Total pages in book: 150
Estimated words: 148434 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148434 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
“You know,” I add unhelpfully.
“I know,” he confirms.
“Good.” God, he’s hot. His whole unfaltering demeanor. His whole being.
He nods back, tension brewing. Thatcher studies me a beat longer. He has that look again. Like he’s staring directly into the brightest, hottest sun. “I want to ask you something that might be hard for you to answer.” He eyes the entryway, then me. “Later tonight?”
Curiosity has latched its sharp claws into me. “You can ask me now.” I whisper even more quietly. “If you think it’s safe to talk.” We hear footsteps above us and chatter in the distance, but the kitchen is ours in this second.
He sweeps our surroundings one more time, then nods. “We can now, if you really want.”
“I want to know.” I cage a breath in preparation. “Go ahead.”
His mouth dips towards my ear, his voice low and gentle. “Why are you afraid to love me?”
I shake my head on impulse, and a cold pain stabs my lungs. “I don’t…I’m…” I lean to the right.
“Watch out—Jane.” Thatcher lifts my hand higher. I nearly pressed my palm to the iron stovetop.
Hairs stand up on the back of my neck. I can’t blink or close my agape mouth, and I realize I’m pressed up against his chest.
I ran into his body for safety.
It overwhelms me, my throat swelling.
My wrist is still in his grasp, and he keeps my hand raised in the air. We both breathe heavily, and I manage to say, “Usually…I can articulate what I’m thinking, but what I’m feeling—what I feel for you is so inexplicably complex and I feel like nothing is coming out quite right. Just that alone…scares me in the best and worst way.” I wince at myself. “And that was a terrible non-answer.”
“No,” he refutes, his chest tightened like he’s controlling himself not to hold me. To touch me further and greater. He looks to the right, then back to me. “I understand.” He softens his gaze on me. “Look, I’m crawling through this with you—” He cuts himself off and his features lose all emotion, completely professional. “Be careful, Jane.” He’s still clutching my wrist.
I frown, about to respond, but another voice slices into the kitchen.
“Whoa, Banks.” O’Malley rolls to a halt with an armful of firewood, and Quinn bypasses him with another bundle. The Epsilon bodyguard eagle-eyes Thatcher like he’s lost his mind.
Thatcher is surprisingly calm and casual. Like Banks would be. He lowers my arm to my side and steps back from my body. “What do you want?”
O’Malley lets out a soft laugh. “You’re three inches from your brother’s girl and that’s not bizarre to you?”
“I had to grab her before she touched the burner. She didn’t realize I turned it on.” He lifts a shoulder. “That’s it.”
I shoot O’Malley a look. “Why? What’d you think Banks was doing?” I’m still a client, and he treats me with more respect than he does Thatcher.
Apologies fill his eyes. “Sorry. My mistake, Jane. I didn’t mean anything by it.” He disappears towards the living room.
Alone again, worry bunches my brows. “Did he buy it?” I whisper. “Or was he just placating me?”
“He thinks I’m Banks.” Thatcher sounds assured. “Whether he thinks Banks could be into you—I don’t know.”
I cringe. We knew it’d be a risk, but I don’t like the idea that Tony and O’Malley could believe I’m sleeping with both Moretti brothers. “Do you think we should be more careful?”
He shakes his head. “They’ll think what they want no matter what they see.”
I appraise our distance apart. “We aren’t that close,” I rationalize under my breath.
His lip nearly lifts, his arms woven over his chest.
I realize something horrific and my mouth falls.
His muscles contract. “Jane?”
“How are we going to have sex?” I whisper. “We can’t sleep in the same bedroom.”
He opens his mouth to reply, but Maximoff hikes into the kitchen, cell clutched in a gloved hand. “I just got off the phone with the owners.”
“And?” I turn more towards him.
“The heaters are broken, and no one can come out here for another couple days. So we’ll have to work with whatever’s here until then.”
“We’ll survive,” I say confidently. “There are enough brains and brawn here to make it two days in a cold house.”
He nods, slipping his phone in his back pocket, and his forest-green eyes ping from Thatcher to me, back to Thatcher, then me. Under his breath, he says, “You two should…” He makes a motion with his hands for us to separate.
Thatcher backs up and adds more cold space between our bodies.
I try not to shiver. “We’re not that close,” I tell Moffy.
He makes a face like I’m no longer residing on Earth.
Possibly Thatcher is a magnet and I’m pulled in no matter the occasion, and I’ve really lost all sense of reality. And measurements. Spatial measurements.