Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
I laugh and then—realizing I’m being too loud—quickly lower my voice. “Don’t be ridiculous. Let me see.”
I’m already kneeling on the floor before him, squinting in the dark, tugging on his pant leg. “Here?” I ask, skimming my thumb over the front of his left shin.
“No. Higher,” he says with wicked intent.
“Hilarious.”
I intentionally press on the spot where there’s a tiny bump on his shin, and he winces. “Dammit, now it’s really going to bruise.”
He reaches down and hooks his hands underneath my arms so he can haul me back to my feet and away from his injured leg, lest I get any more ideas about “healing” him. Our bodies brush together and his hands slide from beneath my arms, down along the curve of my waist. The moment passes where he should have pulled them away if he was merely helping me find my footing, but now, he just holds on to me, clinging in fact. I hear his sharp intake of breath when I raise my hands and rest them on his chest. There’s an electric current running between us that I want to test. I step closer and there—it’s pure magic.
I sway against him and his hands circle around my lower back, drawing me completely flush against his hard body. I feel the ridge of his jeans press into my belly. His broad chest and strong arms hold me steady. Our hearts race as if trying to outcompete one another.
I tip my chin up in the dark and sense rather than see him lower his face toward me, but he doesn’t do it. He’s dangling the carrot just over my head.
LORD HAVE MERCY.
“Are you going to kiss me?” I whisper, sounding slightly awed by the idea of it. “If not, can I kiss you?”
Can I kiss Sawyer Garnett? It never seemed like a question I’d ever get to ask, but now he leans down and answers with his lips pressed against mine. Warmth spreads through my limbs like fire and the heat immediately envelops us. It’s been so long since I’ve kissed someone like this—with hungry, nearly desperate need—that I can’t pull myself away.
Our kiss in the vineyard the other night was fueled by wine, or so I convinced myself, but this is something else entirely. Our mouths open to each other. Sawyer’s arms band around me even tighter. He’s a boa constrictor, which makes me easy prey. Swallow me whole. See if I care.
Something crashes outside, a tin trash can lid banging against concrete.
“It’s just the neighbor’s cat,” I assure him, holding him close just in case he gets any ideas.
Trash can lid, nuclear war, Armageddon—who cares? I need this.
As far as making out is concerned, Sawyer knows what he’s doing. More so than Matthew. I know I shouldn’t be comparing the two in this moment, it’s just Sawyer is knocking me on my ass here and I want to sink my fingers into his hair and tug. I want to suggest we keep this party going on the floor of my mom’s kitchen, or propped up on her linoleum countertops, or pressed against her little farm animal needlepoint picture.
It’s ludicrous.
I smile as I pull back. “Stay focused. Cookies,” I remind him.
He kisses me again, groans like he’s annoyed to break it off, and then steps back.
The separation almost does me in. Never mind, take me, here, NOW. I almost suggest it, but then I reach back, take hold of the countertop behind me, and try to get it together. I know if I let go, I’d sink down to the ground like a boneless blob.
“You okay?” I ask him through the darkness.
“No.”
Huskiness laces that word. I grin.
“And I know you aren’t either, so don’t even lie.”
“Don’t worry, if you could see me, I’m sure I look like I just put my finger in an electrical socket.”
“That good, huh?”
I’m too scared to answer, which in turn scares me even more. Fortunately, I know what’s behind me. The smell is impossible to ignore. Chocolate heaven awaits, and I turn around and feel for the stacks of Tupperware. I tug the lid off the top one, and the sweet smell of my mom’s chocolate chunk cookies is enough to make my eyes flutter.
“Here.” I hold a cookie out in the general direction of Sawyer’s mouth, and in the darkness, he bites down.
I yelp and then laugh. He didn’t bite my finger; he only nibbled it a little.
We each have two cookies, and then another. My stomach hurts, but Sawyer wants more. I’ve lost count of what number he’s on now.
“You’re going to be sick,” I warn.
“I can’t stop,” he says around a mouthful of cookie.
I feed him another one, kiss him, and taste the chocolate on his lips.
Suddenly bright light floods the room as someone flips the kitchen light switch. My eyes squeeze shut, and when I open them again, I see Queenie standing in the doorway dressed in a floor-length floral nightgown with a silk bonnet covering her infamous foam rollers. She’s worn the rollers and bonnet to sleep every night for as long as I can remember. They’re a good benchmark. If she ever forgot them, I’d have to assume an alien took possession of her body.