Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 92167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
While Mitchell plated the steaks, Linc whipped up the salad and Tully got the baked potatoes out of the oven. The three friends sat in the kitchen at the handcrafted dining table—an Amish double pedestal bench with clipped corners. The top was about one and a half inches thick with a beveled edge.
Mitchell sat at the end in one of the matching chairs and Linc sat across from Tully.
“How’s life with a fiancée?”
He chewed his bite of steak like just the thought of the woman didn’t kick his heart into overdrive.
Mitchell glanced at him and frowned. “Stop pretending that piece of steak in your mouth keeps you from speaking. We all know you’ve had larger things in your mouth.”
He sucked steak sauce off his thumb even as he flipped him off. “Thought you were talking to Tully.”
Both his friends laughed.
“I don’t need an intervention,” he insisted. “I’m fine. She’s fine. We’re working together—”
“Fine,” Mitchell and Tully said as one.
“Fuck you both.”
Tully grinned and leaned back. “Only if you’re lucky.”
The stress of everything faded as he hung out with his friends. That’s what he needed. Them. When his world got crazy, they were the two who anchored him. He told them how much Emma meant to him, regardless of the short time they’d been together.
…
“I’m sorry, you want me to do what?”
Emma swallowed a few times and tried to pop her ears. That had to be it. She was hearing things. Or merely losing her mind. Either was an option since after leaving Linc yesterday she’d been all out of sorts. Craving things she wasn’t destined to have. Running out to get more batteries…
The man who took up far too much of the oxygen in her office kept his onyx gaze on her, his full lips turned up in a smirk.
“Pretty sure this is my office, beautiful, but I’m glad you’re thinking of it as your own.” He waggled his eyebrows.
Why can’t I keep my damn embarrassing thoughts to myself?
She flushed but couldn’t afford to think about that slipup right now. Emma had more important things to focus on. Like making sure she didn’t collapse on the floor in front of him.
Like his insane idea that she go bowling with him.
“Bowling.” He blinked. “Pins to be knocked down. Big balls. Holes for you to put your fingers in.”
He was goading her. Had to be.
“I thought we had a dinner with Mr. Stevenson and his wife.”
She swore he hadn’t moved and yet how was it possible she was even more aware of him than she had been?
“We do. That’s tomorrow. I’m talking tonight.” His eyelids lowered, almost like he was bored with the conversation and was thinking about something else. She wasn’t believing that for a moment. The man was a predator, through and through. He wasn’t doing anything but watching her every move. Searching for a weakness.
Shows him. He’s my weakness. If he truly wants to know what it is, it’s not like he has to look very far to find it.
“Why would I want to spend the night sticking my fingers in the holes of big balls?”
Holy shit. Did that really pop out of my mouth?
Linc gave a slow smile as he pushed away from the wall. She exhaled as she curled her toes inside of her shoes. The grin he gave didn’t calm her any. Quite the opposite. Body temperature ramped up, she took several deep breaths, trying to control her heart, pulse, the wetness between her legs that was increasing with every second that he stared at her.
It didn’t matter if a desk was between them. She was hunted. With a prim sniff—one that merely brought more of his heady scent into her nose—she settled her fingertips against the desk and watched him.
“We have work to do. The dinner is tomorrow night and I have to make sure everything is ready for you.”
He sauntered around the desk as if he had all the time in the world. At least the man wore pants today instead of shorts. Not that it mattered. It wasn’t easy for her to concentrate with him around, regardless of what he wore. He wore jeans like a god, making her want to touch, stroke, pet, bite.
“I want to spend the night with you, eating greasy food and watching you play with big balls.”
She turned her head to look at him as he propped a lean hip against the desk. “Balls that aren’t yours,” she said.
His gaze glittered. He dragged his thumb along his lower lip as he watched her, slowly. Almost like he pictured doing the same to her lips. She shuddered like he’d touched her himself.
“If that’s an option, I’ll take it.”
Cue the panties evaporating. I would like that option as well. Because I’m tired of my own touch. “I have to think of Greer.”