Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 133682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
He grips the ornament, his nostrils huffing. “Good to know.” He pauses, his eyes never leaving my face. My stomach flips. I don’t want him to look away. “I’ll hang this tonight.”
“Will you think of snow?” I ask, breathy. But what I’m really saying is will you think of me again?
The corner of his mouth twitches. “I will.”
I want to lean into him, to catch his mouth with mine, to thread a hand through his hair and demand he kiss me hard on this couch, in his chair, on the…
A wicked thrill rushes through me, and I’m suddenly fixated on his desk.
He parts his lips like he’s going to say something. Something like get on my desk right now and spread your legs.
I blink off that lusty thought.
He must erase whatever’s on his mind, too, since he returns to our earlier topic. “Do you want me to cancel the stylist my aunt arranged? I can send you a dress instead.”
My breath catches. This man loves to give gifts. The socks, the ice cream, the football suite, the shopping spree, and now a dress. “Do you like shopping, Wilder?”
He’s quiet for a moment, like he’s weighing what to say. “For you, I do.”
That’s not making me want him less. “So you’d shop for a dress for me?”
“If you wanted me to, yes.”
I’m tempted to say yes to the dress. But I also kind of want to go to the stylist too. Maybe I do have a little My Fair Lady in me. “Would it make me greedy if I said both?”
He laughs, seeming a little delighted. “Considering I sent you into the lion’s den unprepared, you should have both.” He thinks for a minute. “I’ll send a dress to your office today. Why don’t you pick shoes with the stylist?”
“You’re too generous. You don’t have to. I swear.”
His smile is pleased, in control, a man who’s getting what he wants. “I know. I want to.” He pauses, then adds, “But you should pick your own necklace. One of your pieces. I like seeing the ones you make on your neck.”
That sends a charge down my spine. The idea that he likes my creations on my throat makes me feel a little shimmery all over. “I will,” I say.
“Good. I look forward to it,” he says, holding my gaze like he’s already picturing something pretty adorning my skin.
I let out a long breath. “Thank you. For reassuring me. I’m sorry I came in a little hot earlier.”
“I like it when you come in hot,” he says. The sound reminds me of how we talked yesterday after the kiss. It reminds me, too, of how he’s been looking at me in the last few minutes. And it definitely reminds me of these unexpected fantasies of mine.
“Wilder?”
“Yes?”
I shake my head. “It’s nothing.” I’m not certain what I was going to say, even though I’m sure my tone was breathy, feathery even.
He grabs my hand again, linking his fingers through mine. I gasp from the touch, the desperation in it. “Are you sure it’s nothing?”
“Yes,” I say, but I don’t sound convincing.
He doesn’t let it go. “Is this about the kiss yesterday?”
And the way I’m thinking of you now too. “Maybe. Okay. Yes,” I admit.
“What about it?” he asks, seeming impatient.
“Was it believable?”
“Yes,” he says, wasting no time. “It was believable to me.”
There goes my stomach once more, cartwheeling this time. “Me too.”
He’s quiet again for a beat, then says, “We’ll probably have to be affectionate again at the party on Thursday.”
I wish it were Thursday now.
This fluttering in my chest isn’t going away. This pull in my belly isn’t disappearing. And this ache between my thighs is only intensifying. Feeling bold, I throw caution out the window. “Should we…practice again?”
The answer flies out of his mouth. “Yes.”
In no time, he’s up and striding across the plush carpet to the door and flicking the lock closed. I stand, my pulse skyrocketing. Then, because I can’t stop thinking of his desk, I move toward it, and he’s right behind me. When I reach it, he crowds me, his arm stretching along my side to grab the phone on the smooth wooden surface.
Why is he grabbing his phone? “Do you have a call—”
But the question dies when he hits play on Spotify. The sultry sounds of the Tinashe Christmas cover float past my ears as his actions register fully. He’s turned on a song to drown out the sounds of our kissing practice.
With my heart speeding wildly, I spin around, and Wilder’s looming over me. “Just in case,” he says, answering my unfinished question.
“In case…I’m loud?”
His jaw ticks. He presses his lips together. Squeezes his eyes shut like he’s at war with himself, then he opens them. “Yes. But I need to know for sure. Are you okay with this?” He gestures from him to me, then all around us.