Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 145123 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145123 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
I grab my middle-of-the-road, nude, no-slip, no-line thong that’ll be a good fit under the dress I have planned and a matching bra and call it a day.
This is my official commitment to an “I’ll take what I can get” attitude. Enjoy the night, see where it goes, without expectations. That’s my plan.
Resolute, I don my garments quickly as the shower shuts off behind the classy, beige wallpaper-covered wall to my left.
Benji lifts his head from his nap, noticing both the change in noise and my vitals. Seeing as I’m only in my bra and thong, I’m hurrying now, and I’m also back to getting nervous.
Good nervous, I think.
Anticipatory, you know? Still, I don’t know that my body fully knows the difference between that and one of my episodes because words like woozy and light-headed are some of my most relevant descriptors.
I manage to pull my dress up to my waist before the feeling becomes too much for Benji, and he approaches me in a hurry, crowding me and pawing at my leg until I slouch down onto the bench at the end of one of the beds and lean forward.
I put my head in my hands in an effort to get it below my heart and breathe deeply for a few long seconds. The first thing to interrupt my view of the hotel carpet? Chase’s bare feet.
I’ll be the first to admit that a man’s feet can go either way. They’re either craggily goblins from the center of the earth or the finest crafted veins and flesh—like the feet of gods in ancient times. Some small part of me was holding out hope that Chase would have the first—an unignorable turn-off that might at least temper my attraction—but no…they’re perfect. Just like the rest of him.
Dammit.
“Brooke, are you all right?” he asks, crowding me so much that I can feel the terry of his white towel rubbing up against my bare knees.
I try to respond positively, but the only thing I get out sounds a little like a growl.
The next thing I know, he is sitting on the floor below me, nary a thing on his body but the flimsy wrap of bath fabric.
It’s like the almost-kiss run-in from the motor home, but only, I’m also half naked. If syncope weren’t trying to hold my hand, my horny level would be a twenty-five on the Richter scale.
Yeah, I know, that’s for earthquakes, but once you see Chase Dawson’s hard, muscular body in only a towel, you’d understand.
“What happened?” he asks, his voice grave with concern. “What can I get you?”
“I’m okay,” I finally manage to say, lifting my head just slightly. Benji woofs for me to put it back, so I do. Of course, I let out a beleaguered sigh first, as is my right, but I do what he says.
“Okay. Just stay right here until you feel better. I’ll go get you a Coke,” Chase offers, scooting across the floor to leave. I don’t know what comes over me, but before I know it, I’m reaching out to take hold of his bare arm and stop him.
“No!” I snap, with way more fervor than intended. “Just stay here with me. Please.”
Chase agrees without hesitation. “Of course.”
I leave my hand on his arm as I work to regulate my breathing, squeezing at his flesh with the normal heart rhythm I’m targeting.
It takes the three of us sitting quietly there in a jumbled group for what I’d estimate to be five minutes or so, but I eventually feel better. Normal, as it were.
I let go of Chase’s arm that I’ve been holding on to like a Vulcan, and Benji trots back to the other side of the room to lie down. I didn’t get to give him any good-boy pets, but I’m pretty sure he knows me well enough to understand that I’ll catch him later—when I’m not in direct contact with the man of my fantasies in nothing but a towel.
“I’m good now,” I promise, lifting my head and scooting back on the bench as I pull my dress up over my bra. “And I don’t think I even made us late for dinner.”
Chase smiles at my teasing remark, but that’s about as much as I’m going to get, I think. For some reason, he doesn’t seem to find it very funny when I almost pass out.
Strange.
“Just take your time getting up. You don’t need to rush, okay? I’ll call the restaurant if I need to and explain the situation, but I won’t let you miss dinner.”
I force a laugh. It’s not that I don’t think he’s funny, but I think I need a little more than a silent smile to convince him I’m okay. And right now, anything other than breathing through my throat takes effort. “Well, thank you. I think you know that food is what’s truly important here, and without it, the night will be ruined.”