Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
I ended the call and sat there fuming for a minute. I didn’t know who I was more mad at—my father, for colluding with my ex; Duke, for using my father to get to me; Kevin, for sticking me with Xander; or Xander himself for refusing to leave me alone. It felt like they were all on the other side of the room conspiring against me. Everyone knew better than I did. Everyone wanted a say.
No one was in my corner.
But while I was cleaning up the kitchen, I had a thought—maybe one of them could be persuaded to join my side. Maybe Xander and I could make a deal.
Determined to play nice, I went out to the porch. The sky was dark, and it was cool enough to raise goose pimples on my arms. Xander still sat with his laptop open, his expression serious as he studied the screen. His bowl and fork were resting on the second rocking chair. I smiled—not only was the bowl empty, but licked clean. There wasn’t a single spot of tomato sauce left behind.
I hid a smile as I picked it up. “Did you like the pasta?”
“Yes. Thank you.” Still no eye contact.
“Look, Xander, I’m sorry about earlier.”
“No need to apologize.”
I stood in front of him, holding the bowl against my stomach. “I just wanted to be alone up here, have two weeks of vacation like a normal person, and it’s frustrating that no one will let me.”
“I understand.”
“And I’m guessing you don’t really want to be here either, what with your bar opening soon and all.”
He remained silent without looking up from his screen, so I assumed I was right—he didn’t want to be here any more than I wanted him around. He was only doing this for Kevin.
“But since I’m stuck with you and you’re stuck with me, maybe we could make a deal—you sort of leave me alone to do what I please, and I won’t make you sleep outside. You can have the couch.”
He finally shut the laptop and looked up at me. In the darkness, I couldn’t really read his eyes—what color were they again? Brown? He was very handsome, I had to admit. Strong jawline, thick dark hair, wide, sensual mouth. I just didn’t like what came out of it next.
“I don’t think so.”
“Why not?”
“That couch is really short.” He folded his arms across his tanker chest. “I’d probably be more comfortable outside anyway. Or,” he said, like he’d just thought of it, “in the bed.”
“The bed!” Heat flooded my face. “Where am I supposed to sleep?”
“We could share it,” he said, like it was obvious.
Outraged, I touched my collarbone, as if clutching my invisible pearls. “I’m not sharing my bed with you.”
“Why not?”
“You’re a complete stranger! Plus, you’re huge! You’d take up all the space!”
He smiled and shrugged those massive shoulders. “Then I guess we can’t make a deal.”
Infuriated, I yanked the door open and went back inside.
I stuck his dishes in the dishwasher, used the bathroom, and shut myself in my room, making sure to slam a door whenever I had the opportunity. I undressed, tugged on an old T-shirt, and got into bed. Then I waited, staring at the sloping ceiling in the dark, listening for him to come in and use the bathroom.
But instead of hearing the screen door creak open, I heard footsteps through the window above my head, as if he was heading into the woods behind the house. Without hesitation, I popped onto my knees and peered out the window over the bed, my fingertips and chin on the sill. Through the screen, I saw him loping toward a nearby tree just at the edge of the clearing. He stopped with his back to me, plainly visible in the moonlight from my window. Spread his legs.
I gasped. He wouldn’t.
I leaned closer to the screen, so close my nose touched it, so close I heard the zipper from his jeans going down.
Below the short sleeves of his dark T-shirt, his forearms and hands disappeared in front of him. I counted to twenty before I saw him do the shake, bobbing once on his heels before tucking himself back into his jeans and zipping up. When he turned around, he was facing me.
I dropped so fast, I banged my chin on the sill, then flopped onto my back, eyes wide open, heart pounding. Had he seen me watching him? No, it was completely dark in my room—he couldn’t see in, could he?
I listened to his fading footsteps on the gravel as he walked back to the front of the house. Then I heard him let himself in and shut the door.
After that, it was silent—he must have decided to take the couch.
I lay there, rubbing my smarting chin, wondering about the tall, ship-shouldered bodyguard with the dark hair, inked-up arms, and chiseled jaw. Questions poked at my brain.