Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 126589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
“I wouldn’t mind some of that coffee I can smell brewing,” he said, his laughter fading yet still evident in his twinkling eyes.
“I wasn’t offering.”
“You’re being a terrible hostess, Scrappy.”
“I’m not your hostess and I didn’t invite you in.”
“You stepped aside and sarcastically waved me in.”
“And are you some kind of vampire who won’t leave once he’s invited in?”
He grinned wickedly, before leering at her, and putting on a terrible vaguely eastern European accent. “I don’t vant to suck your blood. But I yam great at sucking ze uzza zings!”
“Oh, dear God,” she pinched the bridge of her nose and inhaled sharply. “I don’t understand why you’re doing this.”
He leaned back and spread his arms over the back of the couch. He was so big, they spanned the length of her two-seater, his hands draping over the edges. He brought his left ankle up to rest on his right knee…and Beth did her damnedest not to notice how much strain the move put on the fly of his jeans.
“Look,” he said, his tone serious. “I think we should share an Uber to the party.”
“Wuh-w-what?” The negative response she had to his words was immediate and overwhelming. “No way. Why would you even suggest such a thing?”
“Because they know we left together last night. It would look weird if we were okay sharing an Uber last night but not today.”
“Why would that be weird? They know we don’t like each other.”
“And yet we liked each other well enough to share a ride last night. Come on, Lizzy. I know Cat’s probably asked you about it already.”
She cleared her throat awkwardly and went bright red. Her stupid fair skin always betrayed her.
He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his thighs as he did so. He seemed intrigued by her non-verbal reaction.
“She did, didn’t she? What did you say? You should tell me so that I’ll know how to respond if she asks me about it.”
“Why would she ask you about it?”
“She might.”
“Has Cam mentioned it?”
“Nah, he just texted me and said something about noticing that we’d left together and added cool at the end of it. That was it.”
Beth felt a pang of envy at that. Male relationships seemed so uncomplicated.
She sighed heavily and trudged to the kitchen.
“How do you take your coffee?” she asked over her shoulder.
“Black, two sugars. Thanks.”
She grabbed a clean mug—deliberately choosing a flowery, pink one that said World’s Best Gran—from the cabinet and poured him a cup. She topped up her own cooling coffee and reluctantly schlumped back to the living room, where he still sat like a fricking modern-day king on his throne.
She was well aware that his eyes had followed her every movement, and decided to stop being self-conscious about the fact that her place was a mess. Or that she was wearing sweats, her hair was in complete disarray, and she didn’t have on a scrap of make-up. He had come into her space. What he saw was damned well what he got.
Besides, she didn’t care about impressing him. He was just Gideon. Pain in her butt. Thorn in her side. Massive bruise on her boob.
Oh yeah, she had a hickey on her left boob. She’d discovered it in the shower this morning and had been quite…appalled.
And then turned on.
And then very turned on when she had remembered how much he’d enjoyed her small breasts. Almost as much as he had enjoyed squeezing and touching her butt.
She fought back another betraying flush, not wanting him to guess where her thoughts had strayed. That was behind them. It had been a monumentally—no, epically…no, cosmically—stupid error in judgment. But it was over.
She handed him the coffee, keeping her eyes averted, even while a blush—immune to her willpower—crept up her neck and into her face. She sat down on the comfy chair across from him and tucked her feet under her butt.
He had a little smile on his face while inspecting the cutesy mug. It looked incongruous and fragile in his large, masculine hands.
Beth liked his hands. They were big, and capable, with long elegant blunt tipped fingers, slightly roughened skin with faded scars on the knuckles and what looked like a burn mark at the base on his left thumb. She had been as obsessed with his hands last night as he’d been with her booty and boobies. His touch had been tender, and intuitive, and those adept fingers had driven her half out of her mind several times over the course of the night.
His scarred thumb traced the curlicued lettering on the mug, and Beth’s breath snagged at she recalled that same thumb tracing a similar pattern around her nipples and then further down, on her clit, with ever-increasing pressure until she had…
No.
She needed to stop thinking about that. Stop allowing herself to be distracted by the things he had done to her last night. They were in the process of discussing something important. She needed to focus on that.