Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92180 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92180 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
When I need to leave, she slips on a robe and walks me to the door. Hand on my chest, she rises on tiptoes and places a gentle farewell kiss on my cheek. I would normally walk away without a backward glance, knowing that I’ll text to set up our next “date.”
Instead, words tumble out of my mouth before I can stop them. “What do you have planned for tomorrow?”
She frowns over the absurdity of the question because I never ask such a thing. “Work.”
“Yes, I know work.” I reach out, tap my finger against her nose. “But what exactly do you have to do?”
She glances up as if mentally recalling her schedule. “I think I have meetings in the morning, a lunch with a potential investor, and then more meetings in the afternoon.”
“Cancel them,” I say as I put my hands on her hips and pull her closer.
Her frown deepens, and I can tell she’s confused.
Hell, so am I.
“Why?” she asks.
“I want to take you on a bike ride tomorrow. We’ll have a picnic.”
Brienne’s chin pulls inward, and she looks at me as if I’ve sprouted horns. “A picnic?”
“A picnic,” I repeat with a wink. “It will be a little chilly, so you’ll need to dress appropriately for the bike. Jeans are good, but if you have leather pants, I find them particularly sexy, and they’re better against the wind. A good coat and gloves.”
She tries to pull away. “I can’t just cancel meetings to go on a ride and picnic.”
“Of course you can. You’re the boss.”
“One of these meetings has been scheduled for three weeks.”
I shrug. “So. You’re still the boss. No one would question you.”
Brienne’s teeth press into her lip, a sure sign she’s contemplating it.
“Come on,” I cajole, leaning in and nuzzling her neck. “You work so hard, take a few hours for yourself. A beautiful ride in the country. The leaves changing colors. You can snuggle up to me on the bike and I’ll feed you too. How can you say no?”
“Because—”
I shut her up with a hard kiss, my hands framing her face so she can’t pull away. When I let her up for air, I release my hold and walk backward. “Don’t say no. Just be ready to go tomorrow at one p.m. I’ll pick you up here.”
“But—”
“If you’re not here, that means no. If you’re here, it means yes. I’ll be by at one. Remember, leather pants or jeans, coat, and gloves.”
I wait for a denial, but she stays silent. Her frown hasn’t lessened, and I can see she’s warring with the idea. It not only goes against her very austere work ethic, but it further blurs the lines that are already hard to distinguish.
I know that, and she does too.
This may be the dumbest thing I’ve ever done, but I can’t seem to fucking help myself. I want to see more of Brienne, and I want to see her outside of bed.
Hopefully, she’ll show up tomorrow.
CHAPTER 27
Brienne
Drake doesn’t look surprised when I walk out my front door to meet him. In fact, his expression is smug as he stands beside his bike, an extra helmet in his hand.
I’m surprised, though. I hadn’t committed until about an hour ago, hastily canceling my lunch and afternoon meetings. I had my driver take me home where I quickly changed clothes.
Good lord, the man is hot. A red bandanna has been tied over his head, his long hair (which I don’t think has been cut since he joined the team) spilling out the back. He keeps his beard nicely groomed, but I’ve noticed it’s longer too.
Drake’s expression is appreciative as he does a slow perusal of me. I have lots of leather pants—all designer and not meant to ride on a motorcycle—and I settled on a dark burgundy pair. Because all my boots are fashion forward and not practical, I picked a black suede pair with a block heel versus spiked. Contrasted to Drake’s faded jeans and heavy, lug-soled boots, I look completely out of place.
And I don’t care.
“Cute jacket,” he says with a grin. It’s fitted black leather—also designer—and has silver zippers and wide lapels.
“It’s biker chic,” I reply.
“You look hot.” He fingers the edges of the black cashmere scarf wrapped around my neck before clutching it to pull me in for a kiss.
Forceful and gentle at the same time, it’s that exact combination that makes me want him so badly. Not just in body, but in… everything.
Drake shimmies a helmet on me, adjusting the strap under my chin until it’s snug. It covers my whole head and has a plastic face shield. It’s different from the one he’ll wear—which only covers the top of his head—currently resting on the bike’s long leather seat.
“Why do I get a big helmet?” I ask.
“Because your brain is more precious than mine,” he quips. “Ever ridden before?”