Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 69860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
I sighed and wondered if I should shower, then decided against it. I had showered last night. A very, very cold shower. And if I spent any quality time with Miss Cynthia today, I knew I would need another one.
More than one, most likely.
I brushed my teeth and ran a comb through my hair without spending much time looking at myself. I knew what I looked like. I’d been me for quite some time.
I checked my phone, exchanged a few insults over text with Shane and Callaway, and headed over to the office. I wondered idly if Cynthia looked down on cigar smoking as well as imbibing spirits.
The woman seemed determined to take away my fun. That was all right. She more than made up for it with pure sex appeal. Speaking of which . . .
I stopped in my tracks, staring into one of the classrooms. Clarice was teaching her yoga class, and there were quite a few ladies in there. A couple of dudes, too. But I only had eyes for one . . . well, ass.
I would have recognized Cynthia’s insanely juicy bottom anywhere. She was bent forward with her arms and legs straight. Her cute little feet were bare as well. Nice and pretty, with pale soles and what looked like pink toenail polish. I admired the view from the doorway for a few moments before I saw her staring at me from between her legs.
I winked, not at all put out that I’d been busted taking a peek. I was a man, after all. I couldn’t help it.
I was whistling as I made my way into Paul’s office and took a seat.
Chapter Eight
Cynthia
I twisted my arm over my bent leg, trying not to fume. Yoga was not meant to be done when in a full tilt fury. But no matter how much deep breathing I did, I couldn’t get past the fact that I’d caught Preacher staring at my ass.
Actually, it was worse than that. It had looked like he was checking out my feet with the same intense scrutiny.
I felt hot and cold all over. I had learned to tune men out years ago. I did an excellent job of ignoring the come-ons and compliments. The men on the street who told me to smile or how nice I looked. The men who asked me out.
But I couldn’t seem to ignore Preacher.
I could still feel his eyes traveling over my rump, all the way down to my feet! What kind of pervert looked at a woman’s feet with that much hunger? And he had looked hungry.
Starving, in fact.
I lay back as we finished the class in corpse pose.
Look on the bright side, Cynth.
He was actually here. It was morning, well before lunch. I hadn’t smelled alcohol on his breath from across the room, which meant he wasn’t drunk-drunk, even if the man tended to sip alcohol all damn day.
Sure, he might be a hound dog with roaming eyes, but at least he was following my instructions. I’d just tell him to keep his eyes to himself.
Or maybe I could pretend it had never happened. That would be easier.
Coward.
I stood up and took a long drink of water, pulling my button-down shirt on and grabbing my bag. We all picked up our mats and added them to the stack in the corner.
I walked down the hall to the administration area where I had my desk. It was right outside Paul’s office, where a secretary would sit for an executive. I had always liked that setup. It was reassuring and convenient. We had volleyed jokes and ideas back and forth all day.
Now it felt like I was in a fishbowl inside a much bigger fishbowl. A fishbowl that had a shark in it.
Preacher stood up and leaned on the frame for the double doors, looking like a gunslinger in an old Western.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt your—what do you ladies call that?”
“Yoga,” I said, trying not to glare at him. I was trying not to stare, too. In the daylight, I could see that his eyes weren’t just blue. There were hints of darker colors, like the sky right before dusk, though they were way too bright to be called anything but blue.
Yeah, his eyes were that striking pretty that I could see them from a few feet away. He had long eyelashes too, damn him.
“No. I meant that stretch. Where you have your—”
I knew he was going to say ‘ass in the air.’ I knew it. So I cut him off.
“Downward dog!” I practically shouted, turning bright pink, I had no doubt. He raised his eyebrows, looking like he was completely innocent. Other than the tattoos and leather, of course.
He nodded, still staring at me as if he were deep in thought. He wasn’t just looking at me. He was looking through me. Like he knew every thought and feeling I had. Every secret wish and desire and fear.