Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 39840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 199(@200wpm)___ 159(@250wpm)___ 133(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 39840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 199(@200wpm)___ 159(@250wpm)___ 133(@300wpm)
I hear myself make an involuntary sound.
I’m not even sure whether I’m here or not anymore. This must be a dream, there’s no other explanation for it. I cannot wrap my mind around what I’m feeling.
“James,” I echo back to him. I’m trying hard not to sigh, but I’m pretty sure I do, along with that other weird noise I make.
Giving voice to the instant and overpowering urge he gives me to…
Well, let’s just say that a man like James has a certain effect on a girl.
All of her. Every inch. Inside and out.
James comes to my rescue, sensing my pending loss of control over the power of speech and reality. Holding out his huge hand, I feel mine gravitate toward his like iron fillings to a magnet.
“James Jones, Attorney,” he says with a serious expression. I half expect him to whip out a business card. He draws another squeak from me, followed by a mew when he leans down again.
Doing something I thought no one did anymore, he presses his lips tenderly to the back of my hand, giving just enough pressure with his own to make sure I can’t snatch it back.
As if I’d even want to.
He can hold, kiss, suck and lick my hand all day if he wants. Then maybe work his magic over the rest of my body. A girl can dream…
Maybe he’s just eccentric or trying his best to set a nervous girl working alone at ease once a man his size comes in.
And so early too.
Many of my customers don’t come in until their morning break. Most come in the evening on their way home from work.
If someone wants flowers or to promote their legal business, he’s an early riser.
“Flowers?” I hear myself saying softly in a faraway voice.
I’m someplace else, another dimension already—that realm where six-foot-plus, insanely attractive men who smell like something you want to rub yourself with roam freely.
Plucking chubby girls’ hands at random and holding their sweet, sweet lips to them…
“Uhhh…,” James suddenly says, breaking my reverie once he eases his hand back to his side of the counter.
He shows the closest thing to slight embarrassment on his chiseled features once he realizes maybe he should start at the beginning, perhaps explain how I can help. Tell me what he’s really doing here rather than turn me into a living puddle of arousal this early.
And on a Monday, too.
I clear my throat and feel myself blinking way too much, smoothing my apron first, then my hair.
The heat from my face feels like it could warm the homeless for a week. That same heat he’s generating a little lower down could warm the whole city.
Hot soup, Joe? Nah. Heading to the flower shop to get warm. Hear that Jasmine girl’s really putting it out today.
As soon as I feel my body move, I notice his gaze focus on me again. Any trace of uncertainty in his eyes is gone. The curled edge of his lips broadens into a wide smile of satisfaction, making me half wonder if he’s a) completely crazy or b) might actually like what he sees.
Sees something in me? Ha! That would be the world’s first.
“Flowers,” I say a little louder, taking a firm breath.
“Is there a special occasion? Did you have anything in mind?” I ask, trying hard to sound like I know what I’m saying, but he can see exactly where my eyes are going.
All over that equally chiseled frame of his that matches his perfect face. He knows I am totally NOT thinking about flowers.
He’s rocking a tailored suit. A watch made of a metal I’ve never seen, but it costs a squillion to buy I’m sure. His cologne makes every flower in the place smell like ass.
As if nature isn’t trying too hard anymore. She missed a few beats, and now she’s made the most perfect man alive…
James.
His huge shoulders and chest taper down to what is the ideal V-shape in a man.
Arms strong enough to lift even me.
His waist is just big enough to wrap yourself around and lean enough for me to know he has the ass to match.
Sigh…
But flowers, Jasmine. Focus!
“What’s your favorite?” he asks after thinking without taking his eyes off mine for what feels like a full minute but is only a few seconds.
“I mean,” he adds swiftly, “what makes you…? Do you have anything I might like?”
It sounds more like a command than a question. And as much as my mind instantly fills with reflex recommendations…
Do me right here over the counter… then over there by the window. Ah, hell, just do me right here on the Goddamned floor.
I figure it’s safer to stick to flowers.
I feel my mouth silently open and close like a trout. I know I’m blinking again too—something I do when I get nervous.