Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 76541 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76541 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
“Never,” she assured me, and I couldn’t help but laugh. God love my sister, but she’ll always think she knows what’s right for me. If she had a clue I channel any loneliness I might have into a sex club, she’d flip out. It’s something I won’t be sharing with my twin.
The sound of my apartment door opening shoots a bolt of intense awareness through me at the thought Hannah is walking into my domain. I grab my coffee cup and push up from my chair, heading toward the kitchen.
There she is, already with the dishwasher opened so she can unload it.
And why in the fuck Hannah Madigan looks better than anything I’ve ever seen merely wearing jeans and a cotton t-shirt is beyond me. In my social circle, women dress radically different from her. During the day, my peers wear Chanel and Gucci. At night, they wear expensive silk and leather.
But Hannah is one of those women who’s just blissfully unaware of her beauty, so much so it makes her more attractive. It’s one of the reasons I obsessed about her this weekend, which is a stark and quite painful reminder that she has intruded just a little too deeply into my life.
This pisses me off.
I mean… I’m pissed off at myself, not her. She can’t help being who she is, but I sure as fuck can do something about the way she affects me.
The first order of business is to take a little control back from her, although she has no idea she took it from me in the first place.
“Why are you so late?” I ask as I stroll into the kitchen and head straight for the coffee pot.
Hannah jumps, putting a hand over her breastbone. “You scared me. And how can I be late when you never set a starting time for me?”
“Most people know a standard work day starts at eight,” I reply, which is the lamest of all comebacks. I’m aware she does not have normal work hours, since I have her working until the wee hours of the morning at The Wicked Horse. Still, I feel like being an ass, so I’ll be an ass. I need it to remind myself she does not control me.
She gives me a slight bow of acquiescence. While her words are apologetic, her eyes are filled with challenge. “My sincere apologies, Mr. Knight. It won’t happen again.”
I grunt in acknowledgment, realizing she’s not going to let me win this little war of words because she fully understands I’m being ridiculous. Also, I’m assuaged slightly just by seeing her.
By being in her presence.
Refilling my cup of coffee, I say, “I’m working from the house today.”
“Understood, Mr. Knight,” she shoots back, giving me another smart-ass bow.
When I glare at her, she smirks back. I make sure to turn away quickly before she sees my lips curl up, because it’s clear she knows how to manipulate me. She realizes if she’s bad, I’ll want to spank the shit out of her, which is something I did plenty of the night she was in the stocks.
She enjoyed it, but she knows I enjoyed the fuck out of it, too.
For a moment, I consider fucking her now, but that does breach the boundaries we’ve set. Besides, I have more control over myself than that, no matter how much I lust after her.
♦
It’s a relief when I’m able to get lost in work for a while. Back-to-back phone conferences helped, then I spent a glorious hour responding to emails. In that time, I didn’t think about Hannah once.
That lucky streak ends when she walks in through the open doorway of my office, carrying a carafe of coffee. One of those insulated thermos types I didn’t even known I owned. Probably something Michelle bought that had made the move with me to this apartment I’d bought after she died. I simply couldn’t stand being in our marital house, surrounded by the homemaking stamp she’d put on it.
“Made you some fresh coffee,” Hannah says as she strolls right up to my desk and sets it down. No cream or sugar, but then again, she watched me pour a cup of black earlier in the kitchen.
“Thank you,” I tell her.
When Hannah smiles, it causes my pulse to skitter. Jesus, that a woman’s smile can cause a physical reaction is disconcerting.
I turn my gaze back to my computer screen, but my entire body tenses when Hannah asks in a somewhat tight tone, “Do you have a girlfriend?”
My head snaps her way, and I narrow my eyes. “What?”
She nods toward my desk, right to the picture of Michelle. It was taken before we got married. I think we were in New York City for some function or other. It was a candid shot out on the streets. Smiling, she appeared radiantly happy.