Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 103661 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103661 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Military training dies hard. I make my bed every morning. Put everything in its proper place.
I can't concentrate surrounded by mess.
Not in my house.
Not in my head.
Thankfully, the steps to this meal are worn into my body.
A simple roast. Meat, potatoes, peas, carrots, rosemary.
I pass the time with an old paperback. One of the novels Eve loves.
After a few pages, I lose myself in the words.
Until the buzz of my cell interrupts.
Not the timer.
A text from her.
Eve: Do I need to know anything about dinner?
Ian: It's the meal after lunch.
Eve: With your friend on Thursday? Is he secretly your brother or something? Are you secretly judging me as marriage material?
Ian: Are you waiting for a proposal?
Eve: Would you get married again?
My stomach twists at that word. Again.
Of course she knows. Everyone knows. But it's different on her lips.
Ian: No.
Eve: Never?
Ian: The world is a big place. Anything is possible.
Eve: That's not an answer.
Ian: It is.
Eve: So, maybe you'd get married again. But not in the foreseeable future.
Ian: Are you proposing now?
Eve: In your dreams.
Ian: My dreams of you are much dirtier than that.
Eve: Oh.
Ian: Oh?
Eve: Yeah. Oh. You must know my oh by now.
Ian: Oh, I have no response to that, because I'm too rocked with desire to think.
Eve: Basically.
Ian: Good.
Eve: Addie thinks it's strange that I never want to get married.
Ian: You're young. You might change your mind.
Eve: Would you like it if I said that to you?
Ian: I'm not young.
Eve: You're not old.
Ian: I've been married. I know what it's like.
Eve: What is it like?
The oven beeps. The timer.
I need to finish the roast. Turn off my cell. Eat dinner with a book. A movie. A friend who will distract me from the emptiness in my gut.
How does she know the exact place to press on the bruise?
Why do I want to reply so badly?
I set my cell on the leather couch. Move to the kitchen.
Like most of the new buildings in the financial district, this one is modern. Sleek. One massive den/kitchen/dining room combo. Then three bedrooms.
I use one to sleep. Use the other as an office. The third for overnight guests.
It's excessive, yes, an entire room for sex. But it's necessary too.
A thick line, drawn in black. A room completely different than mine. Louder, bolder, sleeker.
A four poster-bed, silk sheets, restraints, toys, lube, condoms. An armchair. A desk. A dresser.
Anything and everything.
My room is much simpler. A king bed. White sheets and comforter. Black dresser. Framed photographs of the city.
It's too easy to picture her there.
The white sheet at her chest. Her lips parting with a groan. Her grey-green eyes alive with passion, curiosity, affection.
I can see it now.
This conversation in my bed. Her as naked as she's asking me to be.
I've never backed away from a challenge before.
I've been a lot of things. A soldier, a spy, a businessman, a husband.
Never a coward.
But I can't answer her question. My fingers are too stiff. My head is too fuzzy.
Ian: I hate to say goodbye, but I have a meeting.
Eve: Hmm.
Ian: I'll send a car tomorrow. Meet me at the restaurant.
Eve: This is a test, isn't it?
Ian: What kind of test?
Eve: For me. Or maybe you. Or your friends. It's something.
Ian: I'm inviting you to dinner with a friend. It's dinner.
Eve: I don't think so.
Ian: Then don't think so. But that's all it is.
I don't believe it myself. Maybe she's right. Maybe it is a test.
But not for her.
For me.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Ian
"Four days and you're already obsessed with her." Shepard sips his mineral water. "You're not going to make it the month."
"I will."
"What is it you normally do? Wait until day thirty to fuck the poor girl?"
"No."
"No." His blue eyes light up with realization. "It's worse. You wait until you've had your fill. Then you fuck her and send her home early."
This time, my shrug fails to sell my disinterest.
Yes, I've had my fair share of casual relationships in the last four years. A dozen, maybe.
Yes, I set a firm timeline. And I occasionally end things early.
But it's not because I'm done with a woman the second I fuck her.
It's because she's looking at me like she has ideas about unlocking my heart. It isn't happening. Better to end things before I hurt her.
"I end things when they're over," I say. "Some women want anticipation more than anything else. Once we've fucked, there's nothing left to anticipate."
He shakes his head, not buying it. "I've heard you discuss this. Bragging about how badly women were begging for your cock by day thirty. And how you managed to resist temptation until the very end."
"If you want to hear about my sex life, all you have to do is ask."
"I don't have to ask."
He's right. I talk a lot of talk. Though I don't feel that same compulsion now.
I want to keep my thoughts of Eve to myself.