Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 113142 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 566(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113142 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 566(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
“I’m sure you’ll monitor me closely.”
Her gaze skittered away, and the blush I liked stained her skin. I enjoyed seeing it.
I got up and began to pull out some of the food. “Hungry?”
“I don’t want to bother—”
I shook my head, interrupting her. “You aren’t a bother, Ally. I’m not a great cook, but I picked up a few things, instead of ordering in.”
“Okay. That would be lovely.”
“Good.” I set down a couple of plates of snacks I had bought—cheeses and dips, some bread, and other munchies. “I didn’t know what you liked, so I grabbed a variety.”
“This is great. Thank you.”
As we ate, I studied her. The only word that came to my head was weary. She looked weary. “Did you run around all day with your mother?”
“Yes.”
I waited for her to say more, and when she didn’t, I prompted her.
“How was your mother?”
“Annoyed.”
I heard the frustration in her voice. There was an underlying edge as well. Hurt, perhaps? I was right thinking her mother was the source.
“I don’t understand.”
She paused, her wineglass inches from her lips. The lips I’d wanted to kiss since she walked back in my door. “There are…expectations. When I don’t live up to them, my mother isn’t happy. Not only was I late, apparently I was distracted and not as involved as I should have been…” Her voice trailed off, and she shrugged.
“You overslept because you were here with me, right? I threw off your schedule?”
She met my eyes. “Yes. But that part I enjoyed. Don’t even think to apologize.”
I grinned at her tone. I wanted to tease her and ask what had been distracting her all afternoon, but I resisted.
“You just got off working nights. She must understand that.”
She sighed, crumbling a cracker over her plate. “My mother only understands what she wants to understand. I worked five nights in a row. My shifts are normally four nights on, three nights off. But I had to work an extra one because one of the girls was sick.”
“Then why can’t she understand you needed sleep? She’s your mother, for fuck’s sake.”
She cast a look at me over my language, but I ignored her.
“It’s complicated. She’s always annoyed with me, no matter what I do.”
That puzzled me, and I studied her guarded expression. “If you think that will scare me off, you can think again.”
She pushed her plate away in exasperation. “Why is it so important for you to know all this?”
I picked up a small piece of cheese, placing it on a cracker. I held it to her lips. “You’ve hardly eaten anything. Open up.”
I waited patiently until her lips parted, and I slipped the morsel in.
“I want to know all about you.” I tore a slice of bread and dragged it through the olive oil and balsamic vinegar I had mixed on a plate. I waited until she swallowed and held it up for her, smiling in satisfaction as she accepted it. I would happily feed her all night if that was what it took to make sure she ate.
“I may be far more trouble than I’m worth.”
Those words made me frown.
“I doubt that.”
“I shouldn’t be here,” she said, then paused. “I wasn’t going to come back.”
“I figured that out, but you did.” I took a deep swallow of my wine. I needed to know. “Why?”
“I couldn’t–I couldn’t stay away,” she admitted. “I tried, but I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I swore I’d only check on you and then leave.”
I stood, cradling her face between my hands and kissing her, unable to bear one more moment without doing so. “I don’t want you to stay away,” I murmured against her lips. I didn’t understand the draw I had to her, but it was there. I was certain she felt it as well, but she was fighting it.
She shivered, the smallest breath of a sigh escaping her mouth as I kissed her. I rained light whispers of kisses on her mouth, her cheeks, the tip of her nose, finally nuzzling her forehead. I wrapped her up close and rocked us for a minute, before helping her off the stool and guiding her over to the chair. Once she was sitting, I fetched our freshly topped-off glasses of wine, pulled up the ottoman, and situated myself in front of her.
“Talk to me.”
She hesitated, so I gathered up her hands, kissing the soft knuckles. “Tell me your story.”
“My dad died when I was eight.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I don’t remember a lot, but I remember his hugs, his laugh, and the way I felt so safe when he was around. He was larger-than-life.” She tugged on her hair, smiling ruefully. “I got his hair.”
I curled my finger around the silky texture of her long tresses. “I like it.”
“I think my mother would prefer it to be like hers.”
“Why? It’s gorgeous.”