Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84075 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84075 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
“You speak six languages.” I laugh stupidly. “And you like to garden.”
“I work out almost every day. I run three times per week. I listen to NPR in the morning and podcasts in the evening, mostly history but some pop culture and some politics, and yes, I like music, and my favorite band is The Smashing Pumpkins.”
“The Smashing Pumpkins.”
“Billy Corgan is a genius.” He gets closer to me, watching carefully. “I like the feeling of the sun on my face when I’m sitting near the ocean. I read The New York Times and think CNN is trash. I like the first sip of a cold beer. I like to dance, but only when I have to, and I like it when you laugh. Have I told you that yet? I like your smile.”
“Really?” I start to grin but quickly stop myself. As he stands a few feet away from me, I realize that my panic is subsiding and I can finally think clearly again. I find it hard to fit the man that likes all those things with the bastard I’ve gotten to know, but I also realize I’m more than a little prejudiced against him. Ford Arc has a mystique and I’ve bought into that mystique, and the guy I have in my head would never garden or learn French or dance whether he has to or not. But the Ford Arc in my head isn’t the Ford Arc standing before me right now.
“Really,” he says and takes another step closer. I back off until I bump up against the window, and this time he doesn’t stop. The space between us closes like a vacuum sucking the air from the room, and I feel my heart racing again as his body looms over mine.
His hands touch my hips. Tentatively, almost gently, like he’s not sure if I’ll say no, and when I don’t, his fingers press into my skin and move up to my waist. I let out a little gasp as his left hand slides around to press into the small of my back right above my ass and his right hand tangles into my hair.
My lips open with a soft gasp and I’m intensely aware that we’re alone in this room together, very, very alone, and this man can do whatever he wants.
And I want him to.
He says, “I understand what you’re feeling right now, I really do. You’re uncertain and you’re afraid, but I want to remind you of the deal we made when you put that ring on your finger. I’m not looking for halfway. I’m not looking for something fake, some pathetic facsimile of a marriage, and I don’t want some pretty plastic trophy wife that smiles on my arm and takes nice pictures but leaves our bed cold and lonely. I want a real wife, one that’s warm, one that’s in my life day in and day out, one that’s in my bed each night when I get home and is happy and eager to be there. Fuck, you know what, forget happy, I won’t demand that of you, but I need you to be willing to try. I need your body and your lips and the smell of your hair and that gorgeous little whimper you make when I kiss you. I need you whispering my name when I get you pregnant. If you’re going to do this, Kat, I need you to do it, and I promise I’ll spank you nice and raw if ask me politely.”
I blink up into his eyes as my heart goes berserk. What the hell is with this asshole, threatening to spank me, and what the hell is with me reacting like I want him to do it? Like I want him to bend me over and slap my ass over and over until my pale skin is pink and I’m aching for more?
What’s broken in me? What’s making me like this?
It’s his vulnerability. Which is strange because there’s nothing but strength in his eyes and in his hands, but there’s still something intensely emotional about what he’s saying.
About what he wants, what he pictures his life should be.
A wife. A warm wife, one in his bed, one happy to see him.
Love. He’s describing love. A twisted version of love, but still, that’s love.
He wants me to love him or at least as close as I can manage.
But how is that even possible?
And is he offering to give me the same thing in return?
“I told you I’d try,” I say, and my voice sounds like it’s a million miles away.
He pulls my hair softly, just enough to tilt my chin up toward him. I’m trying to keep myself under control but the way he’s touching me, the way he’s looking at me like he wants to devour my lips, I don’t know how long I can take it.