Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 39475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 197(@200wpm)___ 158(@250wpm)___ 132(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 39475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 197(@200wpm)___ 158(@250wpm)___ 132(@300wpm)
Thank you for breakfast. Ran out to do some errands. Be back soon. xx
Seeing the Xs at the bottom scribbled over, I shake my head and bite back a smile. I lean the headboard I’m still holding against one of the walls, then bring everything else inside and get to work.
“Umm…what is going on?” Bridgett asks. I pause just below the landing of the stairs, the couch balancing on its arm since the only way to get it up to the second floor alone is to push it end-over-end.
“I’m taking the couch upstairs.”
“Is this your way of telling me you’re kicking me out?”
“No. This is my way of telling you that you’re not sleeping on a couch while under this roof.” I drop my gaze to the bags she’s holding. “You went to the grocery store?”
“I got stuff to make blueberry scones and lasagna for dinner.”
“Babe, if you keep feeding me cookies and shit, I’m gonna have a heart attack running after a perp.”
“Don’t say that!” She gasps.
“It’s the truth.”
“You don’t have to eat what I cook.”
“I don’t, but I’m also not going to pass up your cooking.” I tip the couch up the stairs.
“Well, then—” She lifts her chin ever so slightly while crossing her arms over her ample chest. “I guess it’s good you’re a fancy detective now, and it’s someone else’s job to run after the bad guys.”
“I guess it is.” I squat, then stand, hefting the couch up and over one more time.
“Do you want me to help?”
“Fuck, no.” I groan, flipping the couch again, which places it at the top of the stairs on the second floor. As I begin pushing it down the short hall and into the small sitting area with the reading nook I never use, I hear her footsteps on the stairs. A second later, she’s at my side, bent at the waist with her hands on the armrest, helping me push. “I thought I said I didn’t need your help.”
“And all I heard was blah, blah, blah.”
“Smartass.” I turn to look at her and catch her smile, which means my gaze drops to her mouth. Her pink tongue darts out to touch her bottom lip. When I meet her eyes once more, her pupils flare, and without thinking about what the fuck I’m doing, I lean in.
I don’t have to go far because she meets me halfway, and our lips fuse, the attraction that has been steadily brewing under the surface between us for weeks boiling over. Taking one hand off the couch, I wrap it around the back of her neck and hold her to me, unwilling to give her a chance to get away as I lick the seam of her lips, gaining access. She tastes like cherries and feels like heaven.
My cock hardens behind my zipper, and the whimpering sound she makes in the back of her throat lets me know she’s just as lost as I am. When her nails dig into my biceps, I pull her against me, then take her down over the arm of the couch, pressing my knee between hers and forcing her legs open. I settle over her, and she arches her chest into mine, then lets her head fall back, giving me access to the soft skin of her neck and upper chest.
I trail my mouth over the top of one breast as I cup the perfect handful. My cock throbs as she wraps her leg around the back of my thigh, and I’m just about to tear her shirt down to take her nipple into my mouth…when the doorbell goes off.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I bite out, looking down the stairs at the front door, which I can see from where we are.
“Oh, my God,” she whispers, and my eyes fly to hers. I know in an instant that not only is she freaked, but she’s also going to bolt the second I take my weight away.
“Bridgett.”
“I’m so sorry.” She tries to scoot back on the couch.
“Babe.”
“I don’t know what happened.”
“Look at me, Bridgett.”
“I just—”
“Babe.” I grab her jaw, not hard but enough to get her attention. “Look where you are.”
“What?” She blinks, and I place my face over hers.
“You’re under me.”
“I—”
“I’ve wanted to kiss you since you told me the difference between expensive chocolate chips and the cheap shit you get at the grocery store.”
“You have?”
“Fuck, yeah.”
“Oh.” She swallows, then jerks when the doorbell goes off again.
I swear to God, I’m going to kill whoever that is.
“Are we good?” I keep my eyes locked on hers, then wait for her to nod before moving and helping her up.
“I’m going to, um…” She smooths her hair, now in disarray, then starts down the stairs. “I’m going to put away the groceries.”
“I’ll get the door.” I follow behind her, then catch her around the waist when she stumbles on the steps going down. “You okay?” I ask against her ear—not meaning to, but it happens. The way her body responds in a shiver says she likes it, which makes me want to do it again.