Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76456 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76456 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
“I’m going in. I have a big baby shower order. And I have to prepare the flowers for the inn,” I added. They had a standing weekly order that made a decent amount of money for the shop. It was a big job, and not one I could save for the following morning.
Besides, having a distraction would be good for me right about then.
“Well, that kind of works out then. I can drive you in.”
Right.
My car.
God, how had that escaped my mind?
That was normally something I would be hyper-fixating on, worrying about. But it seemed to have completely escaped my mind since getting back to my apartment with Cesare.
As soon as I could, I was sneaking away to call for a tow.
“Or I can let Mr. Dreamy over there drive you to work,” she offered, giving me a wicked smile.
“I’m sure he is ready to be back to his life,” I said, dropping two mounds of pancake batter into the heated pan, watching them spread, then start to fill with little bubble holes.
“Speak of the devil,” she called, loudly enough for the man who had just folded up from the couch to hear.
“Talking about me already?” Cesare called back, his voice a little rough and raspy from sleep. And damn if it didn’t send a little jolt of desire through my system.
“Talking about. Taking pictures of. Thinking about accosting,” Vega called, and I could feel my cheeks growing warm.
I swear I felt, rather than saw, Cesare stand from the couch, stretching out his long torso, then turning to face the kitchen before making his way in our direction.
“‘Morning Vega,” Cesare said, coming into the small space of the tiny kitchen, immediately seeming to suck up all the air
He still smelled like his cologne.
And I swear as he moved behind me to go to the coffee pot, I could feel the heat radiating off of him.
“‘Morning, Mere,” he said, voice a low sound that slithered over my skin, forcing wicked memories to flash in front of my vision for a moment before I reminded myself to focus.
In for five, hold for four, out for six.
“‘Morning,” I mumbled, not even sure he could hear me, since it was quiet even to my own ears.
“Mere is making us pancakes,” Vega declared, tone bright, bubbly, and I knew her well enough to know she was probably up to something.
“I see that,” Cesare said, choosing to lean in the tiniest area between the fridge and the stove where I was standing, his whole body maybe only an inch from mine, making me all too aware of my movements, not wanting to brush him.
Either completely oblivious to the charge in the room, or simply trying to show me some mercy, Vega spoke again.
“She might throw in some chocolate chips if you ask nicely,” Vega prompted. “But I want blueberries in mine,” she declared.
“Always,” I agreed, hearing the strange tightness in my voice, wondering if Vega was picking up on it.
If she was, she was ignoring it.
Because the next thing I knew, she was hopping off of the counter.
“Okay. I call dibs on the shower,” she said, rushing off in that direction, leaving the two of us alone in the kitchen without a buffer.
“Think we need to talk, sweetheart,” Cesare said, sending a rush of butterflies through my belly.
I reached for the spatula, flipping the pancakes, trying to distract myself from the fluttering.
“About Dennis?” I prompted, tone innocent. “What did he have to say?”
“No, baby, not about Dennis,” he said, voice even lower, even sexier.
“He texted you, though. Where is he?” I asked.
“I don’t want to talk about Dennis, Mere,” he said as I busied myself by taking the pancakes off the pan and putting them on the plate lined with a crisp white kitchen towel, so I could flip the material over the pancakes to seal in the heat.
I was about to reach for the bowl and spoon once again when Cesare’s hand shot out, flicking off the heat, surprising me enough to turn to face him.
Close.
Way too close.
And looking far too good.
“There’s nothing else to talk about,” I insisted, watching as he took a long sip of his coffee before setting it down.
“You’re right. I actually don’t want to talk,” he said, suddenly sinking his hands into my hips, grabbing me, turning me, and slamming me back against the counter.
“We can’t,” I insisted, voice nothing but a whisper.
“The only way we can’t is if you don’t want to,” he countered, leaning his head down, keeping eye contact that should have unnerved me, not made another rush of desire move through me. “Tell me you don’t want me,” he invited.
It was a challenge.
Because he damn well knew I couldn’t say that.
Or, at least, I couldn’t mean that.
“Tell me you don’t want me to do this,” he said, tipping his head down, running his lips across my neck. “Or this,” he went on as his hand slipped up from my hip, grazing over my breast before squeezing, making a little whimper escape me. “Or this,” he went on as his hand went down from my breast and up under my dress, finding nothing between us again but my panties that were already wet with need. “Fuck,” he hissed, feeling it, then hearing my gasp as his fingers toyed with me through the thin material.