Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 109608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
He covers my hand when I start sneaking south, effectively stopping me. “Tonight was about you.”
I do worry, though. He sees it. I know he does because he reaches over and rubs my cheek with the pad of his thumb. He leans over to kiss my head once more, then whispers, “Get some sleep.”
Worrying about tomorrow won’t do me any good tonight. So I decide to take his advice. But first, I slide closer, snuggle to his side, and then leave a kiss on his chest. “Good night, Loch.”
“Good night.”
16
Loch
“You ready?”
I look up to see the door to my office open, and Leisa tipping her head inside. I shrug. “Sure.” Did I just fucking shrug? I never shrug. Attorneys don’t shrug. I don’t waffle like I don’t know the answer. I always know, then do my research to fill in the gaps.
“Sure?” she asks, raising an eyebrow. “Rough night.” Not really. It might have had a rocky beginning, but it had a rewarding ending. “Are you going to tell me what has you smiling like you know a secret?”
Standing up, I tuck my phone into my pocket. “Was I smiling?” I ask, still grinning like I have a secret. I tuck my arms into my jacket and yank on the front to align it properly on my shoulders.
Nothing like a well-fitted suit to make you feel unstoppable. Kissing Tuesday this morning also helped. When she woke up, I was already out of bed, which she took as a challenge.
Her sultry eyes lured me back in and rolling in the covers with her had me feeling carefree. She had me so turned on that I was ready to call in sick for the first time in my career.
But it was her lips, those sweet lips tasted of pure contentment. It’s a heady aphrodisiac at seven thirty in the morning, and something I’ve never felt before with anyone.
I’ve won the lottery, and it’s all because I was the one lucky enough to have her not only in my bed but now in my life.
I wonder for how long . . .
Sitting here now, I’m filled with regret for not canceling my morning, staying in bed with her, and making up for the hours we lost sleep.
No fucking shame.
How many times do I need to be reminded she has a concussion and amnesia, for fuck’s sake? Even when I remember, I still can’t keep my deviant hands off her. Did I take advantage of her and her situation? Am I still doing that? It feels reciprocal, but maybe it’s not fair to put her in this kind of situation at all while she’s recovering.
I make a mental reminder to research how long someone with a concussion should wait before having sex.
“You’re smiling like a man who had a good night. I don’t want details—”
“Good, because you’re not getting any. And,” I say and give a nod. “I did have a good night.”
“Huh,” she hums with her laptop held close and following me. When she catches up to me at the corner, she starts doing roll call of the attorneys waiting for me in the conference room. By the time we reach the door, she cuts me off by spreading her free arm out and planting her hand on the frame to block me. As if she could.
I chuckle. “Something you need?”
“You look good happy. Whatever caused it, keep doing that.”
“Isn’t that against company policy? HR might have something—” I chuckle, unable to hold on to a straight face. It’s freeing to feel this light. This must be how other people feel about Fridays. I feel it about Tuesday.
This time, she’s the one shrugging once she lowers her arm. “If seeing you happy is against policy, I’m guilty. Can I still get a recommendation?”
“Absolutely.” I step off to the side and spy on the enemy. They’re fine for the time being. Shifting back, I say, “In all seriousness, I appreciate you.”
Her expression melts as does her shoulders. “That means so much to me. Not my work performance, just—”
“I appreciate you.”
Hugging her laptop to her, she replies, “Thank you. I appreciate you, Loch.”
This is a lot of . . . feelings for one day. I’m starting not to recognize myself. Good or bad is to be determined. “Enough of the chitchat. We need to get in there.”
“Yes, sir.”
Leaving the sappier side of myself in the hallway, I open the door and walk in. “Counselors.”
. . . concussion wait to have sex?
I finish typing, hit go, and wait for the result to populate on my phone. Choosing reputable medical sites, I read a few of the search returns before determining results vary and it’s up to how the person feels.
Based on last night and then this morning, a safe bet is that Tuesday feels pretty damn good.