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)
“Are you coming?” he asks with a tiny smirk, as tempting as the devil himself. “I have coffee.”
“The prospect is exciting, but…” I tamp down my ridiculousness even though he does chuckle. “Coffee would be lovely. Caffeine might help pull me from this sex haze.”
“That would be a shame.”
My cheeks start to burn. Why aren’t my brain and mouth friends?
“Coffee it is.” He straightens, pushing from the doorframe. “Breakfast has just arrived.”
“Just give me a minute to put on some clothes?”
Whit sort of pauses as though considering something, then says, “What you’re wearing looks good.”
I glance down at his shirt. The buttons aren’t yet fastened, but I’m not flashing anything. Nothing he hasn’t already seen, anyway. Touched. Kissed. “Yeah?” I say as I glance up.
“Yes, definitely. If it was up to me, I’d tell you to wear the shirt.” He gives his head a shake as though rousing himself from some thought. “Seeing you in it is all kinds of hot.”
My nerve endings begin to flicker and flash like a pinball machine. I’ve read about this. How men like to see women dressed in their clothes, that it gives them a kick. Some sense of ownership.
“The shirt and nothing else.” He laughs as he delivers his verdict.
“That’s a surprise. Not.”
“I’m just saying, underwear is optional.” He turns, his footsteps echoing along the hall.
You’re a hot little fuck in lingerie.
With an unsteady breath, I reach out and catch a hold of the back of the chair as the echo of his words come from nowhere. What the man can do to my body with one look is nobody’s business. But the things he says create an actual visceral reaction within me. And the things he does… well, I’m not sure words have been created to describe that.
My stomach decides at that moment to gurgle. It’s ready for breakfast, even if the rest of me is ready to be breakfast. I hurriedly braid my hair. The next few months are going to be such an experience. An experience of a lifetime, I think with an internal squee. Winding my hair tie around the ends, I practically hop, skip, and jump out into the living room.
“…think that’s the stupidest idea in the history of ideas, Prim.”
I hear Whit’s voice before I see him. His back is turned to me, his phone pressed to his ear, his bicep peeking out from under the short sleeve of his T-shirt thanks to the way he holds it.
“Well, because I said so.”
I pause. I can’t hear who’s on the other end of the phone and maybe I shouldn’t want to. Should excuse myself and let the man take his call in private? I don’t, mainly because the cadence of the other person’s voice seems female. It could be one of his sisters? I liked meeting Heather last night, not that I get the sense that this is who he’s talking to. I don’t think she’d stand for Whit taking that highhanded tone with her. She was way too cool.
“I don’t have to give you a reason,” he adds, the words spluttery with laughter. “I don’t!” The knot in my stomach eases, thanks to his demeanor. It could definitely be one of his sisters. “Because it’s fucking inconvenient, that’s why.”
Note to self: learn to swear in British. It sounds so much less offensive.
“Tell them what you like. It’s not a public pool. You can’t traipse in with all and sundry when you feel like it. Yes, I know your friend’s names aren’t all and sundry.” Pressing his phone between his shoulder and ear, he pulls a couple of cups from the top of a fancy-looking coffee machine. “Yeah, maybe. I said maybe next weekend.” He’s smiling as he turns, the wattage turning up as he spots me, moving his phone to his other ear. “No… and even if I did, it would have nothing to do with you. Yeah, well, maybe I have. So? Maybe I like them dirty.” He gives me a heavy-lidded glance, the kind that makes my insides thrum as a muffled parrot-like shriek sounds down the line. Whit grimaces, pulling the phone back from his ear. “If you didn’t want to know, you shouldn’t have asked.”
I pull a tall stool out from under the island counter, muffling my own shriek as my bare thighs touch the cold leather seat.
“I’ve got to go, Primrose. Yes,” he adds in the vein of one being worn down. “I said I’d think about it. Okay, see you tomorrow.” He hangs up and places his phone on the countertop between us. “Sorry about that.”
“Martinis?” I suggest with an unrepentant grin.
“It’s a bit early for me.”
“Your phone call,” I add with a laugh as he very obviously misunderstands me. “I’m guessing you like them dirty.”
“James Bond can keep them. I’m not a fan. It wasn’t martinis Primrose was squawking about. According to her, I prefer dirty girls to her company.”