Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55738 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55738 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
“How long has he had the dog?” I ask.
“I don’t want to talk about this,” he says, stunning me.
Is it really that simple? All you have to do is confidently proclaim you don’t want to speak about something, and then you don’t have to?
“I really should get…”
Before I finish my sentence, he steps forward right into my personal space. He reaches down as though to touch my hips. Is he seriously going to try to kiss me? We have zero chemistry, negative chemistry, actually. I take another step away from him. Soon, I’ll be backed against the car.
CHAPTER FOUR
Fletcher
As I drive into the parking lot, my world changes. I’m not sure what to make of it. It’s like I’m on an operation again, with one task in mind, and I’ll doggedly chase that task until it’s completed. Now, the task is to claim her. Own her. She’s mine.
She’s backing against a car, but I don’t see the car or the man approaching her. I only see her. She’s got shoulder-length brown hair. She’s wearing a modest dress that nevertheless outlines her curvy shape. Her cheeks seem flushed, but it’s difficult to tell from here. I try to apply reason. If I’m not close enough to see if her cheeks are red, how can I be so sure she belongs to me? How can I know she’s mine and always will be?
Hell, I feel alive. Hot blood is pumping through my veins. I don’t even think as I bring the car to a stop and quickly jump from it. Somebody’s backing my woman up against the car. Even from here—did I just call her my woman?—I can tell she doesn’t want it from her body language. When she raises her hand to block him, that snaps something in me. Nobody touches her except me, especially if she’s trying to make them stop. There’s no damn way I’ll stand for that.
I run across the lot, knowing on some level I should slow down. I’m flooded with war, possession, and even jealousy. It’s all new to me, except for the pumping of violent intent. Running across the lot, I grab the man and spin him around, ready to break his nose or snap his arm. I’m about to pull my fist back when I see my eyes looking back at me. Everybody says James has the same type of blue.
“D-Dad?” he says.
I lower my hand, glancing over his shoulder at the woman. My woman. His date. Oh, fuck.
“What are you doing?” James goes on.
“What were you doing?” I growl. “Because it looked like you were about to push this woman against a car and try to kiss her, even when she was trying to make you stop. Is that how you were raised?”
It’s not a rhetorical question. The truth is, I wasn’t there for much of the raising.
“I…” He shakes his head slowly. “No, we-we’re on a date.”
“Wait in the car,” I snap.
Part of me wishes he’d fight back more, even with words. Maybe he thinks I don’t know how tough he tries to behave around other people. I’ve seen the swagger and how he changes when it’s just him and me. He nods, bows his head, and skulks away.
“Are you okay?” I ask the woman.
Up close, I can see the strands of hair across her face and her wide, green eyes. I was right. Her cheeks are slightly red.
“He didn’t do anything,” she murmurs. “Just before you came, I told him to stop, and he was about to. He was stepping away from me. He was, uh, presumptuous but not predatory.”
What an achievement that is for a father. Damn, I wish Loki was here.
“Good,” I say, knowing that isn’t any sort of achievement at all. Maybe I should throw a party for my son to presume to kiss a woman, not prey on her. Anyway, I’m a hypocrite. She’s making me feel like a predator, a wild jungle cat eager to find his mate.
I haven’t even thought about dating since James’ mom passed. I’ve focused on Loki, the gym, and trying my best with my son.
“What’s your name?” I ask, trying to mask the huskiness in my voice, the need that won’t stop pumping. Just being this close to her is a risk. I’ll push her against the car and press forward. Maybe she’ll shove her hand against my chest. I’ll keep pushing and claim those slightly parted lips.
“Samantha,” she says in a soft voice. I immediately imagine her saying I do or whispering something steamy in my ear. My manhood aches as I glance down at the curve of her hips in the dress, almost feeling her fullness in my hands, feeling her lust. I want to hold her so damn bad. “You?”
“Fletcher. It’s nice to meet you,” I say lamely. I’m stalling for time. I want to be with her longer, but I don’t have any reasonable excuse for that.