Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 66323 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 332(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66323 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 332(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
He reaches into the box and pulls out a beautiful watch.
“I’d say that’s a very fine timepiece,” Gray says with appreciation.
“It’s exactly what I would have chosen myself,” Danny says with a happy laugh. “And there’s no way he could have known that because I’ve never mentioned it again.”
“Of course, he knows,” I reply and pat his shoulder. “He knows you better than anyone.”
“Yeah.” Danny sniffs once more and holds the watch out to me so I can fasten it to his wrist. “And I get to marry him today.”
“In,” I say, checking the time on his watch, “holy shit, ten minutes.”
“I’d better go,” Gray says and hurries out to join Brandon.
“Ready?” I ask Danny as we walk to the door.
“Honey, I’ve been ready for years. And now that we’re finally divorced, and that little snafu is all tied up, I’m a free man. Let’s do this thing.”
“I’d like to speak with you,” Gray says. We’re standing by the cake table as I watch everyone mingle, dance, and just generally enjoy one another.
I’ve always liked to people watch.
“Not today,” I say, but paste a smile on my face for all the people who are looking our way. “I’m rather busy.”
“Yes, I can see that you’re quite busy holding this table up.”
“You’re a riot.”
“I try.” I feel him look down at me, and I have to make myself continue staring straight ahead. The DJ just switched the song to Wobble, and everyone on the floor starts to move in unison.
I can’t help but shake my hips to the song. Wobble is a classic.
When the song ends, I start to walk away but then hear Danny’s voice over the sound system.
“It’s time for a slow one,” he says. “B and I are going to dance, and we want Stella and Gray to join us. And all of you, as well! Let’s get lost in a little love song.”
I stare at Danny and give him the are-you-serious stare, but he just winks at me.
“Shall we?” Gray asks, holding out his hand for mine.
“Damn it,” I grumble and, accepting my fate, take his hand and let him lead me onto the dance floor.
Of course, Danny would choose a Fleetwood Mac song. I freaking love Fleetwood Mac.
“I tried to call you,” Gray murmurs to me so only I can hear.
“I know. I didn’t want to talk with you.”
“I had hoped that once you were finished being angry at me, you’d see that what I did was out of loyalty and love and not because I was trying to score a payday or hurt you, Stella.”
“You went about it in all the wrong ways,” I reply, keeping my voice tight. Damn it, I love being in Gray’s arms, and my body hasn’t forgotten. My breasts feel fuller and heavier, and my nipples have tightened.
I never realized that my body could betray me like this.
And I can’t even ponder the fact that he said he did what he did out of love.
“I didn’t mean to,” he says.
“It’s not that you wanted to help.” He pulls me just a little closer, and when my stomach meets his waist, my core tightens. Fuck. I lick my lips, and his eyes narrow as if he can see exactly what his touch does to me. “It’s that when I told you that I wanted no part of it, you insisted that I was wrong and that we’d do what you wanted anyway.”
“Because it’s the right thing to do.”
“I absolutely refuse to argue with you at Danny’s reception,” I inform him with a hiss. “This is his day, damn it.”
“Fine. But we need to talk this out because I miss you, and this whole situation is ridiculous.”
I take a breath, then just shake my head and turn to leave, but Gray grips my hand and stops me.
“Come on.”
“Hey, I—”
He pulls me close and whispers in my ear. “I will not make a scene, Stella. Come with me.”
I glare at him, but I follow him out of the reception hall, down a hallway, and through a door that leads to an empty conference room.
“You can’t just yank me around,” I say after the door closes behind us and we’re alone.
In response, he pushes me against the wall, and his mouth hovers mere inches from mine.
“Do you know,” he says quietly, “how much I want you? Even when I’m frustrated with you and know that you’d rather hit me than kiss me, I want you. What kind of a fucking masochist does that make me?”
I want to slap him. I want to push him away.
But I can’t.
I push up onto my toes and seal my lips to his. That’s all it takes to have his hands framing my face. He kisses me like a starved man. Our hands are hot and needy, roaming over each other with urgency.