Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 136029 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 680(@200wpm)___ 544(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136029 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 680(@200wpm)___ 544(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
“What’s your name?” I ask him, my rough voice deeper and coarser.
His brows bounce, then he tips his head slightly to me. “Owen Erickson.” He extends his hand.
I shake, my grip tighter than usual.
He finally plants his fucking eyes on me. “Farrow, right?”
I raise my brows at Owen. “Yeah, and I don’t know what you’ve learned yet, but you need to be watching the entrances, exits, and the parents. Not just the client.” I nail a threat into him, and I’m used to temps cowering.
He hardly bats an eye.
Shit, not flinching at intimidation makes him a better bodyguard. But I still can’t gauge his intentions.
“I was doing all of that too. Maybe you just didn’t see me,” Owen says and digs in his pocket. “You’re relieving me?”
“Yeah.” I’ve been glancing between him and the parents, who’ve been known to snap photos of Maximoff in his tight Speedo while he’s teaching.
He nods. “Sweet. See you around, Farrow.” He smiles, one that borderlines a come-on. His eyes flit towards my mouth for a split-second before he leaves for the exit.
I grind my gum, my stance cautious and tense.
I consider myself really good at reading suggestions from men. But I replay that, and I have a hard time deciphering the flirtation. It could exist as easily as it couldn’t. Because the “wow, you’re famous” face is adjacent to the “wow, you’re hot; I want to fuck you” face.
Owen whatever-the-fuck ejects from my head about the same time that Maximoff hoists himself out of the pool, the swim class ending.
My mouth curves up. Beads of water track down his carved abs and V-line, and he pushes his soaked hair back, his tongue wetting his lips.
Damn.
What gets to me more: Maximoff is searching the aquatic center for someone. Eager and expectant. His anticipation of me fists my heart in a warm vice. Maximoff Hale wants me more than even humanly possible, for eternity. That soul-deep, soul-clenching feeling will never grow old.
His eyes collide with mine.
“Looking for me?” I chew gum, my smile stretching wider. Just to piss him off, I add, “Obsessed with me?”
Agitation cinches his brows. “No and no.” He walks barefoot across the wet tile. “I was looking for the other tattooed asshole.”
I nod slowly. “The other tattooed asshole.” An acidic taste slips down my esophagus. Maximoff is just playing into our normal banter, but I grind my gum stale as I picture the dermal-pierced, tattooed temp bodyguard coming onto him.
After what happened with Rowin—my ex-boyfriend who made an unwanted pass at Maximoff—I never want to miss these warning signs or make that same mistake again. But I’m not sure if the situation with Rowin is causing me to be a paranoid fuck.
Basically, Owen Erickson could be harmless.
“What’s wrong?” Maximoff asks me, a foot away. The aquatic center is quickly clearing out, the door swinging open and shut. And the lifeguard stand hides us from most nosy fuckers.
“The temp bodyguards that rotated in and out today.” I hand him a pool towel. “Did any of them bother you?”
He towel dries his hair. “I didn’t even know they’d been switching out. I just saw the one from this morning.”
I pop a stale bubble in my mouth and look him over. “Fuck, you really block that shit out.” I didn’t realize his blinders were that tinted when it comes to temps.
He splays the towel over his shoulder. “Paparazzi, bodyguards—they’re like trees. I’m not going to count all of them every damn second. I’d never get anything done.”
I’m a bodyguard, so he thinks I’m part of his little forest. I grin.
“What?”
“You wanted to climb my tree?”
He looks simultaneously aggravated and infatuated. “No, you were never a tree, man.” His eyes dive into mine. “I knew you before you joined security. You always stood out to me.”
I’m surprised he’s admitting that out loud right now.
It reminds me of a talk we had after the car crash. We confessed that we’d felt something for each other earlier—like when I was just the son of his family’s concierge doctor. It’s easier to take hold of the memories now, all the ones where we crossed paths, and feel and realize just how strongly we drew closer.
A magnetic force has been at play between me and him, and I can’t see a scenario where we wouldn’t come together.
“I stood out to you,” I repeat with a teasing smile.
“Yeah. Like a lamppost, you know slightly rusted, flickering out, in need of some triple A batteries.”
I let out a laugh. “Lampposts don’t take triple As, but it’s cute how I lit up your world.”
He groans, but his arms begin to slide across my shoulders. And I slide mine across his. We’re pulled together, chest-to-chest, our bodies rising with our deep breath. The longing embrace has a strong, untiring pulse, like a heartbeat personified.
His chest wets my motorcycle jacket. I clutch his sharp jaw—and his lips crush against mine in rough desire before I can even move in. He’s controlling the depth and force, and he walks me backwards, our mouths devouring and hands gripping. Fuck, Maximoff.