Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 131728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
“Putting in the effort.” He winks.
“Oh, breakfast is your effort?”
He bends me over backward. “Once you taste these pancakes . . . you’re never going to let me go.” He bites my neck, and I laugh and try to escape him.
Who said I was ever going to let you go?
“Behave.” He stands me up. “My pancakes are burning.” He goes back to flipping them over.
“I’ve got an idea,” I say as I watch him.
“What’s that?”
“Let’s go away and do a total reset. Relax into this new stage and each other properly without any outside noise.”
“I can’t.” He turns back to his pancake duties. “I have responsibilities here.”
“I’ll get Chloe to visit your dad every day to check on him.”
A frown flashes across his face as his eyes flick to me. “How do you . . .”
“I work a second job at the nursing home. I’ve met your father. He’s a lovely man.”
“And you didn’t think to tell me this?” he snaps.
“Henley, you haven’t spoken to me in six weeks,” I fire back. “When have I had the chance to tell you?”
He rolls his lips and thankfully holds his tongue because he knows I’m right.
He snakes his hand in under my bathrobe to hold my behind, and I look up at him. “Can we go away?” I whisper. “Just the two of us?”
“I . . .”
“You need a break,” I tell him. “You’ve never been away since your dad has been sick.”
“He needs me.”
“What he needs is for you to be happy and relaxed.”
He drags his hands through his hair as if conflicted.
“We could go somewhere hot—sun, sand, and the ocean.” I smile hopefully.
“Well, what about Barry?” he replies.
I smile, realizing he is close to giving in. “Chloe can watch Barry. She can come and stay with him. He loves her. We want to start again, and this could be the perfect opportunity to leave all our crap in the past.”
His eyes hold mine, and I know that he thinks it’s a good idea too. “I’ll think about it.”
“Okay.” I kiss him softly, my lips lingering over his. As we kiss his eyes close, too, and I know he feels every bit as lost to this as I am. And it’s there again, the crazy chemistry we have. It takes me over every time we’re alone.
“My body ached for you,” he murmurs against my lips. “You’re all I could think about.” Our kiss deepens. He turns off the griddle and sits down on a chair and pulls me over his lap. He begins to rock me over his body as we kiss.
“Let’s go back to bed,” he breathes.
“We have to eat.”
“We have to fuck,” he whispers. “I can’t get close enough to you.” He kisses me again. “I need more.”
Oh . . .
“How did I ever think I could live without this?” I murmur against his lips as he rocks me onto his body. He pulls himself out of his pajama pants and positions himself at my entrance and slowly slides in.
“Mm,” he moans softly as he grabs my hair in his hands, pulling me down onto him harder. “You feel so fucking good on my cock.”
An earth-moving shudder runs between us. Face to face, we stare at each other.
Rocking, kissing, aching for each other in a way that nobody else could understand.
Primal and urgent.
No matter what problems we face, no matter how fucked-up things are, nobody can take this away from us.
When Henley and I are naked, the world is ours.
We walk up the street hand in hand, and I’m really hoping the paparazzi are snapping the shit out of this and are about to post it all over the internet.
I have breaking news.
Henley and I are on a date . . . in our own neighborhood . . . on a Sunday night.
Miracles do happen.
After breakfast today he went and visited his father while I did my washing, and then this afternoon we lay by his pool. It’s been the best weekend of all time . . . except the hurting-Joel’s-feelings part, but I’ll handle that tomorrow. God knows what I’m going to say to him.
There is no excuse for my and Henley’s behavior.
We push open the heavy glass door and walk into the Italian restaurant. “Hello,” Henley says to the waiter. “We have a table booked in the name of James.”
The waiter looks through the bookings. “Ah yes.” He smiles. “This way, Mr. James.” We follow him through the restaurant toward our table.
James.
I love that surname.
Juliet James . . . hmm, certainly has a ring to it.
I smile at my own private joke as Henley pulls my chair out for me and I sit down.
“Can I get you any drinks to start?”
Henley opens the menu to peruse the choices. “I’ll have a glass of sparkling water please?” I ask.