Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 74577 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74577 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
I was inclined to believe it was because he was used to being physical, and using the office chair allowed him to use his good leg to scoot around still, get a small bit of exercise.
“Do you need any help?” I asked when he was in the guest room. He still didn’t sleep there, but he kept all his clothes and personal items in it, so he didn’t clutter up the living room.
This time, his smirk wasn’t quite so sweet and boyish, and was a lot more devilish. “Wouldn’t mind you undressing me, sweetheart,” he said, and there was that little skipping beat again, “but I can manage.”
“Okay,” I said, wondering if my face looked as heated as it felt. “I’m right across the hall if you change your mind,” I said, then rushed into my room, and closed the door, leaning against it until my heartbeat went back to a normal rhythm.
Then I went ahead and fretted about my outfit in a way that I hadn’t done since high school.
In the end, I settled on my only fall dress—a blue and cream button-up plaid long-sleeved dress with a hem that fell about mid-calf. I paired it with a wide belt for some structure, and a pair of knee-high flat boots to keep my legs warm.
“How’s it going in there?” I called when his door was still closed when I’d finished not only dressing, but adding a little makeup and refreshing my hair.
There was a sigh from the other side.
“I could use a hand,” he admitted, sounding upset about that fact.
I pushed the door open to find him standing, his good leg holding his weight, the cast kind of just balancing him.
He’d managed to get a pair of loose slacks on, though the one leg looked stretched bulkily over his cast. But he was struggling with his shirt—a black button up that he had on one arm, but couldn’t seem to reach around to get his other arm in.
All that fantasizing about what he looked like under his shirt? Worthless. Because my mind didn’t come anywhere near the reality.
Atlas, and all his brothers I’d seen, were all tall and a lean sort of fit. None of them were very bulky. But I guess I’d underestimated just how chiseled abdominal muscles could be without being big.
He didn’t just have a six-pack.
Oh, no.
He had an eight-pack.
And those deep lines near his hips that created a deep V that disappeared into the waistband of his pants.
Evidently, all those stunts Atlas made his lifestyle had etched some delicious muscles.
Delicious?
What the heck was wrong with me?
“Um, here,” I said, praying I hadn’t been staring at him as long as it felt like before I moved in closer, then reached behind him.
Which only made me closer to those abs I’d been ogling. Worse than that, I got to breathe in the scent of his cologne. It was something fresh and cool that made me want to suck in greedy breaths, so I wouldn’t forget it.
But that was crazy, so I grabbed the arm, pretending to ignore that I could feel the heat of him against me as I carefully helped his arm into the sleeve, mindful that it was his bad shoulder.
“God, is that better?” I asked, gaze moving over to his ribs where his bruises were a mix of purple, blue, red, green, and yellow.
“Believe it or not, yeah,” he said, glancing down.
I knew they were feeling better. He wasn’t wincing and hissing when he twisted as much anymore. I imagined if something rammed into that area, he would see stars, but general movements were clearly getting easier.
“Do you mind?” he asked, gesturing toward his buttons.
“Oh, right. Of course,” I said, thinking of his fingers. He was still taping them up, but they didn’t seem to be swollen or too painful anymore.
I reached down for the lowest buttons, fishing the eye through the hole. And trying really, really hard to focus on the task, and not the way my body seemed to be reacting to his nearness.
The way my breathing felt faster and more shallow.
And how, as crazy as this sounds, my breasts almost seemed, I don’t know, heavier.
My skin was heated and kind of uncomfortable, so even the brush of my dress created this scratchy, unpleasant sensation.
Then, yeah, there was that throbbing sort of ache in my core, between my thighs, that I could barely think past as my fingers kept moving upward, my knuckles brushing his warm skin as I went, the muscles twitching at the contact.
“What am I, a priest?” he asked, making my head shoot up, confused, and finding him smirking at me before glancing down toward his neck. Where I’d buttoned him all the way up.
“Oh,” I said, shaking my head at myself as I undid the top button. “Better?”
“Yeah. Thanks, sweetheart,” he said, and his voice sounded different. Thicker somehow. I didn’t understand why but the sound of it washed over me, made my sex pulse hard.