Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 87526 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87526 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Embarrassed by my reaction, I decide to hightail it back to the room.
“Whitney.” He doesn’t even turn to look at me, and the warning tone in his voice makes me pause.
“W-Wren,” I stammer.
“Did you need something, baby?”
God, do I ever.
I can’t formulate words as I watch his arms flex, the lines of his tattoos a seducing dance. And that’s how he finds me, standing behind him with my jaw hinged open and my eyes planted on his body.
He chuckles, but the sound barely reaches my ears.
“Are you hungry?”
“So hungry,” I manage, my eyes following the movement of his shirt as he turns to fully face me.
“Tacos?” he offers.
“Dick,” I murmur.
His laugh surprises me as it echoes off the walls around me. I jerk my eyes up to his.
“Did I say that out loud?”
“Yes.” His hand rearranges the condition he’s now fighting in his jeans. “I’ll order delivery.”
I nod in agreement, still not certain what it is he’s offering.
“Eyes up here, baby.”
Reluctantly, I pull my eyes from his bare feet, up the denim encasing strong thighs, and over his tight shirt before I manage to meet his.
“You sure know how to make a man feel wanted.”
I lick at my suddenly dry lips. Am I really breathing this hard?
I make an effort to calm my nerves, but I won’t be able to fully do that without looking away. An orgasm or three might help too.
“I do want you.”
“I know you do, baby.”
Is it possible to hate pet names until they’re spoken by the right guy? Months ago, I would’ve gone on a tirade about it, but now I just wait to hear him say it again and again. It’s official. I’ve lost my damn mind.
“Tacos?” he repeats. “Because you’re hungry.”
I’m a second away from offering him one taco in particular, but then my stomach growls. I was too nervous to accept his offering of breakfast at the airport, knowing I’d get sick if I even tried to eat something, and my body is now making it clear, I’ve gone way too long without ingesting something.
“I like Taco Bell.”
“I do, too,” he says with a knowing smile.
“Door Dash is pretty quick,” I ramble, still unable to keep my mind out of the gutter while looking at him.
His fingers trace over his bottom lip in contemplation, and I have to shake my head and look away. If he wants to punish me, I’m all for it.
“Whitney?”
“Huh?” I turn my head, keeping my gaze on his left shoulder instead of his eyes.
“I asked what you wanted from Taco Bell.”
“A Baja Blast.”
“Frozen or on ice?”
“Frozen.”
“What else?”
My cheeks heat because I’m starving, and Wren may not find me sexy after watching me put away the amount of food my stomach is begging me for.
“A quesadilla, no two quesadillas. Chicken. A gordita crunch. Two soft tacos, fresco style.” Gotta cut calories where I can, right? “A quesarito, and maybe one of those—”
“Hold on,” he says with a chuckle, his finger in the air to pause me. “Let me write all of this down.”
He grins the entire time I repeat my list, only frowning when I offer to pay.
“Who’s going to bring it up?” I ask after he submits the order. My mind is racing with the possibility of Jones making it past the imposing Braden in the hall. He’s FBI, after all, and I’m sure he knows a couple of tricks.
“One of the guys.” He shrugs, closing his laptop and finally walks across the room to get closer to me. “They’ll also be bringing some of your things. They pulled a bunch of stuff out of there yesterday, but they didn’t bring it straight here just in case.”
There’s so much to unpack with what he just said.
“You gave that list to one of the BBS guys?”
“Yeah.”
“They’re going to think I’m a hog!” His eyebrow lifts. “Really?”
He grabs my hand before I can smack him across the chest, but instead of looking angry at my attempt, he grins before pressing his warm lips to the inside of my wrist. I want to sigh with how good that tiny bit of attention feels.
“They won’t say anything about the order.”
“Who packed my clothes?”
“Ignacio. You met him at the wedding.”
“What?” I screech. “The sexy guy with the Spanish accent?”
His eyes narrow, but now isn’t the time to worry about some misplaced jealousy on his part.
“That hunk touched my panties?”
“I’ll kill him if he did,” Wren growls.
“So, you expect him to pack clothes with no underwear?”
He grins like he’s just now considering the possibility.
“Will you focus?” This time, in his distracted state, I’m able to make contact when I swat at him.
“I’d prefer you in my clothes or nothing at all, but I have to say, baby.” My eyes, mesmerized, follow the swipe of his tongue over his lips. “I like the temptation of you prancing around here with a t-shirt on and that sweet pussy of yours open to the air. Open to my touch.”