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)
"Breakfast," I whisper again, the boldness that made me kiss him first quickly starting to fade.
His tongue sneaks out and swipes at his bottom lip, and the man makes no move to pull away from me. Despite him claiming me last week, I know better than to think that everything is fine with us. We spent the last several days avoiding each other. For him to insist I'm his, he sure made simple work of not trying to situate himself in front of me. I have no clue how long that would've gone on had I not shown up here today with breakfast and thrust myself into his path.
The conversation with the girls this weekend at Claire's bridal party really hit home for me. I don't want to ruin a chance at happiness because I'm afraid of getting hurt, and Sage was right. I need to stop thinking about all the negatives and understand that my hangups about my size and the treatment I've gotten from other people can't be shoved off on Mac because the man has never looked at my body sideways or made me feel like he was disgusted with what he saw. Hell, the man damn near salivates when he sees me standing naked in front of him.
Memories of the times he's run his eyes up and down the length of my body make it incredibly hard to push him away right now, but somehow I manage.
"Breakfast," I whisper again, dropping my eyes to the front of his jeans. "Do you need a minute?"
I fight a smile as he chews the inside of his cheek, his eyes locked on mine.
"Need more than a minute, baby."
I've never been one to pay much attention to pet names, but that four-letter word rolling off his tongue lights my skin on fire with need and anticipation.
"You have work to do," I remind him, knowing he never takes a minute to slow down.
His livelihood and the livelihood of those who work for him depend on him keeping the jobs rolling. As much as I'd like to spend a solid day with him with nothing to worry about, we're both adults, and we don't live the types of lives that allow for that without pre-planning.
"I made French toast casserole," I say when he continues to stare down at me wordlessly.
"Not what I want for breakfast, baby."
A thrill of excitement forces goosebumps down my arms, but there isn't a part of me that wouldn't be insanely embarrassed to bypass his crew and go into his house with them making the correct assumptions about what we'd be doing inside.
Instead of giving into that carnal need, I make a sidestep and escape the hold his eyes have on me.
"Breakfast, Mac."
I feel his eyes on me as I walk away, and although I don't look back to toy with him, I might add a little extra sway to my hips, something I know, by the growl that tickles my back, that he didn't miss.
I feel like a million bucks when I step around the trees and make my way toward the picnic table. Every eye from the men eating lands right on me, and I can tell by the heat in my cheeks that they're turning bright red. I drop my eyes to my feet, careful with every step now that I feel like I'm on display.
"Did you guys eat it all?" I ask, trying to break the awkwardness as I approach.
"I had to smack Ronnie's hand twice," Donnie, the twin brother, says without a hint of humor in his tone.
"I appreciate you looking out for me," I tell him with a smile.
The man glares at me, and I don't know how to act with the intensity in his gaze, so I once again drop my eyes until I'm close enough to reach for a paper plate.
I scoop some of the casserole on the plate, knowing I won't be able to eat with all of them staring at me, but I really need something to do with my hands.
I scoop even more than I took onto another plate and place it across from where I plan to sit at the picnic table. Most of the men have opted to stand around in small groups, eating as they chat, but no topic they might've been discussing before I reappeared from behind the trees seems to have been interesting enough to continue now that I'm there. It makes my skin crawl and my mind race to think that maybe they were talking about me. It's not the first time in my life I've felt that way. I seemed to have always been a topic of conversation in school.
I take a seat, position my plastic fork on my plate, and wait, but it seems to take Mac forever to reappear from behind the trees to take a seat across from me. He gives me a small smile before digging into his breakfast, but it doesn't ease that sensation of being watched, and when I chance a glance around, I find every single man watching the two of us like they're expecting us to do tricks or perform for them in some way.