Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 107710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 539(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 539(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
No. She was trying to delay the moment when they would be standing close enough to touch, because he scrambled her brain to the point where she started to debate the merits of sleeping with him even after over a month of insults and teasing. “It’s a good practice to ask for credentials.”
“Even if those credentials are high on my inner thigh?”
“Both of them?”
“One of them.” He turned away and hoisted up his T-shirt, baring a profusely muscled back, devoid of ink, unlike his arms, one of which proudly bore the navy insignia. Not that she would have noticed a tattoo when his right shoulder was split in half by a puckered, painful-looking scar. “Here’s the other. Not my best work, but I didn’t have a mirror at the time.”
“Yes.” She tried to swallow. Couldn’t. God, he was a human bulldozer. She’d have to hold on for dear life in bed with him. Sounded terrible. Just awful. “Best for you to stay away from mirrors.”
He dropped his shirt with a snort. “Don’t act like you weren’t ready to climb me like a ladder, princess.”
No lies detected. That was then, however. This was now. “Shame you had to open your mouth, isn’t it?”
August dragged his tongue along his full bottom lip. “You would have loved my mouth.”
Her skin was the temperature of the sun. “Can we get this over with or are you hoping I bleed to death?”
In the space of a heartbeat, his expression went from arrogant to concerned. “Sorry. Come here.”
The apology caught her off guard. So much so that she kind of lurched into the bathroom, too stunned to do anything but release the ripped edges of her dress and watch him apply rubbing alcohol to a cotton ball, trying not to notice his fresh, fruity scent while he did so. “Why do you smell like grapefruit?”
“It’s this handmade soap I use,” he said absently, brow furrowed while he dabbed at her claw marks, his slow, warm breath stirring her hairline. “The one and only person who ever liked my wine is too broke to buy it, so she trades me soap for a bottle here and there.”
“How did she lose her sense of taste? Hot sauce accident?”
“Funny.”
“Who is she?” The question was out before she could wrangle it back in her throat. She sounded like a jealous girlfriend, kind of like August had earlier when she’d lied about being on her way to a date. Good thing this man was leaving town, because their dynamic grew more confusing by the day. “Never mind. It’s none of my business.”
“No. It’s not,” he drawled, ripping open the wrappers of two Band-Aids at once. “But I’m going to tell you anyway, so you don’t snap off the countertop.”
Natalie’s gaze flew down to where her hands were death-gripping the ledge of the vanity, releasing the white marble as quickly as possible. “The rubbing alcohol stung.”
“Uh-huh.” Bottom lip fixed between his teeth to trap an obvious laugh, he laid the first Band-Aid on her chest. Slowly. Smoothing it ever so gently from top to bottom with his thumb. And her stupid, duplicitous hormones perked up like a houseplant after being watered. Natalie had to resist arching her back while he applied the second Band-Aid, taking his sweet time, almost like he was enjoying her confusing distress. “She’s a mother of triplets—the one who trades me soap. I’m pretty sure anything that gets her buzzed after bedtime tastes good.”
“Oh. Teri Frasier? I saw her in town last week pushing them in a stroller as big as a tank. She and I went to school together.”
“I know.”
Her nose wrinkled. “How do you know?”
August appeared to be silently kicking himself. “You two seemed about the same age, so I asked her.”
“Why?”
He hesitated. Did his face deepen with color slightly? “Just making small talk.”
At some point during the thrust and parry of their conversation, he’d moved in closer. The sink dug into the small of her back. That part of her that he’d excited months ago, but never fulfilled, was requesting payment in full. His jeans would feel so good on her naked inner thighs. He’d pull her hair in those big fists and she could finally, finally, get this oaf out of her system. What harm could it do? He was leaving, wasn’t he?
Natalie looked up at August through her eyelashes, her right hand lifting with the intention of exploring those hard muscles through his shirt. “I was thinking—”
“She mentioned you spent most of your time drunk back then, too.” He chuckled.
Ice crystallized on her skin, her hand dropping like a stone.
He caught it, frowning. Searching her expression. “Wait. Whoa. What were you going to say? You were thinking what?”
“Nothing.”
“Tell me.”
Disguising the uncomfortable weight in her chest with a saccharine-sweet smile, she scooted out from between his huge body and the vanity, fleeing the bathroom. But not before throwing a parting shot over her shoulder. “Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out of town, August.”