Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 121946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
He wears his smile like a trophy. He won, and now he’s basking in his winnings.
He hands me the fluffy towel that was out of reach. I quickly wrap it around my wet body as best I can. I don’t miss the way he trails his gaze over my skin, and if I were in my right mind, I would probably relish it and taunt him.
But after all this movement, I’ve exerted too much energy, and I’m exhausted. I have no fight left in me.
So, I don’t do anything.
There’s no witty rebuttal.
I allow myself to be picked up, yet again. I close my eyes once I’m in his arms. His cologne lingers in my nostrils. It makes me feel safe. It is a complete contradiction to how I felt earlier.
We walk back into the room, and he places me on his bed.
“I’ll be right back.”
I adjust the towel around my chest. “Where are you going?”
“To get you something to wear to sleep.”
He walks into the closet, then a moment later, he returns holding a black T-shirt.
I lift a brow. “That’s not mine.”
“You’re right. It’s not. Great detective skills, Sherlock.” He clutches it tight in his grip, eyes drifting to my collarbone. “You need something to wear. It’s late at night, and I don’t want to rummage through your stuff.”
“That kind of makes sense,” I mutter under my breath.
Trent crosses the space and stands in front of me. His hand reaches out with the shirt at the same time I do. Our fingers touch. A heady sensation washes over me, but I push it down.
I can’t think of him this way.
I can’t read into the way he looks at me.
I can’t remember our kiss. Or the way he held my hand throughout my time in the hospital.
This is stupid, Payton. Get your act together.
“Everything okay?” Trent interrupts my inner rambling.
“Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?”
“Maybe because you were shaking your head.”
“Oh.” I fumble for an excuse. “I must be more tired than I realized . . .”
“Or, knowing you, you were fighting with me in your head.” He starts to laugh, and I realize I probably made a face that gave me away. “You were. What were we fighting about?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
I take the T-shirt from his hands and slip it on over my head. As soon as it covers the towel that is wrapped around my body, I shimmy it off.
And that’s when I realize I’m missing one thing . . .
“Um . . .”
He gives me a go on look. “Yes?”
“I, um, need underwear.”
He looks down at my exposed legs, and a slight smirk spreads. “I don’t have any women’s underwear in here. Guess you will have to go without.”
“This is total bullshit.” I groan, tilting my head up to the ceiling as if it holds all the answers. “I knew it was too good to be true.”
“What?”
“Your good behavior.” I drop my gaze back to him. “You’re back to being a jackass.”
“I hardly call refusing to rummage through your underwear a jackass behavior, but tomato, tomahto. You say jackass; I say princely.”
“It’s not that. It’s that damn smirk on your face.”
His smile grows bolder at my claim.
“See?” I nod toward it. “There’s the brat.”
“Again, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He shrugs. “Go to bed, Payton.”
“Give me a pair of boxers, Trent.”
He reaches into another drawer, tosses me a pair, and turns his back to pull down the covers on the bed.
I huff and struggle into the boxers. When he’s done with the bed, I expect to hear his footsteps announce his exit. Instead, I’m shocked to still hear him walking around in the room. I refuse to ask him what he’s doing because, obviously, I’m very mature at this point in our arguing.
Climbing into the soft bedsheets, I grit my teeth and wait . . . and wait.
And wait some more.
Finally, it’s too much to bear.
“Why are you still here?” I ask him.
He takes a seat in the chaise lounge opposite the bed, just staring at me.
“What are you doing here?” I ask again.
He lifts the throw blanket he tossed on top of himself. “Isn’t it obvious?”
“Jeez, stop with the damn question-for-a-question and just tell me.”
He adjusts in the chaise. “I’m sleeping here.”
The hell he is.
I try to pop my body up, but it hurts too much.
I just shake my head and tell him, “No, you’re not staying.”
“I am staying.”
He uses a growly tone that sounds so pompous. So arrogant, yet so damn sexy.
Ugh, I want to hit myself for these thoughts.
I shake my head. “You can’t sleep here.”
“Someone has to watch you.”
“You weren’t watching me before, and I was perfectly fine.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” He tsks. “I was watching you before I went to go get water. In the time it took me to go downstairs, get water, drink it, and come back up, you managed to get yourself stuck in the shower.”