Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 94960 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94960 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
“More than, but I need nourishment if you intend to wear me out like that on a regular basis.” When he turns his attention back to the food he’s cooking, I brace myself as the words regular basis sound like he’s moving in. I know he’s not. He lives in California. That’s his home. But I’m not used to someone speaking so carefree after one night. Two, if we count Catalina, and we always do.
Let it go, Tatum. It’s not a proposal but just an innocent turn of the words.
I let that phrase take up space in my subconscious and focus on the here, the now, and that glorious ass of his. Oh, good Lord. That ass . . . I grin, remembering how incredible he looks naked. Not that the briefs leave much to the imagination.
Releasing a deep breath, I realize my body is loose and tired like after a really great workout. I’ve not felt this carefree and relaxed in a long time. “So what you’re saying is we eat and then return to the bedroom to finish our meal?” I thumb over my shoulder, not worried one bit when the top of my robe slips open.
His gaze plunges from my eyes to my chest, and he has no shame in staring, taking full advantage of the situation. I could close it again and tighten the belt, but what’s the point? I like the way he looks at me like it’s the first time all over again.
He chuckles, pulling the pan to a different burner and turning off the stove. “That’s exactly what I’m saying, baby.”
Baby sounded different in the heat of the moment than in broad daylight. Am I a cute nickname kind of girlfriend?
Girlfriend? Clearly, having sex for the first time in forever has scrambled my thoughts and better judgment. He says, “I’m going to feed you first, and then I’m going to ravage your body for the rest of the day.” Two plates are on the island, and he puts scrambled eggs and bacon on each, right next to the sliced tomatoes.
“Where’d you get the plates?”
“The cabinet over by the fridge.”
“Huh?” I don’t think I’ve ever used them. Maybe once, but it’s been longer than I can remember.
Looking up with a plate in each hand, he asks, “What do you mean?”
I shrug. “I don’t cook.” Suddenly feeling self-conscious, I add, “Much.”
No judgment crosses his expression, but a smile does. “I eat out a lot because of my job, taking clients out and that kind of thing, but there’s something different about a home-cooked meal that has my heart.”
Is he dropping hints for me, or is this just casual conversation? “From what I remember, you like scrambled eggs.”
“I do.” I move into the kitchen and take a plate from him. “Thank you. Do you know where the silverware is by chance?”
“For real?”
Laughing, I pass behind him and smack his hard ass. “No, I do know where that is.” I pull open the drawer and hand him a fork.
“You had me worried.”
“No need. I know where the basics live, or at least, what I use.” I hip check the drawer. “Want to eat in here or in bed?”
He starts for the bedroom. “Bedroom’s good.”
“I have to agree.” All the more so when he’s in there with me. Wait . . . what? My heart starts racing, and my feet stop just as he disappears inside the room. No. This is not going to become a regular thing. I’m a layover at best for him, someone to hook up with while he’s in the city, and then what? He goes home. Oh my God. I didn’t even ask him if he has a girlfriend.
The lighthearted feeling disappears as I head down the hall a little slower, more hesitant, cautious this time. What am I doing?
Harrison steps out into the hall sans plate. “What are you doing?”
“I was just asking myself that same question.”
“I had a feeling, but maybe we can hold off on the doubts and questioning what happened last night until after we eat. We’ll have clearer heads on full stomachs,” he says.
“Keep it light.” I can’t. I know I can’t. I ruin everything by asking too much and too many questions.
“Probably best, for now.” He signals into the bedroom before he turns to go.
I follow him in. He sits on the same side of the bed he slept on, leaving room for me. Actually, leaving me most of the bed and the middle for me. I can’t say it upsets me. It’s quite sweet. I go to the other side and climb onto the mattress while balancing my plate in hand.
Leaning against the headboard, I cross my ankles and take a bite. Doing anything I can to pretend to be as happy as I was five minutes ago. “Thank you for cooking for me.” Yikes, that sounded so formal.