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)
Just tell her, dammit!
“Jasmine, I bought them because it was a chance to see you,” I tell her slowly, making sure I get this out right, once and for all.
“And every time I got near you. I… well… you saw for yourself. I acted like a bit of a…”
“Crazy asshole?” she tells me, making an observation, not asking a question, and with more than a little fire returning to her voice.
“Yeah, you could say that,” I agree. I’m trying not to look wounded, but actually I’m getting a thrill from hearing her call me names. It’s refreshing to have someone say what they really feel for a change instead of kissing my ass like my employees. She obviously has no reservations about speaking her mind. I like that in a woman.
Her eyes are wider now. Expectant. And her hands move to her hips as she holds her ground in some super-hot show of defiance that I can’t help but groan with satisfaction.
That damned smile keeps playing at the edge of my mouth, not helping me any, and it only seems to make her want to be mad again. Making me wonder if she even heard what I said.
I want to see her. I want her. She seems determined to give me some kind of dressing down, even though I thought it was pretty obvious. Much to her annoyance, it only makes me smile wider. I want her more than ever when she really starts to tear strips off me.
“I mean, you just came out of nowhere and scared my courier half to death. Then you say you just want flowers…”
She’s trying hard to focus on being mad. She knows full well there’s really no sense in what she’s trying to scold me over.
“And then I find out you’ve got other people buying flowers, and for what? Because you feel sorry for me? Is that it?” she finally huffs, taking a deep breath so she can fire round two. She seems hurt, which is the last thing I intended to do.
I think I’ve heard enough out of her mouth. Time to put something in it that should explain things way better than I could with words. I lean down, cupping her face in my hand. My eyes are on hers as I figure this is what I should have done at first. My lips get so close to hers I can almost taste her—the heat from her body as well as her mouth like a current pulling me under.
Deeper, wanting to breathe her in.
Wanting to drown in her…
Slap!
The sudden sting of her firm hand against my face should make me recoil, but it has the total opposite effect.
It’s the hottest thing I’ve felt.
Not just her touching me, but making it sting.
Whatta girl!
She looks shocked by her own behavior, but noticing my grin, I think she gets how hopeless this is to fight.
“Again,” she commands me, making me give her a quizzical look.
“You want to slap me again?” I ask, figuring I’m up for anything by now. I’m just following orders at this point.
“No,” she says firmly. “That other thing. Do it again. I wasn’t ready,” she says impatiently.
“Are you going to hit me again?” I murmur, watching all the fight go out of her eyes.
All the fear. The uncertainty. All the doubt, too, I’m hoping.
“Damn you, James Jones,” she says, her voice breaking with emotion. “Damn you for being so fucking… perfect.”
I kiss her properly, and for a long time.
Her body melts into mine as the world around us disappears, both of us having our first taste of forever.
That thing between us just became something more than that.
It’s us now.
I feel like I can breathe for the first time in my life.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Jasmine
I suppose now would be a good time to list hysteria and violence when nervous to my growing list of semi-psycho behaviors.
Slapping James isn’t something I’d planned on. Neither is having a tantrum once I find out what he’s been doing.
But I just don’t get it.
There’s just no way a guy like him could ever…
But his mouth does more than talk, answering every question I’ve had for twenty-four hours in a second once he kisses me.
So when I panic and slap his sweet face, it’s only nerves.
I’ve never even been kissed by a boy, let alone a real-life man who is as handsome and amazing as James. So I want to make sure I get it right. Asking him to do it again.
Properly… so I’m ready for it.
He doesn’t even seem to mind that, either. If anything, I’d say he was kinda happy I did slap his chops. Happier than when I was trying to tell him off.
For what? For being interested in you…? For maybe caring?
It’s just all so left field. Slapping his face is more of a way of pinching myself—making sure I’m not dreaming or haven’t been sucked into some simulation where I believe everything I see is real… like some kind of virtual reality.