Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 74730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Every inch of this room is as clean as a five-star resort bathroom. In fact, there’s no sign of Slade anywhere in here. Not an out-of-place razor. Not a single speck of beard trimmings in the sink. No toothbrush forgotten and left on the counter. I’ve always considered myself a neat and tidy person but if this is how he lives, I’m going to have to step up my game a tad.
Curiosity gnaws at my insides, prodding me to check out the drawers to see if he’s cleared any space for my things. Sliding out the top left drawer first, I’m met with toothpaste, aftershave, floss, and a handful of other things all stored in clear plastic organizers. This is clearly his side, so I move to the right.
The top drawer is empty.
“Find anything interesting?” A man’s voice sends my heart jumping up my throat.
Gasping, I spin around and find Slade in the doorway. He’s unfastening the knot of his navy blue tie. With a single tug, it slides off. He wraps it around his fist, his eyes homing in on me the entire time.
“I had no idea you were so … organized,” I say. “I’m impressed.”
He disappears into a doorway to the right—a walk-in closet, I presume.
The clink of his belt buckle follows.
I swallow the stubborn knot that has suddenly taken residence in my throat.
“Wish I could take the credit.” He returns, sans tie and belt. Unbuttoning the top three buttons of his white dress shirt, he stops. “Not used to having an audience.”
I’m about ready to apologize and see myself out when something comes over me.
“Are you always this shy?” I say, meeting his snark with my own.
“Shy isn’t in my vocabulary.” He unfastens two more buttons.
Is he testing me?
It takes every ounce of strength I have to maintain a poker face as he gets to the last button and shrugs out of his shirt completely—revealing a smooth, taut, tanned chest and a rippling eight-pack.
Of course Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Handsome-and-he-knows-it has an eight-pack …
The man never misses a jog and rarely lets a single processed calorie pass his lips.
He slides his zipper down next, his dark eyes locked on mine and the faintest hint of a smirk on his face. He’s enjoying this, trying to get a reaction out of me. But I can’t give him the pleasure. Not yet. He’s gorgeous and he’s technically mine, but I still want him to work for me.
“You finish doing … that …” I let my eyes drift to his pants for a moment, feigning disinterest. “I’m going to check out our marital bed.” I turn to leave, realizing what I just said and how it could easily be misinterpreted. Spinning around, I point at him. “That’s not an invitation, by the way.”
“Wouldn’t dream of one,” he counters without missing a beat.
With that, I leave him in the en suite, closing the double doors behind me.
The room is still pitch black from before, so I have to feel around for the bed. In the process, my feet get caught on a rug and I nearly trip, tumbling forward and catching myself on one of the nightstands. I’ve never been the most elegant person, but I’m grateful that no one saw that.
“Everything okay out there?” he calls out. The man must have supersonic hearing from all those expensive supplements he downs every morning.
I find the bed and take a seat on the edge, my body sinking into downy soft plushness. Last time I visited, I slept in the guest room on a mattress harder than Mount Rushmore.
Closing my eyes, I lie back and let my body relax for the first time all day. Despite having flown all over the world since infanthood and having a generally laid-back personality, flying is the one thing that has always made me tense.
A couple of minutes pass in this dark silence before Slade emerges from the bathroom. The natural light filtering in from behind him illuminates the man like he’s some heaven-sent angel—in low-slung sweats and a white t-shirt.
“Don’t get too comfortable,” he says, making a grab for the remote. He presses a button and the curtains rise, letting the remaining daylight spill in as the ocean view comes into focus. “Dinner’s in ten.”
“Oh.” I sit up. “Should I dress down, too?”
He sniffs a laugh. “Forgive me for wanting to be comfortable in my own home after a long day at the office.”
I lift my palms. “It was only a question. Not passing judgement. I just didn’t know if there was some kind of dress code I needed to adhere to about here.”
“Only a question,” he chuffs. “Everything that comes out of your mouth is a double entendre of some kind.”
“Rich coming from you.”
He moves for the exit. I rise, following him to the hall.
“So I was thinking,” I say as we walk side by side. He glances at me through his periphery. “My porcelain dolls would look amazing in the southeast corner of the primary suite …”