Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 129191 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 646(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129191 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 646(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
Oh, he liked that last bit. His eyes are practically dilated at this point. “No salvaging necessary. I’m glad I was able to help when you needed me.”
Does his voice sound a bit rough or is that my imagination? Unfortunately, his sweats are baggy enough that I can’t quite tell if I’ve had that much of an effect on him.
“Me too,” I admit honestly. Playing my advantages, I watch as his eyes fix on my lips as I lick them lightly before smiling.
The stall is spotless already, testimony to Clara’s good work, but I attack it anyway. “Give me a minute, and then you can get on with whatever you have planned,” I tell him, getting to my feet to wipe the pole the adjustable height showerhead is on. Okay, so it only slightly looks like I’m giving the shower a hand job.
How is that my fault? I don’t intend for it to look that way. It’s just got to be cleaned, you know?
As I rinse down the cleanser, I can feel Daniel’s eyes on me.
“There. All good.” I stand and step toward the sink, getting closer to Daniel. I half-expect him to jump back, but he holds his ground.
Come into my parlor, said the spider to the fly.
I might be younger and less worldly than Daniel is, but in this instance, I’m the spider weaving a complex and pretty web, and he’s the handsome fly I intend to seduce. Wiping my hands on the clean towel I brought with me, I look him up and down clearly for the first time, giving him a smile.
“What are you doing today?” I gesture to his casual sweatpants and T-shirt with a pale, slightly pruned finger. “And please tell me it’s not work.” I already know that’s exactly what he planned today, but the tiny hint of begging in my tone is another test so I can check for his reaction.
He smiles, his teeth flashing white as he laughs lightly. “Guilty as charged, I’m afraid. Nothing exciting. I’ve been working all morning and figured I’d take a break to go for a run and then eat a prepared dinner from the service that does my meals.”
Brilliance strikes me like a lightning bolt, and I know my next move. I forget about the tub in the other bathroom and go for the opportunity he’s unknowingly offered.
Drying my hands off, I hum in acknowledgement and then lift my right arm over my head, bending to the side. “All right, give me one minute to stretch and then I’m ready.”
Daniel’s eyebrows jump up his forehead again, an expression I’m coming to enjoy expertly pulling out of him. “Uh . . . ready for what?”
I lean the other way, my left arm over my head. “You have to stretch before you run to warm your muscles up,” I explain, doing a couple of lunges right there in the bathroom with Daniel blocking nearly the whole doorway. “Especially me. My calves are like knots sometimes from wearing heels all the time.”
He’s still looking at me like I’m speaking gibberish and have suddenly broken out into interpretive dance.
“Get your shoes. Warm up so we can go,” I instruct him expectantly. “Last thing you need is to pull a hammy.”
With a smile, I push past him again, enjoying the momentary touch of our bodies. Did he feel that zing of electricity the way I did? I sure as hell hope so.
From behind me, I hear Daniel call out, “You run?”
Well . . . not usually. But I do today.
I mean, I don’t not run. But I’m betting running outside is a lot different from the thirty minutes I occasionally do on the treadmill at the gym with zero incline.
“Yes, we can take one of my usual routes.”
Of course, I don’t have a usual route. What I have is insider information that Daniel is a runner and a slight obsession with details and plans, so I looked up common run routes in the city long ago, mostly in the hopes of seeing him out and about sometime.
And now, my research is paying off.
I quickly scroll through my mental list and choose one near his house that promises pretty scenery and frequent park benches that I can sit on to adjust my shoes—and catch my breath—if I need to. Which I probably will.
“You ready?”
He blinks, confusion warring with want in the depths of his eyes. He’s thinking about working up a sweat, all right . . . but not one that involves shoes. Or clothes, maybe?
A girl can dream and hope. And for sure, fantasize!
As we go into the living room, a stack of papers on the coffee table catches his attention.
“Oh, no,” I chastise, “work will be here when you get back, because if I’m guessing, you’ve been sitting there most of the day already. Am I right?”