Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 126589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
“I can fix it.”
Crap, what if one of the kids was passing by? And it slammed into them? What if they needed to be hospit—
“Lizzy? Did you hear me? I can fix it.”
“What?” She tore herself away from the increasingly nightmarish scenarios and stared at him. He still stood in her doorway, watching her with that half-amused smirk on his face. It was a look that always annoyed her. As if he knew something about her that no one else—not even she—knew.
“I said I’ll fix it for you.”
“You will?”
“Sure. Just let me get my ladder and I’ll sort it out.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Because it’s a hazard and someone could get hurt.”
“So, you’re doing it for everyone else?”
“Sure, if that’s what you want to believe.”
“I can pay you.”
His lips thinned and his eyes went flat. “I don’t need you to pay me.”
“But it’s—”
“I have the materials, it’s an easy fix. I can sort it out in half-an-hour, tops.”
“Still…I can p—”
“I don’t need your fucking money, Lizzy.”
“No need to be so fucking rude, Gideon,” she retorted huffily and his lips tilted upward at the uncharacteristic profanity. “I just don’t like owing people.”
“Fine. Bake me a cake.”
“A…what?”
“You bake, don’t you?”
“How do you know that?”
Shit. Gideon shouldn’t have said that. The only reason he knew she baked was because she sometimes whipped up a cake or some other delicious looking confectionary to have after dinner. And, of course, he knew that because he watched her like a creepy serial killing stalker every night.
“Uh…you brought a cake to one of Cat and Cam’s get-togethers.” Surely, she must have done something like that at some point? He couldn’t recall, but it was a very Lizzy-like thing to do. “And of course, you bake. You can do everything. You’re superwoman.”
“Why are you always so… so…like this?”
“Like what?” he asked, reluctantly amused by her flustered ineloquence.
“Assholey. Douchebaggy. Dickish. Bastardy…”
“Okay, okay.” He chuckled, and lifted his hands up in surrender when she looked set to continue. “I get the picture. You rub me up the wrong way, Lizzy. And if I’m all of those things, you are too. You’re mean to me, Miss Finch. Always so very mean to me.”
This time her lips twitched and she stood aside and allowed him into her cozy home.
“It’s because you’re my arch nemesis,” she told him, as she walked to the fridge and reached for a carafe of dark pink liquid.
“I’m your what?” he asked, even though he was fairly certain he’d heard her correctly.
“Want a drink?” she asked, holding up the carafe.
“What is that?”
“Cranberry juice.”
“I don’t currently have a UTI.”
She flushed and shifted her shoulders uncomfortably. “Neither do I, Gideon. I just like the taste of it. Do you want some or not?”
“Yeah. Thanks.” He fought back a grin when she shook her head impatiently and turned toward her kitchen cabinets. He sat down at one of the bar stools at the small peninsula and watched as she busied herself with the glasses.
“So…arch nemesis, huh?” His tone was speculative and he kept his gaze glued to her narrow back, idly admiring her nipped in waist and lush arse. She probably thought that navy pencil skirt she was wearing was conservative. But it clung to her sexy curves like a second skin and had a frill just below her knee that made her look like a mermaid. Gideon’s throat went dry and he lost his train of thought for a second before he continued hoarsely. “Does that make me the villain in your story?”
“You know you are.” She flung the reply at him over her shoulder.
“Weird that.”
She turned and placed a tall glass on the quartz countertop in front of him.
“What?”
“You’re my arch nemesis.”
“Wait, so I’m…”
“The villain in my story, yep.”
“I’m not a villain.” She looked outrageously offended by that.
“Uh huh, ’course not.” He shrugged and took a sip from his drink, eyeing her over the rim of the glass. She seemed to be wrestling with what he’d just told her and retreated to the far end of the kitchen, resting the small of her back against the countertop while she took a sip from her own drink.
Gideon noticed—for the first time—that she was barefoot. Her pretty pink toenails visible through the flesh-colored nylon tights she was wearing.
For some reason that flash of earthiness did weird things to his gut. He shouldn’t find her stockinged feet so damned hot. What the fuck was that all about?
He tore his eyes away from those cute, painted toes and refocused his gaze on her speculative face.
“I’ve never thought of myself as a villain before,” she mused.
Oddly—after her initial rejection of the idea—she seemed to find the notion more appealing.
“So, what kind of arch nemesis am I?” She sounded way too eager for his reply and he contemplated her for a second, before shifting his shoulders.