Total pages in book: 45
Estimated words: 43540 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 218(@200wpm)___ 174(@250wpm)___ 145(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43540 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 218(@200wpm)___ 174(@250wpm)___ 145(@300wpm)
“Let me guess. The blueberry martini is yours?” His voice is smooth like melted butter.
“Why do you think that?”
“Seems to fit you.”
“And what do you know about me to know it fits?”
His eyes drop to my lips. It’s only for a second, but he returns them to mine and shrugs. “You look like you enjoy sweeter things.” He leans in. “But if I had to guess, you have a little spicy side to you, too.”
My lips part. His gaze drops again, and he watches as I slowly suck in my bottom lip. “Tell me your name.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to know your name before I’m inside you later.” I couldn’t spit out my name if I wanted to. My brain malfunctions at his comment, and I can’t do anything but stare at him. “Name, babe.”
“Ca—Callie.”
He leans forward, and my entire body shivers at his warm breath against my earlobe. “Even your name’s sweet. Nice to meet you, Callie.”
He purrs my name, instantly soaking my panties. Pulling back, he grabs the beer off the bar and takes a sip.
“Are—are you going to tell me your name?” There’s even a shiver in my tone.
“Give me your phone.”
“Huh?”
“Phone, Callie.”
On autopilot, I hand the stranger my phone. He types something in and hands it back. I look down. “Easton.”
“Gonna love hearing you moan that.”
“Kind of full of yourself, aren’t you? To assume I have any interest in doing anything with you.”
A hand hooks around my waist, and I’m suddenly pressed against him. He’s a lot taller, so I have to pull my head back to keep eye contact. His eyes alone are doing crazy things to me. “Will you stop looking at me like that?”
“Like I want to eat you alive? ’Cause I can’t. One look at you, and I’m not sure I ever plan on stoppin’.”
“You don’t know me. Literally just met me.”
“Sweetest day of my life. Now tell me, Callie,” he says with such seduction. “Tell me what I gotta do to make you mine.”
**
I stir awake. Snuggling into my comforter, I press my face into the pillow. A pillow that doesn’t normally smell like spice and. . . I pop up, and my eyes shoot open. “Shit.” I look around and don’t see anything familiar. My brain catches up and slaps me in the face with reality. The blizzard. The cabin. Easton fucking Cruz.
It looks like I didn’t freeze to death after all. Damn shame because it would have been better than dealing with my current situation, lying in a bed, wearing another one of his shirts and no pants. Did he undress me? That perverted piece of—I throw my legs off the bed, get up, and survey the room. Clothes are scattered, and personal belongings are on the dresser. He seriously wasted no time making himself comfortable here. Well, he has about five minutes to pack all his shit and get out.
Forgoing pants, I storm out of the bedroom in search of him. I find him on the couch, sleeping. In just a pair of boxer briefs, might I add. Like a kid in a candy store, I stare, taking in each delectable part, mentally licking him up and down like a lollipop. If he was sex on a stick before, somebody fan me because he’s reached a whole other level of hotness now. He’s more defined, with miles of muscles wrapped around his body, and has more ink. His hair is messy, the way I loved, and my fingers tingle with the urge to drag them through it. And that happy trail. Some things never change because it’s still the best part of—
“I know that look, and it ain’t happenin’.” My eyes whip to his. He stretches, then stands, brushing one hand through his hair while the other slides down his torso.
“What look?” I blink away whatever the hell I just got lost in.
“You know, Callie. Since the first day we met, you’ve always had that look. The ‘I want to eat you alive’ look.”
“And you’re still full of yourself. I’d rather cut my tongue off.”
Said tongue becomes dry and stuck to the roof of my mouth when his hand dips past his happy trail and underneath his boxers, where he adjusts himself. “Whatever you say, babe.” He walks past me and disappears into the bathroom. I don’t move a muscle. Shock will do that to a person. When my nipples finally cease trying to poke through the inside of my shirt, I gather myself and whip around just as he walks out of the bathroom.
“For the record, this look I have on my face,” I point to my face, swirling my finger, “is disgust. I’ve had almost two long years to forget anything I ever felt or thought about you. Because there is nothing there.”
“Then why. Are. You. Here?”
“Because this is my cabin!” I scream at the top of my lungs.