Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 75289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
A deep groan rumbles through my chest, and my arm tightens around her waist as though terrified to let go. “What is it, B?” I rumble as her chest heaves with heavy, panting breaths. “Why didn’t you respond to my message? I know you’re not ashamed that I heard you. I know you better than anyone in this town, remember? Better than anyone you could have met in New York, too. You liked that I heard you screaming my name because you know what it did to me. Don’t forget that I have seen you at your most vulnerable, seen the way you look when you come, tasted you. So don’t fucking lie to me, Blair, and don’t even think about pulling the I was embarrassed bullshit.”
My lips return to her throat, and I feel the way she swallows, her fingers bunching even tighter into my shirt. “At first I was humiliated, but just like you said, you’ve touched me in ways no other man ever could, and the second I remembered that, the humiliation faded away. But then I was just . . . disappointed.”
I pull back enough to meet her stare, refusing to loosen my hold around her waist. “What are you talking about?”
“You didn’t come to me, Nick.” She lets out a heavy breath, and seeing the confusion in my eyes, she goes on. “You sat out here when you heard how desperate I was for you, and you didn’t come to me. In another life, back before I walked away, you never would have let that happen. The second you knew that I needed you, you would have run to me. You would have torn down the fucking door just to get inside my room and give me what I needed. But the reality is, I don’t get to have you like that anymore. You’re not mine to hold on to. Not mine to touch or kiss—or love. And that’s on me. I screwed us up, and I suppose that your message just put that into perspective.”
My lips press into a hard line, and I drop my forehead to hers, needing this moment of peace with her more than I could have ever known. “No matter where you are in the world, Blair. No matter how much we’ve pushed each other away, if you need me, tell me. I will always come running.”
My thumb slips beneath the material of her shirt, skimming over her bare skin. “Trust me, not storming down that fucking hallway and giving you exactly what you needed was killing me, but despite how much I wanted to, and despite the fact that you’d been drinking, I couldn’t do that to you.”
Her brows furrow. “What are you talking about? I wanted you to.”
“Believe me, I fucking know that, and had you known I was sitting out here, I can imagine that you would have come out here and seduced me until I broke—and it would have fucking worked. But you’re leaving, Blair. At the end of the day, getting to touch you like that again, getting to hold you and taste you is only going to make it that much harder when you inevitably walk away. I don’t want just a piece of you for a fucking night, Blair. If I’m going to touch you again, it’ll be because you’re mine.”
“I—” she starts, her fingers brushing down my arm, trailing all the way until her hand is curled around mine. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to be sorry,” I murmur, inhaling deeply before pulling away. “Just know that if we cross that line, and you leave . . . there’s no coming back from it. It’s going to hurt you just as much as it’ll hurt me.”
Blair nods, her tight grip on my shirt finally loosening, and I take the chance to step back before I cross the line I’ve drawn. “I ummm,” she lets out a breath and shakes her head as if needing a second to find her bearings. “Why are you here? I don’t remember mentioning to John that I needed anything today.”
“I had time,” I tell her. “Figured I’d fix that leak in the laundry.”
“Oh, thanks, but I think I know what to do,” she tells me. “It’s on my list of things to do tomorrow.”
“Just how many lists do you have?”
Her cheeks flush, and she glances away, her eyes sparkling like the star at the top of the most breathtaking Christmas tree. “I don’t think you’re prepared for that answer.”
I scoff and make my way toward the laundry room, and she hurries after me. “Hey. I said I can do it,” she whines at my back. “I appreciate you coming to help, but I’ve got it handled.”
“Yep. You’re an independent woman and all that crap. Got it.”
“So . . . you’re going to leave my laundry sink alone?”