Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 26282 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 131(@200wpm)___ 105(@250wpm)___ 88(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26282 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 131(@200wpm)___ 105(@250wpm)___ 88(@300wpm)
I could never imagine being angry at Gabby. She’s the sweetest thing and she’s done nothing but try to build herself a good life. This is the moment when I should demand answers from her. If she were a sloppy foreman or a lazy worker, she’d have already been chastised. But with Gabby, I find myself softening.
“Should I go?” Her vulnerable question guts me.
“What you’re cooking smells pretty good to me.” I love coming home from work trips to find her scent all over my pillows. It drives me mad with longing, to know that she was here in my space and touching my things.
No matter how wrong it is, I still find myself gripping my cock when I come back and know she’s been here. I fist it, imagining her lying on my bed with her innocent expression and her long hair. I imagine her gasping and writhing as she touches herself on my sheets. Then I come fast and hot, still hard because the damn fucker won’t be satisfied until I’m deep inside the walls of her pussy.
She looks uncertain when I tell her that I want to eat. She blinks up at me. “I’ll leave as soon as dinner is over.”
That’s what she thinks. I don’t know what burden she’s been carrying or what she’s been struggling with. But it ends today. She no longer walks alone. Now she has a warrior beside her. A man that will fight every battle with her. Shoulder-to-shoulder, we’ll slay her dragons.
Gabby
Given how gruff Roman is, I expected that he would be angry that I'm here. But when he puts a hand under my chin to tilt my face up so I'm looking at him, I know he's not angry with me. His gaze is soft, tender, and maybe even affectionate.
He's big, and he's grumpy. He's scary with the rest of the world, but not with me. No, I'm safe with him. I know that instinctively. The knowledge makes me want to curl up against his chest and have him carry me back to his bedroom, so we can spend hours together in his extra-large bed.
“Whatever you’re cooking smells pretty good,” he says.
I preen at the compliment. Cooking is one of my favorite things, and cooking for Roman is even better. “It’s chicken parmesan.”
There's a smile in his eyes when he looks at me now. He gestures forward. “Lead the way.”
I know it’s ridiculous because Roman probably doesn't think of me the way I think of him. But I still put an extra sway in my steps.
His socks glide across the hardwood floors behind me. He must have kicked the Oxfords off. I can't help but feel a secret thrill that I'm getting to see him relaxed in his home.
I bustle around the kitchen.
He watches me, arms crossed over his broad chest as he scowls. But I don't think he's mad. He's looking at me more like I'm a puzzle, and he's trying to solve all the pieces.
“Do you often travel for work?” I want to ask him if he meets up with anybody, though I don't know quite how to get those words out.
“Less and less in the last six months,” he says.
I pause in working with the noodles. Chicken parm always tastes best on angel pasta. “Has something changed?”
I worry about his health. I worry about the arthritis that has made his hands swell. My mom had an autoimmune disease. Once you develop one, it’s easier for your body to develop a second disease. More than that, people with autoimmune diseases are often immunocompromised. I worry about Roman out here all by himself with no one to fuss over him.
“It's complicated,” he grits out.
“Well, do you meet up with friends or anything when you travel?” That’s right. Keep your tone normal and he won’t suspect anything.
He frowns. “All my friends are here.”
I sigh. He's not giving me much to work with. How am I going to figure out if Roman is single if he won't give me any details? I’ve searched this cabin from top to bottom each time I’m here, and I never find evidence of a woman. But that could mean that he goes to her place.
Finally, I decide to be a little more direct. “Are any of your friends female?”
He doesn't answer for a long moment, and I glance over my shoulder at him. He's watching me with amusement on his features.
My cheeks burn. He's laughing at me.
“Are you trying to figure out if I'm single?”
I shrug, hoping to look unaffected, and go back to my meal preparation.
“It's not my business,” I croak out the words from a throat that feels far too dry and eyes that are too gritty. What if he thinks I'm some kid? What if I've read into every innocent glance? What if he is lonely, but it's not my company he longs for?