Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 117451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 392(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 392(@300wpm)
“Come to bed,” I murmur. I stand, tugging on his hand, and I’m surprised when he stands. The way he walks over to his bed—the dazed look in his eyes and the stiff movements of his body—lets me know he’s somewhere else. Not here. He stops at the bedside and I touch the small of his back, where he doesn’t have any fresh cuts. Then he lies on the bed, first on his side and then face-up. His eyes are shut, his body slack.
I rub his shoulder. “Turn onto your side.”
He shifts his hips, and I get full view of his back. It still looks bad, striped with pinkish marks and painful for sure, but not infected. A shudder rolls through him and I put my hand on the warm skin of his side.
“It’s okay, Hunter. Go to sleep.”
I step up, near his head, and find his eyes are open. I’m shocked when they roll over my face. “Libby?” He sounds strangled.
I nod and whisper, “Go to sleep.” His eyes drift shut, and I am brave enough to stroke his golden hair. It’s soft, so soft and pretty, like his creamy tanned neck and his cute little ear.
“Go to sleep, Hunter. Everything’s okay.”
Finally he’s breathing evenly, his body relaxed.
I bring him the bottle of water from my bedside, and fish some crackers and Advil from my purse. I leave them on the table beside his bed and stroke his hair once more before I go.
Chapter 24
Elizabeth
I OPEN MY eyes to thick, gold streaks of light. They stream past the edges of the curtains that cover massive, wall-long windows. The first thing I think is something important happened, but for those first few seconds, I can’t remember what. All I know is I feel rested, and my huge oak bed, with its sheer, flowing canopy and satin duvet, makes me feel like a princess.
Then it hits me: I’m at Hunter’s house. And...what the hell was that last night? There’s no reason my memory of the previous night should make me nervous, but suddenly that’s what I am. I can’t move from the bed. I can hardly even breathe as I think about the man who slept next door to me. Is he okay? Still sleeping?
What the hell am I doing here, in this bedroom that connects to his? I feel almost crushed by a wave of surreality. I sold my virginity. For ten million dollars. To Hunter West.
How am I ever going to pull this off? I imagine a fully awake, rock-hard, and heavy-lidded Hunter, propped up on his arms and moving over me...
Dear God.
I hop off the bed and fly through my morning preparations. Since I showered last night, I consider skipping, but considering what might be on today’s agenda, I give myself another quick rinse.
I dress in a pair of leggings and a long, sexy red sweater that dips down just a little low in front. I pull on some ankle-length boots I borrowed from Suri and put on just a dash of makeup. If Hunter will be seeing me up close, I don’t want to look fake, but I don’t want him to see the sprinkling of freckles on my nose, either.
But will he be seeing me up close?
I feel silly for over-thinking things when I’ve messed around with Hunter before, but those times were different. Spontaneous. This…well, isn’t.
I send a quick text to Suri, demanding updates about Cross. I want so badly to tell her what happened in Hunter’s room last night, but I don’t. I do enjoy a moment of glee, where I want to fall down on my knees and thank the heavens that Cross is awake. Then I tuck my purse and phone under the bed, give myself one more glance in the mirror, and step out into the hall.
The first thing I’ll do after reassuring myself that Hunter is okay is let him know I’m not cool with our plan. I don’t want to initiate sex. I’ve never done it before and he is, after all, the winning bidder. He should choose the moment. If he doesn’t, our contract might fall through. I might not get paid at all.
Slowly—so slowly that I’m almost not moving at all—I step to the door beside mine and lift my fist to knock. My knuckles connect with the cold cherry wood, and I hold my breath as I listen for him.
Nothing.
I knock twice more, trying not to worry when he doesn’t answer. Then I tuck my hair behind my ears and head for the stairs. Maybe I’ll find him in his study.
My pulse is racing by the time I reach the bottom of the curling staircase. With sunlight beaming through the windows, I can fully appreciate the beauty of the foyer, with its glossy marble floors and sleek wood walls. The chandelier hanging from the high ceiling is made of what looks like an old-school wagon wheel and some kind of copper. It’s just the right blend of eclectic and classic.