Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 61532 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 308(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61532 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 308(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
“Do you want to get out of here?” I ask him standing. Offering him my hand, he takes it, and I think the answer is yes. His hand is warm in mine and so much larger as he squeezes it until we get outside.
“That’s the second time you’ve propositioned me.”
I turn to face him, our hands staying linked. “Is this going to be the second time you turn me down?”
His mouth comes to mine, and he kisses me again, pushing me so my back hits the wall. I taste his smoked whiskey, and my hands grip his hair, holding him to me as close as possible. He bites at my lips. His hands stay in place at my sides, when all I want them to do is roam and explore my body. He breaks the kiss fast, pulling back and looking at me with his perfect hair now a complete mess.
My lips are swollen—wanting and needing more.
My body craving what I know he can give me.
Then he opens his mouth and douses me in frigid water, yet again.
“I’ll continue to turn you down. You’re my employee,” he says then starts walking to the car. My mouth hangs open like a goldfish. Did he just say that? He kissed me like I was someone, then tore it away almost immediately as if I’m no one. I take a deep breath, pushing myself off the wall. He’s waiting by his car, but I won’t look at him again, and when I reach mine, I open the door. I hear him say my name, but I don’t answer, keeping my window up, and drive off without regarding him further.
I’m his fucking employee, so he won’t fuck me.
But he will get me wound up and kiss me.
The fucker.
I should slap him.
But I won’t because I want him to kiss me again.
Fuck.
11
Darby
She’s stuck in my head, in my dreams, and stays there even when I open my eyes to a knock on my door. That kiss last night, what was I thinking? I shouldn’t have done it, my lips shouldn’t have touched her perfectly soft lips. It was stupid, and I’m pushing the boundaries. It’s something I’ve warned the guys about, yet here I am, wanting the same thing.
That cannot fucking happen.
A loud banging on the door comes again. Charles starts to fuss in his crib, so I reluctantly get up. Going to the front door, I’m about to tell the person, whoever it is, to get lost. But when I pull the door open all the words become stuck in my throat as I stare at my father.
He doesn’t offer me a smile, just observes me with a bag over his shoulder. Charles makes a loud sound, he’s fully woken now, and we both glance behind us.
“Is that him?”
I nod and step aside, letting Dad in. His bag drops to the floor, and he follows the sound to the open door where Charles is located. He steps in slowly as if he’s afraid of something, but when he sees him, I notice his body relax as he lets out a breath. He reaches in, picking Charles up and instantly soothing him. When he turns back to look at me, I see myself in him. The way he’s so blunt and knows exactly what he wants, but not in the way we dress. He’s in boots, he lives in boots, plus a plaid button-up shirt. He smells of my childhood—hay and open fields. “He’s exactly like you were at his age.”
The breath I was holding releases—it’s a relief to get a second opinion. To know that he’s mine even though I knew it in my heart already, it was a fact. Confirmation is a good thing.
“He does.”
“I had my doubts.” Of course he did, he never takes anything at face value. He has to check everything for himself. He believes something when he sees it with his own two eyes and not before. Dad walks out to the living room and sits down with Charles on his lap while I make his bottle. He talks to him as if he’s a little person and not a baby. It makes me wonder what he was like when I was a baby. He catches me staring and leans back with Charles on his chest.
“I wasn’t around much when you were born.” He pats Charles’s back as I bring over his bottle. “Your mother was very hands-on and insisted she do everything. I sometimes got the night shifts when she was too tired,” he says taking the bottle from my hands and starting to feed Charles.
“You don’t talk about her.”
His eyes, the same color as mine, glance up. “She was the love of my life. What do you expect me to say?”
“She was also my mother, Dad. You should have said a lot.”