Total pages in book: 151
Estimated words: 142976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 715(@200wpm)___ 572(@250wpm)___ 477(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 715(@200wpm)___ 572(@250wpm)___ 477(@300wpm)
She bit back a moan at the overstimulation, but was helpless to stop herself, fascinated by both her body and his and how they’d moved together to create such mad, mysterious alchemy.
“I get it,” she whispered again, burrowing her face against his bicep, nuzzling closer, loving the warm, spicy scent of him, enjoying how it mingled with the musk of the sex they’d just had.
Everything about this moment felt surreal, yet perfect. Despite his silence, she knew he was conscious, she could feel it in the alteration of his breath as she moved closer to him, and sense it in the slight buildup of tension in his strong, beautiful body.
She backed off, not wanting to send him fleeing from her bed quite yet, enjoying his nearness, even if it didn’t quite translate into closeness. This was what she’d signed up for. It was the agreement they’d made. And Fern was a woman of her word. She wasn’t about to make more of this than it was.
She was just flying high on a puffy cloud of post-orgasmic happy hormones and didn’t quite know how to contain herself.
Her fingers went back to lightly stroking his arm, and connected with the cool metal of his bracelet on a desultory downward sweep. Inquisitive, she explored the smooth links of the bracelet—Cade didn’t strike her as a flashy man and she’d been curious about this piece of jewelry, which—along with his wedding band and watch—he wore every day. Her sensitive fingers found what felt like a narrow plate with something engraved on it.
Too lazy and relaxed to lift her head and look, she ran her thumb over the surface of the plate a couple of times, until her nosiness finally won out and she lifted her head slightly to peer down at it.
“You have a medic alert bracelet,” she murmured, almost to herself, a little staggered by the revelation. She’d been so certain she was about to see a treasured gift from a past lover that she wasn’t quite sure what to do with this new knowledge. Instead, what she found was a bespoke, brushed silver chain link bracelet, with the words: Mr. NC Hawthorne, Allergic to Penicillin inscribed on the embedded face.
“Hmm.” The deep rumbly sound resonated through her. A sexy dragon’s purr that thrilled her. There was a long pause before he sighed and asked, “Why don’t you?”
She dropped her head back onto the pillow and went back to contemplating the ceiling, her hand still lightly caressing his arm.
“I did once. When I was a child. I outgrew it and when I told him I needed a new one, Granger pointed out that I was old enough to inform people about my peanut allergy. The lack hasn’t really been a problem.”
He turned his head—seemingly with great effort—to look at her, and she shifted her eyes to meet his dark, hooded gaze.
“It’s a problem,” he said, his voice uncompromising. “I’ll have one made for you.”
“That’s not ne—”
“Fern, don’t argue.”
She chewed the inside of her lip and stared at him for a moment before huffing an aggrieved sigh.
“That’s really annoying,” she told him. “You can’t simply command me not to argue and then expect obedience.”
“Why would you argue about something that is in your best interest?”
“It’s not the bracelet, it’s the demand that I not argue.”
His lips twitched. Another almost smile, which only served to irritate her further. Stubborn man and his pathological need for control. He was seriously harshing her post-sex mellow right now.
“Go on then,” he invited, his voice mild. “Say your piece. Tell me why I shouldn’t have a potentially lifesaving medic alert bracelet made for you?”
She was glaring at him now and he was still staring at her with that amused, non-smile lifting the corners of his lips.
“I don’t know, Cade, I might start to think you care,” she told him with a smirk.
Sadly, it didn’t have the effect she’d hoped for, instead his eyes gleamed with amusement.
“I do care, Fern. It wouldn’t be great PR to have my new, pregnant bride keel over and die from anaphylactic shock, would it? Now do you mind? I need a nap.”
She felt—for the first time in her memory—her lower lip protrude in a sulky pout.
“Has anybody ever told you that you’re really, really infuriating?” she asked him.
“Infuriating? Not really. Abrasive, frustrating, aggravating, fucking reprehensible, harsh, uncompromising, stubborn, dour, exacting, overbearing, domineering, tyrannical? To name a few… Yes. Often.”
“You don’t have to sound so proud of it,” she said, fighting to hide her amusement from him. Even though his voice and face remained completely expressionless, she was certain she caught a whiff of self-deprecating, acerbic wit in that response. And it surprised, charmed, and entertained her.
“It all translates to knows his own mind to me. You’re not going to let me sleep, are you?”
“I’m not sleepy,” she told him, instantly distracted by the erotic timber of his voice as it deepened meaningfully on the question.