Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 100275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
“So you’ve been sewing this winter? Is that what you do in Arizona? Do they fly you all over the country to sew?” She ignores my previous comment.
She’s good. Too good.
“It’s not all I do. And no. We do prescribed fires in Arizona.”
An airy smile touches her lips as she stirs the ingredients. She’s up to something. “Don’t tell Will I let you lick the spoon.” She offers the spatula.
“Nope.” I hop off the stool. “I don’t want to lick the spoon.” Blowing out a breath, I shove my hands into my back pockets.
Jamie’s eyebrows lift into dubious peaks.
“Just do it. Whatever you’re going to do to me, just fucking do it, and be done.” I hate that she’s brought me to my knees on this, but I need some sound sleep again.
She wets her lips and saunters toward me, invading every inch of my personal space with her tempting body and sweet smell. I need a one-night stand. Hell, I need a string of them to get my goddamn roommate out of my head.
Her teeth scrape along her bottom lip while she ogles her prey, her gaze stretching from my feet to the top of my head. She runs her hand along my shoulder while her lips quirk into a sadistic grin. “I’d say it’s no fun because you’re too easy. But that would be a lie. It’s still pretty fucking fun.”
With my hand, I encircle her wrist, removing it from my shoulder. She has batter on her fingers, and I bet it’s now on my shirt. Her breath hitches, giving me a renewed sense of control, if only for a brief moment. A blush fills her cheeks again, revealing her weakness, which I believe is me.
With two quick steps, I pin her to the fridge door. Her eyes flare. Yep, I’m back in control. Guess who’s getting his first good night’s sleep in a month?
My grip tightens on her wrist as I suck on one of her fingers. Her lips part, and a tiny moan escapes. I have a game plan, and it’s all about control. That’s where my enjoyment lies. That and the promise of peaceful sleep.
Do I like sucking her dainty finger? It doesn’t matter.
Do I like her reaction to me doing it? I mean . . . I’m a straight male in my prime, so yeah, it’s mildly satisfying but entirely beside the point.
The front door opens just as I prepare to lay down the law. My fake seduction screeches to a halt, and I lurch to the other side of the kitchen. Jamie hugs her hand to her chest as though I bit off her finger.
Maren’s gaze ping-pongs between us, hemorrhaging a fatal amount of distrust as she slides off her scarf. “What’s going on? It better not be—”
“It’s not.” I dismiss her absurd assumption. “I’m just taking back the upper hand because she won’t hurry the fuck up and poison me.” I’m a bona fide imbecile. I need to jump out of a plane and screw someone stat with no strings attached. Nurse Andrews is messing with my psyche. I bet she’s a pro at her job.
“Poison?” Maren echoes her skepticism.
Jamie peels herself off the fridge door and takes a few wobbly steps to the sink, where she surgically scrubs her hands. “Fitz is suffering from persecutory delusion. It’s more prevalent in men, and sadly, it’s treatment resistant. However, cognitive behavioral therapy and medication are worth a try. It’s definitely better than hospitalization.”
Maren kicks off her boots and shoots me the stink eye.
Resting a hand on my hip, I drop my chin for a brief second before lifting my stern gaze so she can see how uninterested I am in Jamie.
Maren points up the stairs. “I need to shower because I have a date. Yes or no? Have you two hooked up?”
While I say, “Christ, no,” Jamie dries her hands and says, “Never.”
Maren nods. “Cool. Then stop being an asshole to her.”
I don’t get in one word of my rebuttal before she’s halfway up the stairs.
My attention redirects to Jamie as she throws the towel onto the counter and crosses her arms. “Calvin Fitzgerald, if you think for a single minute that you can make me go weak in the knees and manipulate me into forgetting about what you did and what you have coming, then you are delusional.”
Walk away.
Nope. I can’t.
Instead, I grin, but I don’t speak. I step closer to her, but I don’t touch her. Her chin inches upward in defiance.
“If you’re so immune to me, so steady in the knees, then why did you moan when I sucked your finger?”
Her nose wrinkles. “I did not.”
“You did.”
Just when I think I have her, she takes the last step between us and uses the same finger I sucked to jab into my chest, reminiscent of the thing that started all this. “If I made a noise, it was a groan, not a moan.”