Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 83550 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83550 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
I shake off that disturbing thought and quickly strip off my leggings and underwear. I’ve never been able to sleep in panties. They’re way too constricting. Guess that’s coming back to bite me in the ass.
I toss them into my bag and zip it up before running my fingers through my hair.
It’s almost crazy to believe how much my life has been turned upside down in one short hour.
When the door creaks open, I spin around. My breath catches when I see him wearing nothing but boxers. Somehow, he’s even more chiseled than two years ago. Every line of muscle, every sharp angle, looks like it was carved from stone. My mouth goes dry, and I force my gaze to the ceiling, pretending I didn’t just eye-fuck him.
“Ready for bed?” he asks, his voice rougher than usual. The gravelly tone of it sends an unwelcome shiver cascading down my spine before pooling like warmed honey in my core.
I nod stiffly, not trusting myself to speak, and climb into bed, tugging the blanket up to my chin. He follows, sliding in on the other side. The mattress dips beneath his weight. The space between us feels nonexistent, every movement amplified. I’m painfully aware of the heat radiating from his body and the soft rustle of fabric as he adjusts the pillow.
The silence that stretches is suffocating. I squeeze my eyes closed, trying to block out the fact that he’s lying right beside me and I can feel every shift of his body, every subtle intake of breath.
“You okay over there, Tate?” There’s a tightness to his voice that makes me wonder if he’s having second thoughts about forcing me into his bed.
“Couldn’t be better,” I bite out, not bothering to open my eyes. “This is exactly how I wanted to spend my night.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
With gritted teeth, I turn my back to him and stare at the wall. Already, I know it’s going to be a long-ass night. I can’t focus on anything but the sound of his steady breathing while mine feels erratic, like I’ve run a marathon.
As much as I want to hate him, as much as I tell myself that there’s nothing between us, I can’t shake the way my body reacts to him. The way he seems to draw me in no matter how hard I fight it.
The worst part is, I’m pretty sure he knows it.
12
Bridger
The first thing that registers when I wake up is the warm weight pressed against my side. My brows pinch together as I blink against the weak sunlight streaming in through the window.
What the hell happened last night?
I haven’t had a one-night stand since someone decided to stalk my every movement and post it online for the world to comment upon.
I carefully turn my head and glance at the girl sacked out beside me. That’s the moment everything from last night slams into me with the force of…
Well, the force of a Holland Tate sucker punch to the gut.
I still can’t believe she did that.
On second thought… yes, I can.
Holland is a ticking time bomb, waiting for the right moment to detonate.
It’s all part of her charm.
My gaze lingers on the sleeping woman, studying her in the quiet of the morning as her thick auburn hair spills across the cream-colored pillowcase like a fiery halo. She’s all sharp edges and defiance when she’s awake, but here, in this moment, she looks peaceful.
Softer.
Vulnerable in a way she’d probably throat-punch me for noticing.
Her long lashes fan across her cheeks, and her lips—Jesus, those lips.
Full, plush, and just slightly parted, like she’s in the middle of a dream.
Unable to help myself, I reach out and run my fingers through a loose tendril of her hair, marveling at the silkiness of the strands. My mind drifts to what those lips would feel like on me. I can still remember what they felt like two years ago, but it wasn’t nearly enough to satiate the deep craving inside.
What if I hadn’t gotten scared and run?
What if I’d stayed?
And we started something real?
My jaw tightens as I shove the thought away.
There’s no sense dwelling on things that can’t be changed.
Still, the sight of her in my bed both unsettles and satisfies me at the same time.
Someone needs to explain how that’s possible.
Better yet, how do I make it stop?
I drop the lock of hair before sliding carefully from the bed, not wanting to wake her. I need space to breathe, to think, to wrap my head around what I’ve done.
Just as I’m about to leave the room, I glance back.
It’s impossible to ignore the pull, the way she’s somehow rooted herself in the parts of me I thought were untouchable. The steady rise and fall of her breathing is the only sound in the room. For a moment, I stand frozen, watching her.