Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 77341 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77341 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
“Foxx …”
My knees weaken. My stomach drops. The bottom of my belly burns with a need for him that scalds me.
“I left because I couldn’t stand by and watch another man get to have you,” he says.
I flinch. “What are you talking about?”
His eyes narrow, and his shoulders stiffen. “Quade Kellaway.”
“Renn’s old teammate from Australia?”
I have no idea what he’s talking about. Why would he bring up Quade? Where the heck is he going with this? I let go of Foxx’s shirt.
“He came over that night, remember?” Foxx asks, staring a hole through me. “His arrival is what interrupted us.”
I scramble to remember. “Yeah. Maybe.” I think back. “Okay, yes, I remember that. He had been over earlier that afternoon with Renn and left his passport on the table.”
“I had to go let that motherfucker in, and he was all too happy to tell me about how you called him earlier that day, and he was coming by to fuck you before he went home.”
A laugh falls from my lips quickly—too quickly. Foxx is not entertained.
“I’m not laughing,” he says.
“Well, you should be, and if you believed him, you should be laughing at yourself.”
He stills before pushing away from the counter … and me.
I heave in a breath as Foxx walks away, circling the island with his hands behind his head.
“You seriously thought I was going to have sex with Quade Kellaway?” I laugh, the thought so funny that it’s a relief.
While Quade is quite good-looking and has charisma in spades, I’ve never been interested in him. And that probably has something to do with the man pacing in front of me. I haven’t been interested in anyone, despite trying to distract myself with my hot, new neighbor—and failing—since Foxx walked into my life.
“You did, though, didn’t you?” I ask.
He turns the corner and faces me. His hands drop to his sides. “Yeah. I did.”
“Foxx.”
“I watched him walk inside your house with that cocky fucking swagger of his and convinced myself that I had no right to piece that fucker apart.”
That should not be hot … but it is.
I move across the kitchen and stand in front of him. “So what you’re saying is that you didn’t quit because we almost kissed. You quit because you thought someone else was kissing me.”
“Yes.”
“Well, not that it’s any of your business, but I didn’t kiss Quade that night or any other night.” I smirk. “He’s not my type. Unfortunately, rugby players remind me of Renn, and I just can’t get into it.”
Foxx’s shoulders fall. He almost smiles.
“I’m so happy to know I’ve spent the past six months thinking you hate me when, instead, you were just jealous.”
The corner of his lip lifts. He tries so hard not to let the other follow suit.
My grin slides into a full smile. “I usually hate jealousy.” I take a step back, and he takes one toward me. “But, my God, it looks good on you.”
He cages me in again. This time, he leans toward me.
“But everything looks good on you,” I say, touching his cheek.
He leans into my palm, his long lashes shutting briefly. The lines are gone from his face, and the tension in his body floats away. It’s a quick, precious moment that records in my heart as a core memory.
“What would’ve happened if Quade hadn’t shown up that night?” I whisper.
He raises his head and opens his eyes. A war is taking place inside them—a battle I don’t understand.
His attention flickers to my lips, and I think he’s finally going to kiss me.
I drag my hand across his jaw, down the side of his neck, and across his muscled shoulders. He doesn’t pull away and doesn’t object.
He lowers his lips. I lift on my toes, raising my arms to encircle his neck, when his phone rings on the table.
Oof.
Foxx stands tall, shaking his head as if coming out of a trance. I fall against the cold counter and drag in a hasty breath.
He turns and leaves me … stunned.
My emotions swirl, going from turned on, to confused, to excited, to desperate.
“Foxx …” There’s more need, more want, more pleading in my tone than I care to acknowledge.
My heart races just as quickly as my head, leaving me loopy and frantic.
He strolls across the floor like the composed, untouchable Foxx Carmichael that he is with everyone else. How can he be so calm and cool now?
“I watched him walk inside your house with that cocky fucking swagger of his and convinced myself that I had no right to piece that fucker apart.”
My eyes fall closed for the briefest moment.
He’ll come back. He’ll need to discuss this as much as I do. How could he not?
Just breathe.
Foxx grabs his phone and looks at the screen and then at me. Lines mar his forehead.
I force a swallow down my throat.