Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 78749 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78749 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
“Eight minutes.”
“What?” She shakes her head, taking a step back as I walk into her apartment.
“I’m early by eight minutes.” I glance at the clock on her wall. “Actually, seven.” I look around and see her e-reader on the couch, along with an open bag of Cheetos and a Diet Coke on her coffee table. “Did you forget about our date?”
“What? Of course not. I just—”
“Let me guess,” I cut her off. “You were reading and lost track of time.”
“Something like that.” She looks away as her cheeks grow pink with embarrassment.
“You’ll have to tell me about the book at dinner.”
She looks at the clock and her eyes widen. “Crap.” She spins around, “I’ll be back in ten minutes, make yourself at home,” she calls as she runs off.
Figuring it will take her longer than ten minutes to finish getting ready, I place the flowers in my hand next to her Coke on the coffee table then take a moment to look around. Her living room is small, but it’s also bright and filled with color. There are photos on the walls, along with framed pieces of floral art and quotes from various people, all artfully arranged. There isn’t an empty space to be seen, and even though it’s chaotic, it’s still somehow her.
I walk to her bookshelves, pick up the top book from a stack all from the same author, and flip open the cover. Just like my sisters’ prized books, it is signed to her. I smile then place it back where it belongs before examining the rest of her book collection.
Minutes later, I start to move to look at some of her photos, when I hear a door open. I turn and freeze as I soak in every single detail. From her smoky eyes, the fall of her hair around her shoulders, and the black material contouring to every single inch of her voluptuous body.
“I’m really sorry about being late,” she tells me, turning away to bend and pick up her purse off the couch.
Jesus Christ. My hands itch to touch her. The dress is simple; she’s not showing a lot of skin, but with the way it molds to her tits and ass, she might as well be naked. Then, there are the heels she’s wearing, heels I can imagine sinking into my flesh while I fuck her. Without a doubt, every man who sees her tonight is going to be thinking the same dirty things I am right now. Lucky for me, she’ll be on my arm.
“I’m ready when you are.” She ducks her head to avoid looking at me.
I walk across the room and stop just long enough to pick up the flowers, and her gaze finally meets mine when I hold them out to her. I watch her lick her lips as she tips her head down toward the bouquet while lifting them to her nose.
“Peonies are my favorite.”
“I know,” I admit, and her startled gaze comes up, locking with mine. “I asked Sage, who asked Kim, who eventually got back to me after calling your sisters.”
Her lips part in surprise, making it really fucking hard not to kiss her. “I... I don’t know what to say except thank you,” she says shyly.
“You’re welcome.” I reach out, touching my fingers to hers holding the flowers, and her pupils dilate. “You wanna put them in something?”
“I’ll do it when I get home. I know you made reservations, and we’re already running late because of me.” She turns, taking the bouquet through the open archway into her kitchen, and I follow, watching her place a stopper in the drain then turn on the water. Once the sink has a couple of inches of water in the bottom, she rests the flowers against the edge, shuts off the pipe, and turns toward me. “I really am ready now.” She smiles, and I chuckle, placing my hand against her lower back to lead her outside, hoping like fuck this woman isn’t too good to be true.
Seven
December
BREATHE, JUST BREATHE, I repeat over and over in my head as Gareth opens the passenger door to his SUV. I swallow, looking up at the seat that is chest high on me. wondering nervously how I’m going to get up there without looking like an idiot. My dress is too tight for me to pull myself up gracefully, and I still have yet to master the art of doing anything more than walking or standing in heels.
“Let me help you.” His warm hand comes to rest on my lower back, and heat seers through the thin material of my dress, making me shiver.
I look up at him and shake my head. “I can manage.” Or I hope I can. He grins then suddenly his hand on my back slides around to my hip. He turns me to face him, and when the opposite hand curls around my waist, I start to ask what he’s doing. Before I get my mouth to form actual words, my feet are no longer on the ground and my bottom is on the leather seat.