Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 124005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 620(@200wpm)___ 496(@250wpm)___ 413(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 620(@200wpm)___ 496(@250wpm)___ 413(@300wpm)
“You spooned me?” I parrot.
“Yeah. I did what was necessary to keep you safe, and I won’t apologize for that.” He crosses his arms.
All that does is highlight his incredible muscles and defined pecs, which again, is a really fucking annoying thing to notice. Especially knowing he held me all night so he could protect me from myself.
“In the spirit of honesty, you move around a lot, and all that friction paired with the worry may have caused some…swelling.”
I blink at him, and he blinks back at me. “You spooned me with a hard-on?”
He clears his throat. “I did my best to limit contact, but I had to stay close to keep you on your side.”
There’s a knock at the door.
“That’s room service with breakfast.” He hustles over.
I stand there, mulling over his words. It doesn’t sound like Dallas got much sleep last night. He is absolutely correct; I’m a back sleeper. So the quest he was on would’ve been challenging, and rather ironic, all things considered.
A moment later he reappears, pushing a rolling cart with three silver-dome-covered platters on it. A bag from one of my favorite clothing stores dangles from his wrist.
“I called the office to inform them that you’d be in a little later this morning. Hammer said you didn’t have any pressing appointments until the afternoon, so I let you sleep in. Dry cleaning will be up soon with your dress, but I ordered outfit options so you had something to wear to work. If you want to have a shower, I had your preferred brand of shampoo and body wash brought up. It’s all in the bathroom, but maybe some food first will settle your stomach.” He taps one of the dome lids.
I don’t know how to handle take-charge Dallas, but food isn’t a bad idea. I can’t even imagine how much I must’ve drunk last night to feel this awful. I remember almost nothing after arriving at the bar. I have only the faintest inkling that I danced with Dallas.
I cross the room, uncaring that most of my legs are on display since Dallas has already seen me in my bra and undies. It’s not much different than a bikini. I take a seat at the very beautiful dining table, complete with a vase of roses.
Dallas rolls the cart over and sets a plate and silverware in front of me. He even spreads a napkin over my lap before he transfers the covered platters to the table. He lifts the lids one at a time, revealing the contents. One platter contains a variety of seasonal fresh fruit and an assortment of muffins and pastries. The second contains strip bacon, eggs, peameal bacon, sausage links, and hash browns. The third holds French toast, pancakes, filled crêpes, and an assortment of toppings, including flambéed bananas and peaches.
Dallas runs his hands over his thighs again. It’s a nervous habit. He does it a lot. Especially when we are at a promo op that makes him uncomfortable. “I didn’t know what you’d feel like, so I got a little of everything.”
“Thank you.” He’s being exceptionally considerate.
“I should’ve kept a better eye on you last night and traded a couple of those glasses of champagne for water.” He fills my coffee cup, then passes me the cream and sugar.
“I wouldn’t have listened if you’d told me to slow down.”
“But you would’ve listened to the girls if I’d said something. I’ll be right back.” He leaves me to load up a plate and returns a minute later with a fresh water and a bottle of painkillers. “For your headache.”
“Thanks.” I pop two painkillers, down them with water, and start with buttered toast. It seems wasteful and unfortunate that there’s all this beautiful food and all I have an appetite for is toast, but I don’t want to end up back in the bathroom for the wrong reason.
Dallas takes the chair across from me and pours himself a coffee, then digs into the pancakes.
While he drenches them in maple syrup, I study his face. He has dark circles around his eyes. I can’t believe he was up half the night making sure I had clothes for today and my work schedule was taken care of. Not to mention keeping me from choking to death in my sleep.
I don’t know how to feel about being taken care of by him. He owes me for the cluster he’s created, but this is different. He was legitimately worried. Everything he’s done tells me that. I still hate him, and I hate being stuck in this situation, but he’s also…really fucking thoughtful. It’s conflicting. As is the memory of the kisses we shared yesterday. They were most definitely the catalyst for all of my bad decision-making around champagne.
My brain is functioning at about ten-percent capacity, and my tongue is probably barbed this morning, but still I state the obvious. There’s no getting around it. “People are going to get hurt when this charade ends.”