Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 83211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
“Well, I have a lot of time.”
She groans. “I spilled an entire bottle of nail polish remover on my sleeping clothes. The rest of my stuff is either dirty or not sleep-worthy. I found this shirt in the closet. It was either this or sleep naked.”
I adjust my cock. “At least tell me you have something on under that.”
“What if I don’t?”
This woman. I narrow my eyes. “We’re going to have to establish new ground rules around here.”
“What? That we should wear underwear?” She drags her gaze up and down my body mercilessly. “No offense, but your boxer briefs aren’t really doing you much good.”
My body temperature soars. Every muscle inside me flexes and pulses. I want to bend her over the sink two feet away and fuck her until she’s exploding on my cock. Would that feel good? Fuck, yeah. But would it feel good later? Hell, no.
I haven’t tasted her. I haven’t touched her, felt her mouth on me, or experienced her body wrapped around mine. Yet … I’m already having a hard time getting my mind off her.
How bad would it be if I did know these things?
She might be able to check out after sex, but I know that if I gave in to her, checking out won’t be an option. I’m not built that way. I don’t want to be that guy.
I’m not that guy.
I’m sure she knows lots of guys who will give her sex if that’s what she wants. How they look at her like she’s only a piece of ass is beyond me.
She’s so much more than that … even if I want to throttle her some of the time. Most of the time. Maybe it’s a part of her charm?
“Can I ask you something?” she asks.
I hum.
“Are you attracted to me, Banks?”
She bats her long lashes as she looks up at me, sucking her bottom lip between her teeth.
“Is that a real question?” I ask, chuckling.
“I asked it, didn’t I?”
“Are you being funny?” I grip my package and squeeze it, giving it a little shake. The contact, even though it’s my hand, sends shots of electricity buzzing through my body. “Does it look like I’m attracted to you?”
She leans against the wall, her shoulders touching the paint. “Then why did you not want me to stay here?”
“You didn’t want to stay here either.”
“Yeah, but that’s not what we’re talking about,” she says, smiling.
That smile—part sleepy, part sex kitten—melts me.
“Where are you going with this?” I ask her, my voice rough from the late hour.
She sighs. “I overthink things at night.”
“Join the club.”
Her smile softens. “I hate that I let things that people say bother me. I wish I could let them go in one ear and out the other.”
“You’re a catch, and I’m … me? You got a part of that right, but probably not the part that you think.”
I stand in front of her. “I know what you’re overthinking.”
“You do?”
I don’t know how to tell her what I’m thinking. I’m so bad at this shit. My brothers are all so good at putting their thoughts together in cohesive sentences. Me? I just sputter shit and wind up looking like a fool.
But as I take in Sara’s face and, for the first time, see her without her defenses up, I know I have to say something. Even if I fall on my face and she stays up the rest of the night laughing at me.
“If someone’s a catch, they don’t have to say it,” I say. “You don’t have to point out the obvious.”
Her eyes widen, and then a slow, genuine smile stretches across her pretty face.
“Take me, for example,” I say. “I don’t have to tell you to look at my abs—you just do. They’re great. It’s unnecessary to point it out.”
She giggles, shaking her head. Relief is evident in her shoulders. I feel it in mine, too.
“And anyone that you let around you is a lucky man,” I say, my voice low. “That’s obvious too.”
Her smile eases, almost turning shy. I need to pull her to me and wrap her in a hug … but I don’t.
“I don’t know your ex-fuckhead, but he sounds like he’s compensating for something. He probably knows he would lose you eventually, so he’s trying to play mind games with you to make you feel inferior.”
“Do you do that? Do you play mind games?”
“I do not. I don’t have time. I spend all my time playing real games … like buying chickens.”
She laughs softly. “Why do you do that stuff to your brothers? It’s hilarious, but isn’t it a lot of work?”
“Because it reminds everyone not to take life too seriously. It makes us engage with each other.”
“That’s really sweet, Banks.”
“That’s me. I’m a sweet guy.”
Her eyes darken, and she takes a step toward me. “You’re also a hard guy.”