Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 76846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
“Hey, I’m never going to say never here. Who knows what could happen?” I asked, thinking of gunning all the fucks down myself just so she could walk free without fear again. But that was some crazy shit, so I shoved those thoughts right down.
“Yeah,” she agreed, finishing her food, and reaching for her coffee. “It’s probably best to just focus on the next step right now. Which is getting Michael to confide in me. And on that note,” she said, checking her phone, “I really need to order my ride and get going.”
She did that, feeding and loving on Kevin—the lucky fuck—before rushing out to meet her driver.
I went out with her, fighting the urge to follow her to work, knowing that anything that connected the two of us was going to mean trouble.
“El,” a voice called, making me turn to see Renzo walking toward me, brows raised, keen eyes saying he’d just seen Elizabeth take off. “You got something you want to talk to me about?”
Shit.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Elizabeth
I was in the back of the car at two after eight.
I’d let everyone leave early again.
Michael hadn’t deigned to show up to work at all, so I figured why the hell should we all waste our time? Especially when my plan was for him not to win his reelection. On the account of him being impeached and awaiting criminal charges.
I felt guilty making everyone pull a normal workday knowing what I knew. But, then again, we were all getting paid for our time, so I guess it didn’t matter. The only people I truly felt bad for were the idealistic interns who actually believed Michael’s campaign promises. Though, if they worked side-by-side with him and heard all the things we all did every day and still believed him, the real problem was their gullibility.
My head was on a swivel in the backseat, looking for any cars that might be following me as I gave the driver the wrong directions twice in an attempt to shake a tail even if I did have one.
In the end, though, there was no one following us when we finally pulled onto Elian’s street, and it felt good to climb out casually instead of making a mad dash for the door, trying to get inside a safe building and away from any windows someone might shoot me through.
Without a key, though, I did feel a little exposed as I hit the buzzer for Elian’s condo, and had to wait for him to let me up.
I was barely a step off of the elevator on his floor when the tangy scent of tomatoes wafted over to me, making me take a deep, greedy breath.
I don’t know about other women, but the idea of a man cooking for me was almost ridiculously sexy.
Almost as sexy as that little run-in in the hallway that morning that I kept trying to remind myself to stop thinking about.
And failed.
Over and over and over.
I was sitting at my desk with my thighs pressed together for most of the day because of the way my body was reacting just to the memory of that little incident.
It had been hot enough just to be close to a man as gorgeous as Elian without his shirt on. But to actually be up against him without a stitch of clothing on? That was another level.
I’d been careless when I went to take my shower, so used to my usual routine and apartment, where I could walk out of my bathroom and right into my bedroom, that I’d just simply forgotten to bring my change of clothes into the bathroom with me.
Hence the mad dash across the hallway.
Where I plowed right into a half-naked Elian.
And like some bad movie, the towel untucked and fell to my feet, leaving me completely naked against his bare chest and stomach.
The brush of his skin against my breast had desire pinging off every nerve ending, igniting a fire that burned through me slowly until it overtook me completely. I mean, I was just barely strong enough to not turn and brush myself against him again.
I’m not proud to admit that when he closed his eyes to protect the privacy I wasn’t sure I actually wanted, I took a good, long look at him.
It’s not even my fault.
The man had the kind of body that demanded you step back and really drink him in.
Wide shoulders, a firm chest, corded biceps, and a six-pack that tapered into that sexy V that disappeared into the low-slung pajama pants.
And, well, then there was the proof of his own desire pressing against that thin material, leaving no question that he was as impacted by the moment as I was.
I kind of wish my shoulder had brushed him a little more.
God, what the heck was wrong with me?