Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 85484 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85484 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
I glance over her head at an oversized, jetted bathtub.
“That thing is huge,” I say. “I wonder how well they had to reinforce the floor to hold that weight.”
“What? Is it going to fall through?”
“No.” I laugh. “I’m just saying from a builder’s perspective, that it’s something they’d have to consider.”
She looks at me.
“What?” I ask.
“I never would’ve thought about that.” She faces me, smirking. “But you know what I would think about?”
“What’s that?”
“You sitting on the edge while I’m kneeling in the water, sucking your cock until you come in my mouth.”
I clench my teeth. “Keep it up, and we’ll do it now.”
“Can’t do it now.” She grins coyly and breezes beside me. “We have an appointment and then dinner reservations after that.”
I hold up my hands, frazzled, as the heaviness in my groin deepens. Damn her. I adjust myself as I follow her.
“We’re supposed to go paddleboarding in a couple of hours,” she says, opening her suitcase. “Well, we can do that, or we can rent a glass-bottomed kayak.”
“Can I fuck you in the kayak?”
She grins. “Probably not. I’m pretty sure you’d flip us with your … enthusiasm.”
“You’d definitely scare the wildlife with the way you scream.”
Her cheeks flush, and she looks away. So damn beautiful.
My pocket buzzes, so I take out my phone. An alert is on the screen that my back door has been breached.
I quickly enter my code, so the police aren’t called. And, just as I expect, Banks walks in like he owns the place.
“That little motherfucker,” I say, shaking my head. “He didn’t even wait.”
Pippa looks up, confused. “Who didn’t wait for what?”
I lower my phone so she can see what I’m seeing. Banks heads to the fridge and takes out a bottle of orange juice. He forgoes a glass, drinking it straight from the jug while getting comfortable on the couch.
She snorts. “He’s saving you dishes.”
I roll my eyes.
“Did you really not expect him to do this?” she asks, plucking a green bikini, tank, and shorts from her suitcase.
I smirk. Yes. I. Did.
Despite the frustration with my brother over his refusal to stay the fuck out of my house, there’s satisfaction that comes along with it. He shouldn’t be so damn predictable.
I walk into the bedroom, my fingers flying over the phone screen.
“Jess …” Pippa draws my name out like she’s concerned. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing.”
“Jess …”
I open an app, click a button. Open an email, click another button. Go back to the app and scroll through and exit.
Take that, you little shit.
Pippa stands, holding her garments. “Do I want to know what that was about?”
“You’ll find out. Just give it a day or two.”
She eyes me suspiciously.
My laugh is full of mischief as I wrap my arm around her and pull her into me. “What do you need? What can I do right now that would make your day better?”
Her head falls back, and she looks up at me with disbelief and confusion.
“What?” I ask.
“Let me ask you a question. If you could design the perfect day, what would it entail?”
I shrug. “I don’t know, but this one is pretty fucking good.”
She shakes her head.
“I’m a simple man, Pip.” I pause, waiting for her to respond. But she doesn’t. “You don’t believe me?”
“I can’t figure out if you’re … how serious you are.”
“Are you serious?” I ask. She can’t be. I tell her the same thing repeatedly.
“About what?”
I press a kiss against her lips, pulling back before she can deepen it. She’s not going to sidetrack me, and I know my breaking point. Namely, her tongue. I release her before going into the bathroom and turning on the oversized shower.
“Am I serious about what?” she asks, coming into the bathroom too.
I peel off my shirt.
She stands quietly, watching me undress. It’s almost as if she feels cornered, which is not at all what I want. But I do need her to know I mean what I say. I’ll be damned if something goes awry because she assumed I wasn’t serious.
That’s bullshit.
“Pippa,” I say, her name a whole damn sentence.
“Jess.”
Her attitude makes me chuckle.
“Fine,” she says, tossing the clothes in her hand on the sink. “I hear you say all kinds of things. But there’s more to your dreams than me—even if I am your dream girl.” She rolls her eyes.
I shove my hand under the water and then adjust the temperature.
“What are the other elements of a perfect day?” she asks, peeling off her shirt.
Little minx. I turn my back to her. “Why does this matter?”
“It just does.”
I sigh as I drop my shorts onto the floor. “Fine. My perfect day would be sleeping in a little—but not too much because then I get a headache. No line at Muggers and they get my coffee right. Come home, maybe we make breakfast. French toast and bacon with real maple syrup, so you don’t make me come back and answer that.”