Total pages in book: 151
Estimated words: 144042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 720(@200wpm)___ 576(@250wpm)___ 480(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 720(@200wpm)___ 576(@250wpm)___ 480(@300wpm)
“At least be a little humble.”
“I don’t know how.” He gives me another cheeky smile, his step light and confident. “Who’s that Bradley guy?”
He clearly heard too much. I keep my chin held high. “He’s none of your business.”
John shrugs a big shoulder. “I couldn’t help but overhearing—”
“When you were lurking behind us?”
“When I was sending a text and you two stopped right in front of me,” he appears almost aggrieved, “without even noticing I was there.”
“Sorry I didn’t take a moment to look around for you.”
Ignoring my sarcasm, he nudges me with his arm. “Forgiven.”
“Argh!”
John’s laugh is low and rolling and way too pleased. “God, you’re easy to stir up.”
“I’m beginning to think you like doing it.”
He leans down, and his breath tickles my skin. “I love it.”
Shivers break out over my shoulders and run down my chest. Horribly, my nipples draw tight, and it’s an effort to maintain my casual stride. Seriously, how does the man do it? How can a few words and the smooth tenor of his voice affect me so strongly?
Our steps slow as we reach the intersection. There’s a huge puddle, one of many that have appeared since the snow melt. This one is dark and deep, nasty bits of ice and city detritus floating on top. I halt and am glancing around for a way across when John catches hold of my wrist.
His long fingers make my wrist feel small and fragile. When I halt and gape up at him, he grins at me, eyes bright with mischief.
“What—” My words cut off with a squeak when he bends down and scoops me up in his arms.
“Don’t wiggle,” he says as he steps straight into the icy puddle and walks us across the road. “You won’t like it if I drop you.”
He’s warm and clearly strong as an ox, despite his lean frame. I wrap an arm around his neck, not because I think I’ll fall, but because I can’t help myself. “You’re insane.”
Up close, his eyes have flecks of deep blue spiking through the green. “I’m being chivalrous,” he says in protest. “Seriously, mark the date because this is a first.”
His breath smells faintly of the little melon candies they hand out at the end of the meal, and I have to brace myself against his chest to keep from leaning closer and stealing another kiss to discover if he tastes good too. Doesn’t stop me from feeling the imprint of his hand clasping my bare thigh or the way his other hand presses against my ribs just below the curve of my breast. It’s too much and far too close.
He’s not looking where he’s going but studies my face as I study his. John Blackwood has an Old Hollywood look about him—features that are of strong character instead of pleasant perfection. His high-bridged nose is a bit too long, the thick line of his dark brows a bit too severe, and his chin is completely stubborn, a blunt punctuation at the end of his sharp jawline. But his mouth is softly sculpted and full.
Those lips move slightly closer, and I realize I’m staring at them, that he’s watching me stare at them.
My face goes hot, and I look away, pretend I’m inspecting the road. “We could have walked around the puddle.”
I don’t think I fool him for a second.
“It would have taken too long. And this way, I get to carry you.” He winks in that cheeky way of his.
I have no idea why he’d want to, but I’m afraid to ask. Being held by him is strange enough as it is. But it feels good. Really freaking good. I have visions of him carrying me around from now on. John Blackwood: my new mode of transportation.
“The last time someone carried me, I was ten,” I murmur.
He steps seem to slow as he looks me over, his gaze like a hot stroke on my skin. The smile that pulls at the edges of his lips is gentle. “Ah, honey, with those big baby-doll eyes and little freckles, sometimes you do look like a kid.”
A huff of irritation blows from my lips, and I start to wiggle. He grips me tighter as his glances down to at breasts. His smile grows wider. “But you’re all woman, aren’t you, Stella Button?”
“Oh, let me down,” I snap, flushed and annoyed. “I don’t care if my feet get wet. I’m not listening to this hackneyed flirting—”
He puts me down abruptly, and I utter an inelegant “Oof!”
“There you are,” he says happily. “All safe and dry.”
I straighten my shirt. “Ass.”
He snickers, pleased with himself. “You really are easy to annoy.”
“You’re the only person who annoys me.”
Although it’s not completely true. He only annoys me some of the time. Mostly, he’s surprisingly charming.
John runs the tip of his tongue along the edge of his teeth. “Aren’t I the lucky one?”