Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56970 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56970 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
Damon is having too much fun watching me. I remove my nose from the material.
He settles the sunglasses onto the bridge of my nose, “I like you in my things.”
“That’ll do, Damon.”
“Bossy. You’re welcome.”
I abandon my Doc Martens too. “Later.”
It’s a half-minute slide down the dune and across the main street, and I startle when I reach the door and someone pulls it open from behind. I shriek at Damon’s stealth. Having his smell all over me has thrown off my other very keen senses of knowing where he is at all times. Also, I kinda thought he’d stay with my stuff. I see that is too much of an ask.
Damon beckons me into the tea rooms like he’s door service. “I won’t follow you inside, promise.”
“Wait, what?”
“Send Hailey out to take my order, will you?”
“What?”
He gestures to the outdoor seating area, where a few happy groups are gathered around picnic tables.
A handful of rowdy guys a stone’s throw away have me nodding, and my stomach taking a dip. “Flirting on the agenda, is it?”
“Something like that. May I slap your arse on your way in?”
I should not be hesitating. I should really not be hesitating . . . “Stop it.”
He shifts and says low in my ear, “Say it without the smile, Leon.”
I chomp down on my curved lip. God, shit. Not good. Not only is his ticklish breath at my ear making me hard, I’m about to crack out a “please”. And I’m not even sure what for.
I steel myself against it all, and slit my eyes his way. “Slap my arse. I dare you.”
Damon leans back against the door. “Yeah, you’re ready.”
I slide past him and his palm meets my arse with a nice smack, a throbbing sting that does nothing to lessen other . . . throbs. “Go get him, tailor.”
“It’s tiger.”
Something quiet lurks beneath the smile in his hazel gaze. “But is it?”
Chapter Eight
With an annoyingly sweet sting on my arse, I lift Damon’s aviators to the top of my head and wend my way around tables to Roger. He’s seated himself by the shelves of antique china, which leaves me an overview of the café and a glimpse of ocean beyond the outdoor seating area.
Spread across the table are various pictures of aquariums, and after plucking off a stray pet hair, Roger greets me.
I go in hard, demanding he show me what he can offer.
His eyes gleam and he takes a moment to absorb me.
I hope Damon’s t-shirt is absorbing all my perspiration. Faking it is hard work.
“Offer, eh?” He bites his lips coyly.
“Show me.”
“How big is your . . . budget?”
Non-existent, with my current situation. But I might ruin the vibe admitting that. “Why, do you want to blow it?”
Roger points to a picture of an aquarium nestled into a bach-style living room. “This is my favourite. Got to love a big tank in a tight space.”
I’m throttled with the impulse to ask if he’s ever been introduced to Morse, and only Hailey’s arrival stops me. Probably isn’t in my interests to match Roger up with someone else.
We order coffees and my gaze naturally slides around the room—
Oh my God, Damon is peering into the windows.
Cupped and squinting eyes meet mine, and Damon winks and starts mouthing How’s it going?
I glare over Roger’s shoulder, and while Roger busies himself adding sugar to his drink, I mouth back: Go away.
Damon moves—to a closer window pane.
“Damon,” I growl.
Roger looks up sharply and follows my gaze. Dammit. “You know him?”
I grimace. “He’s my temporary roommate.” Damon is still mouthing things. “He’s probably locked himself out.”
“You can go chat with him if you like.”
“He can wait,” I say firmly, and Roger’s eyes go molten.
“I dated him once,” Roger says, glancing at Damon. He cocks his head and turns back to me. “Is he still taking his medication?”
My cup slips and clatters against the saucer; I quickly straighten it and mop up a small puddle. “What medication?”
He waves it away. “Never mind.” He continues talking aquariums, but he’s lost my attention, if he ever really had it. Damon . . .
I gaze out the windows. Damon has retreated to Tommy running towards him, Troy a few steps behind. He whisks Tommy into the air and slings an arm around Troy. After a few exchanges, Troy laughs. Tommy smothers Damon’s face with two wee hands and the moment he moves them Damon says boo.
I’m vaguely aware of Roger asking me questions and I’m smiling and nodding, and— who is that blond-haired brute coming up to Damon? He looks tough, tall—livid.
Damon smooches Tommy atop his head and hands him back to Troy, who’s looking serious. He glances towards Blond Brute and shakes his head, frowning.
Damon is in front of the dude in seconds, a hand balled into his t-shirt. I can hear him yell for him to stay the hell away from here. Even Roger stops speaking to check out what’s happening.