Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 100275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
“Thanks for dinner. I would have paid,” I say.
He holds open the door for us. “You’re welcome.”
I get Melissa to her room and in bed. She giggles, mumbles something, sighs, and falls asleep.
After I shower to wash off the day’s travel germs, brush my teeth, and partially dry my hair, I pad on bare feet to the kitchen for water. “The bathroom’s all yours.”
Fitz hums his acknowledgment and slips into the bathroom for a shower. While he’s in there, I search for an extra pillow and blankets. Just as I exit the bedroom, he opens the bathroom door in a pair of black gym shorts riding low on his hips, exposing the wide gray waistband of his briefs.
I stare at his bare chest for a few seconds before lifting my gaze to his. “The blankets are thin. Hope you don’t get cold.”
Fitz lets his eyes wander down my body, past my oversize yellow tee to my bare legs. “I’ll be fine.” He takes the blankets and pillow from me and tosses them on the sofa, plopping down next to them.
I stack the pink decorative pillows on the white velvet armchair. “Sorry she drank too much. I think she was nervous. She always drinks too much when she’s nervous.”
“Why was she nervous?” He fluffs the pillow and unfolds the blankets, spreading one over the sofa to sleep on.
I laugh, closing the living room blinds. “I’m pretty sure you make her nervous.”
“Why would I make her nervous?”
I sit on the arm of the sofa. “If you’re fishing for compliments, I’m not giving them out tonight.”
“No? Why is that?” He stretches out on the sofa, lacing his hands behind his head. “Am I not Miguel?”
“Shut up.” I laugh. “God. She had major diarrhea of the mouth tonight.”
Fitz doesn’t respond. After a pregnant pause, I realize I’m staring at his bare chest and maybe a little lower than that. My gaze shoots to his face.
He grins.
I clear my throat. “Are your scars from the same fire?”
“No.”
“Is there a heroic story involved?”
He smirks. “No. But I could make one up if you want to fantasize about my scars.”
I fight the impending eye roll. “You, uh . . . really should try my friend’s burn salve.”
“With the oil for my nuts?”
Pressing my lips together, I shake my head. “You’re such an ass,” I mumble while running my hands through my damp hair.
“Do you look like your mom?” he asks.
I still for a second before dropping my hands to my lap. “No. I look more like my dad, at least from the pictures I’ve seen of him. Do you look more like one of your parents?”
His brow wrinkles while drawing in an audible breath through his nose. “My mom.”
“And your sister?”
Fitz’s gaze drops to his lap. “My dad.”
When he doesn’t elaborate, I don’t pry. Again, I feel that invisible line that I don’t think he’ll let me cross, at least not yet.
“I better let you get to sleep.” I make it two steps before his hand snags my wrist.
He sits up.
I stare at his hand on my wrist, untethering every nerve.
“Jaymes,” he whispers, pulling me between his spread knees. His hand drifts from my wrist to the back of my knee.
A shaky breath rattles my chest as his hands skate up my legs to the curve of my butt. “Fitz.” His name falls from my lips in a breathy exhale.
He lifts his gaze to mine. It’s mysterious, and his accompanying grin is a little mischievous. “How asleep is your friend?”
There’s no room in my brain to calculate Melissa’s sleep state while Fitz’s fingers curl into the waist of my panties. “Passed out,” I offer, an unsteady reply based on no facts.
His tongue makes a lazy swipe along his bottom lip as he drags my panties down my legs.
My spasming heart might wake Melissa. I can barely hear my breath past the rhythmic whooshing in my ears. We shouldn’t do this.
We can’t do this.
Fitz guides me into straddling his lap.
We can’t do this.
An unavoidable gravity pulls me to him, and I fall into a sinkhole of need when his erection presses between my spread legs, the thin material of his shorts rubbing my sensitive flesh.
Here we are again.
My eyes briefly drift shut in a heavy blink, and I realize we can’t not do this.
The second my eyes open, his lips press to mine, igniting everything.
One hand’s in my hair. The other threads up my shirt.
I know a person’s heart can’t really explode, but I think mine might do precisely that as the pad of his thumb draws a slow circle over my nipple.
“I can’t fucking think . . . ,” he whispers, kissing along my neck. “And I blame you.”
My hands crawl into his hair as my head lolls to the side. The buildup to this moment continues to stir inside me. My heart’s sticky fingers won’t be able to let go if he gets too close.