it, as you can probably tell.”
She laughs like it’s a big joke, but her words make me want to smash something and howl.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I snap.
She rolls her eyes like it’s a big joke. “Isn’t it obvious?”
I grind my teeth. There’s this pulsing deep in my temple, this tension that tells me to correct her any time she even dreams about putting herself down. My woman deserves better than that. There I go again—my woman. I can’t stop.
“No,” I say. “It’s not obvious.”
“Oh, puh-please…” She rolls her eyes again, making me want to grab her hips, turn her around, bend her over, and spank that thick ass to punish her for daring to criticize her body. “I’m fine with it. Maybe I wasn’t, once. So what if I’m f—”
I bolt to my feet and almost spill my coffee. If she calls herself the F-word, I know it’ll cause me to cross a line. I won’t be able to stop myself from telling her she’s curvy, sexy, and full in the best way. Not that.