Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 85838 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85838 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Ah, hell. I can’t resist.
Zane: YOU HAVE A SCOOTER? That is so not what I pictured from you. I NEED TO KNOW EVERYTHING.
Setting the phone down, I get out of bed and pad to the bathroom. After I brush my teeth and take care of business, I return to his bedroom, swinging my gaze around in the bright light of day. Minimalist, like I predicted. White walls with a few photographs of cityscapes at night—London, Miami, New York, Tokyo, Barcelona.
I smile, tucking away this detail of the metropolitan man. He loves to travel. Does he know any other languages? There’s so much more I want to learn about him, and I finally have the chance. I find my boxer briefs on the floor, tug them on, then grab my phone and head into the hallway, then out to the living room.
There’s been no reply to my last text, but seconds later, the front door opens, and Maddox walks in, setting a helmet down on an entryway table. He’s wearing aviator shades, and carrying a backpack.
Slack-jawed, I stare at the man. I have so many questions. “Scooter. Backpack. Shorts. Who are you?”
After he shuts the door, he whips off the shades, looks me over, and heads straight to me, his lips a ruler, his eyes intense. He says nothing, just claims my mouth in a possessive kiss. My toes tingle. My knees wobble.
Dear God, this man owns my heart and body.
When he breaks the kiss, he says, “The scooter is because traffic sucks, and it’s better for the environment for short distances. It’s parked in my garage right now. No, I didn’t order delivery because that takes longer than it takes me on a scooter. And I wanted you to have something fresh to eat when you got up. I figured you couldn’t possibly sleep past eleven, and I was right. And yes, I have been to all the places on the wall in my bedroom.”
My smile reveals how ridiculously happy I am. “Thank you. I’m hungry.”
“I know,” he says.
Five minutes later, we’re sitting at the table by his pool, the sun reflecting off the water. I’m devouring the breakfast bowl he got for me—some açai thing with blueberries and papaya and all sorts of goodness. He ate earlier, while he worked.
I take the last bite, then moan in culinary pleasure. “Maddox, I have to tell you something.”
He leans back in the chair, looking cool and debonair in khaki shorts and a blue polo. His casual wear is so very him. But he seems relaxed too. I haven’t seen him that way before. I like it a lot.
“What do you want to tell me?” he asks.
“The herbed scallops from Ava’s were awful,” I admit, then frown.
He cracks up, but he doesn’t say I told you so, and I’m grateful for that. Instead, he says, “Want to go for a swim?”
“Fuck yes.”
He heads to the sliding glass door to go inside, but I don’t follow him. He shoots me a curious look.
I answer him by shimmying down my briefs. Starkers, I stroll along the pool deck, then jump into the deep end.
When I pop up, sliding a hand across my hair, he’s rolling his eyes.
“Do it,” I shout. “I know you’re not a skinny dipper, but just do it. Fucking do it,” I say, splashing in his direction as he strides to where I’m treading water.
Shaking his head in amusement, he asks, “How did you know I’m not a skinny dipper?”
I look up at him and shrug happily. “Same way I knew about the oat milk. C’mon. The water’s nice. You know you want to.”
He tugs at the hem of his shirt, then strips it from his body in one studly move. Oh, yeah.
I catcall, hooting. “Take it all off.”
With a smirk, he plays with the button on his shorts, teasing me, taunting me with a subtle shake of his hips.
“That’s right. Give me the full monty, handsome.”
Seconds later, he’s dropping his drawers. And I stop laughing. I’m catching my breath. My guy is such a stunner. All that smooth skin, and carved muscles, and big dick swinging free as he dives into the water, past me.
He glides underwater, in the buff, his lean frame cutting through the blue till he surfaces near the yellow raft in the shallow end. He hauls himself onto it—elegantly.
“Only you can get on a raft like James Bond,” I say, then freestyle over to him and park my elbows on the end of the raft, bobbing along with him near the edge. “I like your pool.”
“I like you in it,” he says, then shifts gears. “Are Gage and Eliza in town?”
I smile. “They are. They’re coming to batting practice and the game. Should be fun. It’s my first All-Star Game.”
He laughs, then says, “I know.” Then his expression turns serious. “I want to meet them. Take you all out.”