Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 68413 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68413 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
I realize I still need to tell him about the shop.
I need to do that now. I can’t let any more time pass.
When he comes back out of the bathroom, he plucks me right up out of the bed and holds me against his chest as he carries me to the tub.
“I have something to tell you,” I say.
His eyes come to me as he steps into the tub.
“Tell me,” he says gently.
I wonder what I should say, how I should say it.
“It’s about the pizzeria,” I murmur.
His body gets tight behind mine as he settles us in the warm water.
“We’re not talking about the pizzeria tonight,” he says firmly.
“I . . .”
“Libby, not tonight.”
“Okay,” I agree reluctantly as he pulls me back to rest against his chest in the tub.
“I just want to hold you. I don’t want to think about anything to do with work,” he says gently.
My eyes close. “Sure. I . . . We’ll talk about it another time,” I agree as my stomach twists uncomfortably.
“Are you sore?” he asks, changing the subject while sliding his hand down my stomach, petting softly between my legs.
I shake my head.
“You sure?”
“Yes,” I whisper, feeling his lips rest against my shoulder. I know I should do the right thing. I should open my mouth and tell him the truth, once and for all. I don’t. Instead, I take a bath with him, order in food, then laze on my couch with him, watching a scary movie until it’s time for bed. Then I go to sleep in his arms, between floral sheets.
Chapter 13
PRACTICE MAKES PERFECT
LIBBY
“Morning, Princess.” Antonio greets me with a warm smile when I walk out of my bedroom still half-asleep.
When I woke up to my alarm and he wasn’t next to me, I was hit with an unexpected wave of disappointment. I thought he had taken off. Then I smelled bacon cooking, and I couldn’t get out of bed fast enough. I wanted to make sure that he was really here.
“Morning,” I say softly.
I scoop up Pool to give him a cuddle before I go to where Antonio’s standing—shirtless—in front of the stove. I tuck myself against his front, feeling his lips touch the top of my head as his arms give me a squeeze.
“Did you sleep okay?” he asks.
I tip my head back to look up at his handsome face and strong jaw, now covered in a thick layer of stubble.
I slept better than I have in two days. I don’t say that. Instead, I answer softly, “Yes.”
“You sore?” he asks gently.
I feel my cheeks get warm. “Not too bad.”
“I’ll get you some ibuprofen after you eat something.” His fingers slide up my throat, and his thumb and forefinger capture my chin and pull my head back so that he can touch his mouth to mine.
The kiss is soft and sweet, but it still leaves me feeling off-balance. When his mouth leaves mine, I have to once again force my eyes open.
“So . . .” I clear my throat. “What’s on your schedule today?” I let him go and step around him to get a cup of coffee.
“I need to go home to take care of some stuff, then I’m working tonight with you. I figured I’d pack a bag while I’m home. We can stay here after we close the shop—if that works for you.”
“It works for me,” I agree immediately.
He smiles.
I pour some creamer into my coffee, then add some sugar before hopping up onto the counter and taking a sip from my coffee cup.
“Where did you get bacon and eggs?” I ask him when he goes to the fridge and pulls out a carton of eggs that wasn’t there last night.
“I ran to the corner store when I got up,” he says, cracking two eggs into a pan. “You really do need to start eating more than takeout, Princess.”
“Takeout is easy when I’m working all the time. I don’t have to lug bags up here or cook. All I have to do is pick up my phone and dial a number to get whatever I want.”
“Yeah, but when your man wants to make you breakfast and all he has to work with is old pizza and Chinese food, it makes it kind of hard.”
My man? Holy cow, he’s mine . . . I mean, yes, I kind of knew that already. But hearing him call himself my man makes it real.
“What?” he asks, studying me.
“I . . . I guess it just really hit me that we’re together,” I admit.
His face softens.
“It’s weird after”—I pause to pull in a breath—“it’s weird after everything that has happened between us.”
Coming to where I’m standing, he forces my knees apart and wedges himself between my thighs. He takes hold of my face, gently, between his large palms.