Total pages in book: 161
Estimated words: 154890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 154890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
“A bit like now,” I agree, allowing my gaze to meander over him. Watching him row is worth taking a video.
“I think you should open your legs for me.”
“No way.” My denial, like my will around him, is wobbly. “We’re not getting freaky out in the water.” My gaze darts to the boat ramp. “Don’t come a-knocking when the boat is rocking? People will see. We’d probably fall in!”
“I just meant if you widen your legs, it’d make it easier for me to row.”
I glance down and realize he’s right. It’s all abs, arms, and thighs, and his are planted wide. “Fine.” Instead of sliding them wider, I bring them together, bent at the knee.
“I can still see your knickers,” he taunts.
“No, you can’t. “I like this pastime,” I add, not bothering to move my eyes from him as his shirt tightens around his shoulders and biceps, the muscles in his forearms springing to prominence with the movement.
“But you know what would make this better? If you were shirtless. Maybe even in your underwear.”
“You want to play Cleopatra and her slave?” My laughter fills the air. “You know that means I oil you up and feed you grapes.”
“Come for the oil, stay for the grapes?”
“Oh, you’d definitely come.”
“The longer I know you, the worse you get.”
“That’s because the longer I know you, the more I want you.”
“Isn’t that the opposite of how this is supposed to work? Isn’t the glow supposed to dim?” Which is what I was asking myself earlier.
“I don’t know. I’ve never experienced anything like this.”
“Same,” I whisper, satisfied to let the creak of the oars and the swish of the water fill the silence.
“It never dimmed for my parents,” he eventually says, pulling smoothly on the oars, his thighs flexing. “They were always so happy together.” He pulls a face. “So, so… naked.” He seems to shake off the thought as my reply shoots out of my mouth.
“Sounds like us.”
“It does, doesn’t it?” He smiles sweetly, so I keep the rest to myself. Without the happy ending.
We go once around the lake, Whit pointing out places of interest. During the warmer months, a section is cordoned off for swimming. Whit tells me his mom would sometimes bring the brood during the summer vacation where they’d swim in the icy water, then sun themselves on the banks.
In the middle of the water, Whit brings the oars in to rest.
“What’s in the basket?” he asks.
“Have you worked up an appetite?”
“My appetite is constant when near you.” Pressing his hands behind him, he tips his face to the sun. He looks like a giant house cat, much loved and at home in his own skin. In his own lovability. A house cat with a tiger’s gaze, I realize with a pleasurable jolt when his attention moves abruptly back.
“I’d let you film me,” he says, picking up the thread of our earlier conversation. “But you’d have to give me an incentive.”
With a chuckle, I lean forward and lift the lid on the basket. “You’re incorrigible.”
“So you might’ve mentioned once or twice.”
As it turns out, there are grapes in the basket. I pluck one from out and throw it at him. Of course, Mr. Almost Perfect Sexy CEO catches it in his mouth. Even the way he chews is inciting.
“I’m not like this with everyone, you know. Women, I mean.” I don’t know how to answer that, selecting and abandoning responses before he speaks again. “I’m not short of partners, but I’ve never met anyone who I want to spend this much time with outside of the bedroom.”
“Or the office.” My flippant words fall flat.
“You’re a one-off, Mimi Valente.”
“I’d say that’s a good thing,” I answer, picking at a thread on my skirt.
“Agreed. I couldn’t cope with two of you. Though I’d give it a really good try.” When I look up, all trace of seriousness has gone. I almost breathe out a happy sigh.
“I say again, incorrigible.”
“And you love it.”
And that’s a problem because I really do.
We drift for a while, talking about nothing, picking at food neither of us seems hungry for. There’s champagne in the hamper, but I say I’d rather not, so we stick to bottled water from the Scottish Highlands.
“Are you having fun?” Whit asks suddenly. Somehow, it feels like he’s been waiting for the opportunity to bring the conversation around.
“Of course. What’s not to be happy about?”
“I’ve noticed that about you. Your happiness doesn’t depend on stuff.” I frown, and he adds, “Things. Deeds. You don’t require a lot.” Maybe he’s comparing me to his family. It would be an unfair comparison.
“I don’t need a lot, but you keep giving.”
“That’s what you do for people you like, though, right?”
“I guess.”
“You buy them a cactus to decorate their desk.”
“What can I say? I saw it and thought of you.”