Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 116760 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 584(@200wpm)___ 467(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116760 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 584(@200wpm)___ 467(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
They’d nearly kissed.
And she wanted that. So badly. To feel him press his lips to hers, to press her body tightly against his.
To give in to the pleasure.
But she couldn’t. She’d sworn that she was done with relationships. Yeah, she was twenty-five, but she wasn’t going to risk being torn apart again. Because she didn’t think she’d come back from that a third time.
Enough was enough.
So she drew herself back, trying not to notice that he was in his pajama pants.
And nothing else.
She hadn’t seen him without a shirt before and it was . . . it was too much.
Bebe didn’t know where to look or what to do. Ericc had been fit, but nothing like this. Corbin was chiseled. There didn’t look to be an inch of fat on him. He was tanned all over, and his shoulders . . .
Damn.
She had a thing for wide, firm shoulders. And forearms. Forearms were kind of her thing too.
You are so weird.
“Is there something wrong with my arms?” he asked.
“Have you ever considered forearm porn?” she blurted out.
Dear Lord.
Why did she have to go and say that? What was wrong with her?
“F-forearm porn?”
She felt her face growing red.
Such. A. Dork.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this embarrassed.
“Is that a thing?” he asked. “It sounds . . . somewhat disturbing.”
“It’s not like porn, porn,” she cried.
Sheesh, she was digging herself into a bigger hole here.
“It’s just that forearms on men are hot, and you could probably make some good money by putting images of your . . . you know what? Can we just pretend this conversation never happened?”
“I’m not entirely sure that we can,” he murmured.
She risked a glance up to find that his cheeks were red too.
Embarrassment or pleasure?
Yikes.
He held out his arm, turning it this way and that. “They just look like normal forearms to me. Can forearms really be sexy?”
She groaned. “I just woke up from a nightmare. I don’t think I can be held accountable for the things I say. I’m just blurting out anything. Hayes has a good butt. See? I’ve gone insane.”
“You are not to look at Hayes’ butt,” he ordered in a dark voice.
She scooted back so she could look at him more clearly. Also, she just realized that she was wearing her squirrel nightgown, which she’d washed so much that it was almost see-through. “What?”
Grabbing one of her blankets, she tried tugging it up over her chest. Which didn’t really work when he was sitting on it on the bed. The man was built way too solid.
Why . . . wouldn’t . . . he . . . move!
“Um, what are you doing?” he asked.
“Trying . . . to get . . . the . . .” Suddenly, the blanket slid out of her fingers and she went flying back. Before her head could smack into the wooden headboard, Corbin leaped into action, placing his hand behind her head.
So it simply smashed into his hand instead.
She stared up at him, her breathing erratic, trying to work out what had just happened.
And how he’d moved that fast . . .
“You’re like Clark Kent,” she whispered.
She’d always had a thing for Superman.
She bet he had impressive forearms.
Corbin helped her sit up. “Are you all right? Did you hurt yourself?”
“Huh?” Her brain was still trying to figure out how he could move faster than the speed of light.
Or that’s how it had seemed anyway.
“That was . . . you moved . . . I nearly . . .”
“You nearly gave yourself a hell of a concussion,” he said sternly. “What were you trying to do?”
“I was trying to cover up my boobs so I wouldn’t be playing peek-a-boo with my nipples!”
Yikes.
That wasn’t something she’d meant to say either.
With a groan, she covered her face with her hands. “This isn’t happening. I’m still asleep. That’s the only explanation.”
“Hey,” Corbin said in a quiet voice. “Bebe, look at me.”
“I can’t. If I look at you, then this is actually happening and it can’t be. I’ve never been like this before. Do you think there’s something wrong with me? Is it a medical condition? It has to be . . .”
“Do not say that,” he replied firmly.
“You’re right. It’s terrible to say that. There are people who have actual medical conditions. And I’m a horrible, awful person for even saying that—”
A large hand covered her mouth.
Um. She was trying to breathe here!
She attempted to speak, even though it just came out in a mumble.
“Hush, Bebe.”
She grabbed his hand, tugging it away. “You could have just said that instead of trying to suffocate me.”
“Look at me, Bluebelle.”
Uh-oh. Her whole name. She was in trouble. She glanced up at him as he moved off the bed and grabbed a blanket, pulling it up so it covered her.
“All you had to do was ask me to move so you could shift the blanket.”