Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 86799 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86799 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
“I thought it would help me get over my crush on you,” he adds, apologetically. “I didn’t want to ruin our partnership by telling you about this stupid fucking crush.” He’s so frustrated with himself, but then he sighs, a worried sound. “Now you hate me for real, don’t you? But I had to tell you.”
My heart squeezes even harder. It’s beating so fast. “I don’t hate you,” I whisper, emotion already knotting my throat, and like that, I do know what to say. “I really, really don’t hate you.”
Then, before I tell him how I truly feel, how much I don’t hate him at all, I cover his lips with mine.
I kiss him again.
It’s messy and needy as we tug at clothes and jerk at zippers, then fall into bed together.
I ache, and I can’t wait a second longer. When he takes off his glasses, I grab his face. “I need you,” I say.
“Need” is only the start of how I feel. But I don’t want to say more and ruin this fragile new us.
Axel grabs a condom, rolls it on, then pushes the back of my thigh, bending my knee toward my shoulder. He settles between my legs and sinks into me with one deep, delicious thrust that has me moaning.
In no time, I’m panting and gasping.
He’s groaning and grunting.
Neither one of us talks. We don’t demand dirty deeds, or ask for it harder, rougher, deeper.
I’m too afraid to talk.
Too worried I’ll say the wrong words or say the right words at the wrong time.
Like I’m falling for you.
I have so much more than a crush on you.
Instead, for two incessant talkers we’re remarkably, disturbingly quiet.
But we’re loud in the only way we can be now. Speaking with our bodies, our sounds, our touches.
And with the way we come together in a desperate tangle this last night on a luxury train speeding across Europe toward its final destination.
34
THE FINESSER
Axel
This is dangerous. I’m too damn close to slipping. As she sleeps next to me, an arm flung across my chest, her red hair spilling onto my shoulder, I vow to do better tomorrow.
There’s only one more day to survive, really. Once we leave Europe, the spell will be broken. We’ll return to New York. I’ll refill my salty supplies, slap on my armor, and do my goddamn job.
Come morning, all I have to do is make it through twenty-four more hours without telling her I fell in love with her once.
And, over the last few days, I’ve fallen in love with her again.
The sunrise brings a bright idea.
To survive the next day with her, I need to go back to the way we were. To arrows and barbs.
When Hazel’s brushing her teeth, I don’t come up behind her and dust a kiss onto her neck like I want to.
Instead, I pull back the bow, meeting her gaze in the mirror as she saws her toothbrush across her teeth. “Have you added one yet to your next rom-com?”
Her eyes become question marks.
“A quirky pet,” I clarify. The conversation at our unexpected dinner seems longer than a little over a month ago.
She nods sagely, then speaks through a mouthful of mint. “Do snakes count?”
Damn.
She wastes no time.
I try again, grabbing another arrow from the quiver, tossing a glance at the bed beyond the door. The duvet is tangled on her side of the mattress. “I’m kind of amazed I survived the cover ambush the last few nights.”
She spits then shoots me a curious look. “Want a T-shirt that says I Shared a Bed With Hazel Valentine And All I Got Was This T-Shirt Since She’s a Cover Hog?”
Well, fuck. Someone is sharper than I am. She returns to brushing her teeth. Or rather, attacking them with a toothbrush.
“Careful now. That toothbrush might file a restraining order against you,” I say.
I grab my toothbrush as she shoots me a narrow-eyed stare in the mirror, then spits in the sink. “I’ll have you know I do some great thinking while I’m destroying toothbrushes,” she says.
I can’t keep up with her, so I go for the low blow. “Then by all means, attack it again…sweetheart.”
She stops brushing on that word. Like it’s dirty.
Because it is.
I probably shouldn’t have said that.
I definitely shouldn’t have said it. She knows it was a weapon.
But she doesn’t call me on it. Instead, she lifts the brush again, then, meeting my gaze in the mirror like a cat refusing to look away, says coolly, “I will, Axel. Or should I call you my nemesis again?”
Ah, hell.
I should have known better. She’s too sharp, too clever, too perfectly matched.
“That or…jerk,” I say, apologetically.
With a roll of her eyes she mutters, “Sexy jerk.”
And like that, I’m forgiven.
And like that, I fall a little more.
And all I want to do is tell her how I feel. Words well up inside me, threatening to burst free. I’m in love with you and it sucks.