Total pages in book: 157
Estimated words: 151085 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 755(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 504(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 151085 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 755(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 504(@300wpm)
“Your house is beautiful,” Neevah says. “I can’t believe this is the first time I’m here.”
Ours has been an unusual courtship, played out on location and in back lots, on secret Sunday dates, and in between takes. There’s nothing normal about this phase of our relationship either—finishing a movie while waiting for a kidney transplant.
Mama used to say who wants normal? Extraordinary wants no parts of normal.
And that’s Neevah. I should have known being with her would wreak havoc on my heart. I wouldn’t have it any other way. Wouldn’t have her any other way, but as she tugs at her scarf again, I wonder if she believes that. If she thinks I would choose something or someone different had I known this was the deal. I wouldn’t have. I want her however she comes. She’s worth all of the gambles with no guarantees.
“Can I get the grand tour later?” she asks, glancing around the foyer. “I barely had time to pack when I got home from set. I want a bath, a meal, and a bed in that order.”
“Sure. We can order something.” I gesture to the floating stairs leading up to the next floor. “Bed and bath this way.”
She looks so tired, I want to scoop her up and take the stairs for her, but I already know she would say I’m being dramatic and overprotective. When we reach my bedroom, she flops onto the California king and closes her eyes.
“Wake me up next week.” She cracks one eye open and grins at me. “I promise not to be a drag tonight. I just need a second wind.”
“Babe, you can sleep. Eat when the food comes and turn in. We don’t have to . . .”
She must know I don’t need sex. I mean, do I want sex? With her, all the time, but I’m a grown man and I love her. I’m not that selfish.
“Um, I want to get this makeup off.” She looks toward the bathroom, the door standing open. “And maybe take that bath?”
“Sure.”
I show her through to the bathroom and she closes the door, leaving a small crack, which I immediately exploit. I’m starved for the sight of her after spending so little time together this week. We were in each other’s vicinity on set, and I gave her a few notes, but we’re firmly in Monk’s territory now with the musical numbers. Most of my notes center on how we’re capturing her and the band onstage.
From where I sit on the bed, I catch quick glimpses of her at my sink washing her face. She bends to rinse the cleanser away and when she rises and pats her face dry, in the mirror I see the faint rash across her nose and cheeks the makeup hid. She unzips her sundress, letting it fall into a floral pool around her feet. At the sight of her only in panties, my cock screams for release. It’s been me and my hand for the last couple of weeks, and I’m fine if that doesn’t change tonight, but damn. Seeing her again—the intimacy of her bare skin and toned curves—I’ll settle for this reminder of what we’ve had before and will have again whenever she’s ready. I’ll be content to hold her, and won’t pressure her for anything else, but I have to acknowledge at least to myself how much I want her.
“Um, this bathtub should come with a manual,” she calls out, amusement tinting her voice. “How do I get the hot water to work?”
“Oh, right.” I open the door wider, entering, but being careful not to look since she’s scrambling to cover herself, clutching a floor-length bathrobe like a shield. I could remind her I’ve probably seen and licked every inch of her body, but I resist that temptation, along with all the others she presents.
It’s a freestanding tub, big enough for the two of us if she wanted that. I want that.
“I rarely use it.” I twist the knobs until hot water flows. “I always shower. This temperature okay?”
She nods, testing the water with one hand and gripping the collar of the bathrobe with the other.
“Can I stay?” I ask, watching her face for signs of welcome or rejection. “So we can talk?”
Something close to distress flares in her expression. Everything in me wants to growl that she is mine and I am hers, and I won’t tolerate closed doors and bathrobes between us, but I don’t want to misstep. I miss her. I miss us together.
“Sorry. I’ll leave.” I start toward the door. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable by—”
“You can stay.” She perches on the edge of the tub, sprinkling something white and powdery into the water.
“Are you sure?” I ask, even though I have no intention of leaving if she’s fine with me being here. I lean against the wall, fold my arms across my chest, and watch her with hungry eyes.