Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 39840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 199(@200wpm)___ 159(@250wpm)___ 133(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 39840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 199(@200wpm)___ 159(@250wpm)___ 133(@300wpm)
Noticing how quiet she gets so quickly, I figure it’s best for me to let it sink in.
I don’t need her to tell me the same back because I said I love her. I say it because it’s true. One thing I know already is I’ll never have a problem telling her.
In fact, I kinda like the way it sounds when I’m looking at her, like the words were meant just for her. It comes out so naturally.
“Maybe we should eat,” she finally says, keeping it light and widening her eyes as she fans her face with her hand. “I think I’m starting to hallucinate from hunger.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Jasmine
He loves me. He loves me!
I’m in a state of shock of the best kind when James says it so calmly.
There’s no tone of being casual in his voice.
It’s not a command, and it’s not a question, either.
He says it so matter-of-factly, and when I least expect it. Then I babble some nonsense about needing to eat, as if I hear things because I’m so weak from hunger.
Once James starts driving again, it’s a few blocks until I realize I haven’t said it back to him. My reflex is to tell him—tell him I love him back because I do, more than I can ever say with words.
It’s the words that stick in my throat, and only because I’ve never heard them, let alone said them back to anyone.
Ever.
I don’t know he can see its effect on me because James is always so… James.
He is so damned perfect he can tell me he loves me after one day and not even mind when I don’t say it back.
The car pulling up near a brightly lit restaurant jolts me from my emotional reverie. I don’t know where we are or how long we’ve been driving. It’s as if the words “I love you” are still ringing in my ears.
James beats the doorman to my side and helps me out of his car. He tosses the keys to a valet and hooks his arm through mine. He leads me up a red carpet before a set of low and wide stone steps takes us inside. I literally hear my breath catch.
It’s the most elegant, beautiful-looking restaurant I’ve ever seen. From the glances we get from the diners who can see us, I look up at James, wondering if there’s been a mistake.
I’m not dressed for takeout drive-thru, let alone five-star dining. James squeezes my hand as he’s greeted by the maître ’d. I’m kind of ignored as if I’m some accessory or man-bag that James happens to have on his arm.
He’s instantly recognized, and they arrange the best table for us with a group of people in the middle of their dinner looking more than annoyed when they’re asked to move.
I can feel my jaw hanging open, noticing all the beautiful women at other tables, and here I am in my sweatpants, but they’re looking at James, not at me. He could take any one of them, right here in the restaurant.
As I’m seated and look over at him, James’ eyes are locked on me, even in my sweatpants. That dark, brooding look gives way to a new blaze in his eyes. His smile makes them shine, and the candlelight from the table flickers in them.
He loves me, alright. Even in a fancy restaurant in my sweatpants, he still has that intense look that makes me shift in my seat. I instantly want him to give me the same look while he fills me with more than just dinner, but he will. I know it. I can see it in his eyes.
“I figure we can go clothes shopping anytime,” he finally shrugs, dismissing the waiter’s attempt to give us menus.
Casually, he moves his intense gaze, but I can still feel it burning intensely into all of me long after he looks away. Instead, James orders for us both, speaking Italian fluently and drawing a low, quiet moan from me.
He can speak Italian, too? Holy crap! I think my next orgasm’s going to put a hole in the bed.
“It’s an Italian restaurant,” he explains with a puzzled look, noting my expression, curling his lip and cocking his brow once he understands just how horny it makes me when he speaks such a sensual language.
“I mean…,” he continues, “it’d be a waste,” he muses, forcing me to concentrate. I’ve already skipped dinner in my mind, and I’m wondering if the restaurant has a hotel nearby. I need him that much already, but he’s somehow able to keep himself together while I melt into a puddle as he speaks.
The other diners have resumed their meals, and it’s almost as though they’re just extras in a movie—white noise in the background so I can focus all my attention on James.