Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 82747 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82747 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
It's weird waking up in a home you've woken up in alone for years and years knowing that there's someone else in the house.
I'm not sure if Mac has work today. With it being Tuesday I presume he does, but I'm as quiet as I can be as I make my way down the hall and into the kitchen. It's not my responsibility to wake him up and make sure he's ready for the day. He's a grown man. I'm sure he's perfectly capable. Clearly, he's been doing it on his own for years if his successful business is any indication.
Coffee is made with little to no sound, and within ten minutes, I'm standing at the sink, looking out over the backyard, and trying to get a positive start on my day.
Before the holidays, I'd be working today, helping Sage cover one of the busier days of the week because Tuesday is a major release day in the publishing industry, but the post in the community group didn't get approved. It was rejected for some reason, although Bobby John Pritchard never gives feedback on why it might've not met the standards. I swear that the old man has more bad days than good and tries to ruin others' days or he hates women altogether.
Sage posted on her business page, but the interactions that it got were less than what we'd like to see. She did mention a chance of calling me in if it started to get busy, but Lindell University hasn't even begun its spring semester yet, so the influx of college students for the new discount isn't likely.
I lift my coffee to my lips, only to discover that I've already drained my cup without realizing it, and when I turn around, I find Mac standing several feet away staring at me.
I'd feel self-conscious in the worst sort of way if I didn't know exactly what that look in his eyes meant. What I do know is that him standing there somehow ready for the day but still looking a little sleepy lights my skin on fire.
I have to swallow twice before I dislodge the lump that has managed to wedge itself in my throat.
"There's coffee," I say, my voice less sure and more of a whisper than I intend.
His eyes drift down the front of me once more before he heads toward the coffee pot.
It's weird. It's going to be weird with him staying here, and I don't know if that's something I'm going to be able to handle. This home is my sanctuary, and his mere presence here is throwing everything off-kilter. It's enough to drive me mad.
I open my mouth to tell him the agreement is off, that he needs to go back to the hotel or at minimum find some other place to go. Staying here is no longer an option, but after he pours his coffee and turns back around to face me, his eyes once again dropping down the length of my body, I find it impossible to ask him to leave.
He's a complication, the very last thing I need in my life, but I still can’t formulate the words to ask him to leave.
"What are you doing today?" I ask instead.
"Working on my house," he answers, a glint of something unsaid in his eyes when he lifts them back up to my gaze.
"I could help," I offer, feeling like a fool for even making the suggestion.
I don't know a single thing about construction. There's still a massive hole in the wall in the tiny closet where I keep my cleaning supplies in because I attempted to hang a battery organizer and made some miscalculations.
"I have to confess that I don't know much about any of it," I add awkwardly when he just continues to stare at me. "But I'm teachable."
As if it's his main goal in life to make me squirm, he doesn't immediately respond, instead he takes another slow look down the length of my body, and I don't know how I'm supposed to feel when he has to clear his throat before he speaks.
The swipe of his tongue over his bottom lip sends an electrical current up my spine, forcing goosebumps along both of my arms and tightening my nipples as if that attention was directly against my skin.
"You'll have to wear more clothes than what you have on," he says.
I instantly feel naked in front of him despite wearing a sleep-set I snagged on sale last year.
"You don't like it?" I ask, my voice so husky that I don't even recognize its sound in my own ears as it bounces around the room.
That devilish tongue of his snakes out once again and I swear the man is taunting me in the best way, and with the way my body responds to him, I don't know if he's oblivious to the way I react to him or if he's purposely trying to torture me.