Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 78049 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78049 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Let’s face it.
It was a big deal I went on a dinner date with Gage. The first man I’ve even considered giving time to in so very long.
It was an even bigger deal that I went on a second date, and at the end, easily succumbed to the early draws of passion with him.
But to invite Gage to my apartment so I can cook for him?
Well, that goes beyond anything I thought myself capable of.
It crushes the walls I’ve built up, and it’s taught me that I might want something more for myself.
Many would say that’s a big fucking deal.
It’s so much more intimate spending time together in the privacy of a home, and cooking for someone is one of the greatest acts of care you can do, whether it’s a simple meal for your family or wanting to put good food in the belly of a man you like in an attempt to please him.
Given the last kiss we shared on the banks of the Allegheny River under the illumination of the Pittsburgh skyline, I think about how we’re going to have utter privacy in a romantic situation. I’d like to tell myself that’s ridiculous thinking, but I’m the one who purchased candles for my little card table where we’ll be eating the roasted chicken, potatoes au gratin, and fresh asparagus. Gage is bringing wine.
Of course, romance is part of this setting, and he’s made it abundantly clear he’s attracted to me. And while I may not have been as forthright in my feelings for him, he’s a perceptive man. He knows I’m attracted to him.
More nervous excitement flutters in my belly as I move to the door. I take a deep breath and look down at the outfit I chose for tonight—a pair of skinny jeans with a long-sleeved lightweight sweater that actually has an open V-neck.
I’m putting myself out there.
No turtlenecks.
No scarves.
Granted, I’m wearing my long hair down and pulled forward, but I’m still exposing myself to Gage. I’m choosing to believe that my scars don’t bother him in any way, so I’m not going to hide them.
At least the ones on my jaw and neck.
I let my breath out and open the door, my eyes immediately drinking him in. It’s that flash I’ve experienced a few times already—when I first see him and have that blip of doubt as to how this can be real. He’s gorgeous, dressed in jeans and a button-down shirt, a bottle of wine in one hand and a white bag with handles in the other.
How can someone as beautiful, accomplished, and genuine as this man be interested in me?
But as I watch his own eyes travel over my body, not skipping or stuttering over my face or neck, coming back up warm with appreciation, I know I can’t doubt his feelings. It’s there, utterly stripped and naked in his expression that he likes what he sees. I flush with pleasure from that knowledge.
“Hi,” I say with a smile.
“Hi yourself.” He doesn’t move from the hallway and instead says, “I’m curious if you have anything for me?”
I tilt my head in puzzlement.
His eyes flash mischievously. “Oh, I was thinking maybe along the lines of a hello kiss?”
I can do that.
Why wouldn’t I want to do that? Open invitation to put my mouth on his? Sign me up.
As I step across the threshold, I’m acutely aware that his hands are full and he won’t be reciprocating any touch.
My hands go to his chest, and I rise on tiptoes to kiss him. Because he’s so tall, he graces me with a slight dip of his head to meet my lips, and the minute they touch, tingles erupt all over my body. A rumble sounds from Gage—a sign that he’s as affected by the brief kiss as I am.
I pull away and step back. “Come on in.”
He moves past me, straight to the kitchen as I close and lock the door.
Inhaling deeply, he says, “Something smells incredible.” He sets the wine and the bag on the counter, walking right to the oven to open it and peer in.
Makes himself right at home, and I love it.
“That looks delicious,” he says with a side-eyed glance as he closes the door. “Is it ready?”
Laughing, I move to his side and push him out of the way with bump of my hip, reaching for oven mitts. “It is, but the chicken needs to rest for a few minutes. Want to pour some wine?”
To my surprise, Gage wraps his arms around me from behind, crossing them over my belly. He pulls me back into him, wrapping me with a warm hug as he bends down to nuzzle my neck.
I stiffen slightly because he’s on the scarred side. But he merely presses his lips against my hair that buffers the scars and whispers, “I’ve been looking forward to seeing you all day.”