Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 103109 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103109 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
“I’m . . . uh, I’m Steve.”
At first, I wonder if Easton will remember. Steve’s been a huge part of my life during the last two and a half years, but Easton’s never even met him. I see the moment the name clicks into place for him, see the recognition in his eyes as they go wide. “Ah. I see.”
“I’m such a big fan. Huge. I can’t even believe I’m meeting you right now.”
Part of me finds a moderate amount of satisfaction in his stammering, but the rest of me just wants him to leave so I can return to my happy bubble—my dreamy evening with Easton.
“It’s always good to meet a fan,” Easton says with a nod. “Have a nice night.” He leads me away, dropping his arm from around my waist only to take my hand again.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“For what?”
I shrug. “For making it look like we’re together. For making him wonder if maybe he gave up a good thing.”
He stops and turns to me, cupping my face in both of his hands. “If and maybe?” He shakes his head. “Shay, he’s an absolute fool for letting you go. And a bigger fool if he had to see me with you to figure that out.”
I swallow hard. “Thank you.”
He narrows his eyes. “But you don’t believe it, do you? You don’t realize that you deserve better than some prick who couldn’t even be bothered to wait until you were ready and tried to pressure you into having sex with him.”
I blink at him. “You remember that?”
“Of course I do. I had to use all my restraint not to fly home and give him a piece of my mind.” He turns in the direction Steve left, glaring. “I’m afraid to ask what happened.”
I laugh. “I was with him for two and a half years. What do you think happened?”
He releases a low growl and rolls his shoulders back, but I squeeze his wrist. I don’t want him to pummel poor Steve.
“It didn’t happen that week. He waited until I was ready.” I tug on Easton’s arm until he meets my eyes again. “Please get that look off your face.”
“What look?”
“That big-brother protective look. Stop. We’re in Paris. Watching you get arrested for homicide would really put a damper on an otherwise lovely evening.”
His lips twitch. “You think that’s my big-brother look?”
“Isn’t it? You’re as bad as Carter, trying to scare off any guy who looks at me.” I blow out a breath. “It’s no wonder you two get along so well. You both wanted me to be a virgin forever.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “I . . . never said I wanted that.”
My cheeks heat, and I really want to change the subject. I turn away, shivering a little. The sun has set, and the air’s cooled.
Then Easton’s behind me, holding me, his warmth seeping into my back. “Trust me, Shay. I’ve never thought of you as a little sister.” He blows out a breath, and I feel it against my ear. “I want to kiss you again.”
My stomach twists. He’s only here because he hated the idea of Steve ruining my trip. He’s swooping in to play the hero, but that doesn’t make this real. I crane my neck to see his face. “Don’t ruin this with your pity kisses, East.”
He spins me in his arms and tilts my face up with one big hand. His eyes are darker than before, his lips parted. I want to feel those lips again. “Is that what you think this is? Even when I said it wasn’t? Is that what you thought it was about when I touched you on New Year’s Eve?”
My face burns. We’ve never talked about that night.
“I have wanted to kiss you for so long.” His gaze dips to my mouth then down to my cleavage, and I feel hot all over. “Carter gave me hell about it because he could see it on my face, but you were too young and I had to resist. Until I had you in my arms and I couldn’t say no.”
My heart is beating so fast that I feel like I ran the stairs up here. “I’m not too young now.”
His nostrils flare. “I know.”
Kiss me. Do it now. I might beg. Instead, I ask, “What’s next?”
Some of the darkness lifts from his eyes. “Next, you let me take you to dinner.”
Easton
Shay’s lipstick marks her wineglass, making it impossible to focus on my food. I can’t think of anything but those lips and the way she moaned into my mouth when I kissed her.
I forgot how it feels to be close to Shay—how she calms my anxiety and simultaneously ties me up into knots of desire.
She’s just heartbroken and on the rebound.
She’s been raving about Paris since we sat down, chattering about everything she’s seen in the last few days and what she’ll see in the upcoming weeks. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s equal parts nerves and sincere enthusiasm that has her cheeks pink and her words running into each other like a traffic jam.