Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92529 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92529 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Wendy’s eyes widened in her direction. Unable to resist, Hope patted his leg. “It’s okay, Mitchell. You can work up to it. I’m sure she’ll give you some wiggle room.”
There went that grip on her nape again, another flex. It was accompanied by a low growl. Then he bent into her, his powerful body molded against hers, and for one flash of time—more like a few—it felt right.
“Make no mistake, there will be wiggling. And screaming. And begging.”
Was it wrong that she longed to bite his lower lip—just sink her teeth into it? “I didn’t peg you as a beggar. Screamer? Yes.” She waggled her eyebrows, holding his gaze despite the fiery warning flaring there. “Look at what we’re all learning here at this mixer about one another.”
Laughter sounded around them. Without warning, he bent his head and claimed her mouth once more. He surged through her mouth, licking the sides and tangling his tongue with hers. “I bet I can make you scream louder.”
Yeah, she didn’t back down from a challenge. Pushing closer because she wasn’t ready to put some space between them yet, her gaze moved from his eyes down to his mouth and up again.
“I’d have you begging in no time.”
“Never a doubt in my mind, Flykra. Not a single one.”
He slid his hand along her neck and heat singed her skin at his calloused touch. Lust curled in her stomach and she sank her teeth into her lower lip.
“Like I said,” Wendy commented. “I need to cool off after that.”
Mitchell smiled, his gaze not leaving Hope’s face. Rolling her eyes, Hope turned her attention away from the unforgettable man at her side and toward the group of people she would forever consider her friends. With one exception: Collette. However, that woman didn’t deserve her time or thoughts. It helped she wasn’t down here tonight.
The windows surrounding them shook with the force of wind and snow still slamming into it. She was so glad Mitchell wasn’t outside anymore. She’d been concerned earlier. If he had been out there now, she really would have been worried.
Almost like he could read her mind, he tugged her closer to him, brushed his lips over her forehead and asked, “Who’s singing next?”
For the next hour, she remained pressed up against Mitchell Anderson, a man she didn’t want to admit had come to mean so much to her in the short time they’d known each other. She rested against his strong body and listened to the laughter and joy flowing through the room.
What she thought was mere moments later, Hope stirred and blinked, surprised to find she’d dozed off. The fire burned low and she couldn’t see anyone else down here, though she couldn’t miss the man beside her. His arm still draped around her, however, it wasn’t along her shoulders anymore. He had his hand along her side, long fingers stretched out over her in that same possessive way. She really didn’t mind.
He flexed his hand and settled it along her side. Hope tipped her head up to find him watching her in the flickering firelight.
“You could have left me down here.” She blinked. “When did everyone else go up?”
“About an hour ago. I wasn’t leaving you.”
She enjoyed those words far more than she should. “You must be tired.”
He waggled his eyebrows. “If I am, are you going to put me to bed?”
Her lips twitched. Honestly, she couldn’t help it. To put it simply, he made her laugh.
“Why is it you sound hopeful about that?”
He helped her sit up and she closed her eyes and stretched. When she opened them, he was staring at her like he wanted to take a bite out of her.
“Because I am.” He reached out and grasped some of her hair that had slipped from the loose bun she’d gathered it in and slid it over his fingers. Mitchell bent closer to her, brushed his lips along her cheek and whispered, “Let’s go break into the kitchen and make hot cocoa.”
Chapter Twelve
Mitchell watched as Hope stirred the milk in the pot, heating it to the point where she could add in the chocolate bar. She’d allowed him to pin up her hair and he’d mimicked a style he’d seen on her before, half up and half down. He loved it. More than that, he enjoyed the strangely intimate task of putting her hair up.
It didn’t hurt he’d discovered she was ticklish behind her ears.
As she stirred the pot with a smooth wooden spoon, he rubbed the nape of his neck. Hope stood on one leg, her left foot flat against her right thigh. The woman looked perfectly comfortable.
He recognized the position from one of Shawnee’s friends who was into yoga. “Do you do yoga?”
“Not so much anymore. I did for a good number of years. That and meditation. This, the Vrikshasana, is about the only pose I do anymore. More like an instinctive pose now than about yoga.” She broke the chocolate bar into smaller pieces before slipping them into the pot, stirring slowly but steadily. “Do you do yoga? Is that a thing basketball players do?”