Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 78732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
He's supposed to be a creep, an inconsiderate man who knocks stuff over in grocery stores, not a handsome hero with a perfect smile and muscles for days.
"You should put on more clothes."
"I could say the same for you," he says, once again pointing with the damn fork in his hand.
I look down, noticing for the first time just how much the dress is riding up my thighs.
"I'm getting a shower," I tell him, jumping up from the chair and rushing to the bedroom.
I lock myself inside, pressing my back to the door. The man drives me absolutely crazy, but when I step into the bathroom, I notice the smile on my face.
Ten minutes later, I'm clean and wondering just what's in the hotel shampoo and conditioner because it has left my hair feeling better than my stuff at home does.
With my fingers in my hair, I realize my mistake.
In my effort to get away from him after being caught staring at him, not for the first time I might add, I ran into the bedroom and didn't grab the damn bag of clothes he pointed to earlier.
"Crap," I mutter as I step out of the en suite and look at the door.
The things I need are mere feet away, but I'll be damned if I put that nasty dress back on for a third time just to grab a bag.
I slink toward the door, pressing my ear to it in an effort to decide if he's still on the couch or if I'm lucky and he left the room altogether.
"This country singer played Dusty Wyatt Chandler in the 1992 movie Pure Country."
"Travis Tritt," Ellis says, making my nose scrunch up.
"George Strait, you idiot," I mutter as the game show host moves on to the next question, the contestant actually getting the question right.
As silently as possible, I open the door and crouch low, reaching my hand out to grab the bag, but it isn't there.
"Looking for this?"
I gasp and nearly fall back on my ass when I look up and see Ellis standing there holding the damn bag.
"Do you wake up with a tally count of how many times you need to be an asshole each day?" I mutter as I stand, holding the closure of my towel so I don't lose it.
"Jesus, you're pretty," he says almost absently.
"Are you holding it hostage or do you plan to give that bag to me?"
He holds it out almost immediately, an apology on his lips, as his eyes sweep down me once again.
That's the difference between the two of us. He doesn't bother to hide his appreciation for me, whereas I'd rather stick needles in my eyes than be caught admiring him. I yank the bag from his hands, but not before my fingers brush over his warm skin. I swear the man must've been shuffling around the room in his socks in order to pool enough electricity in his body to shock me as hard as it did.
"Are you serious?" I ask, pulling my hand back and cradling it to my chest.
The bag falls at our feet and he stares at his hand as if he's never seen it before in his entire life.
"You're going to blame me for static electricity?"
I narrow my eyes at him, but I don't say a word, choosing to crouch again and gather the bag.
He does the same thing, our heads hitting in the middle so hard I see stars. This time, I can't help but fall to my ass, grateful the towel stays in place so my bare ass isn't touching the carpet. I don't care how clean this place looks, it's still a hotel room.
I scramble to get off the floor, and thankfully, Ellis decides he has had enough and stands, backing up a few feet to give me room.
"You're gonna need to let go of the towel with at least one hand," he says when I can't seem to get my feet under me while still clutching it to my chest.
"Wouldn't you just love that?" I snarl, my face flaming with embarrassment.
"I wouldn't hate it," he mutters as he inches closer.
"Stop! You've done enough," I snap, but he doesn't listen.
As if I'm a child having a meltdown, he picks me up by the shoulders and places me back down on my feet, making an un-uh noise when I go to bend to get the bag.
"I'll get it," he mutters.
My lip twitches with frustration by the time he hands over the bag, but I don't say a word as I snatch it from his stupid hand and turn back into the room, sliding the lock in place.
His chuckle from the other side of the room meets my ears, but it's the "Jesus, woman, lighten up," that rubs me the wrong way.
There have been moments when I think the man might be a decent human being but they all fly out of the window when I pull the clothing he so sweetly bought for me.