Total pages in book: 190
Estimated words: 185785 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 929(@200wpm)___ 743(@250wpm)___ 619(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 185785 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 929(@200wpm)___ 743(@250wpm)___ 619(@300wpm)
And then … I’m not conscious of anything until the bongo beat of my phone’s alarm alerts me that six thirty has arrived.
***
This room is a beautiful place to wake up.
I blink the sleepiness away, in awe, at the way the light dapples across the space through the texture of the blinds that are open partway.
The sky looks beautiful.
I throw the covers back and walk to the window to look out.
It’s looking like a crisp morning and I know it’s windy by the slight rattle out there as well as the fact that a burnished leaf floats by. One of the few left, signaling winter is ready to fully settle in. Probably any minute.
And then I smile because I’m not in my little apartment with Ray sleeping, snoring up a storm. I can wash and blow-dry my hair today.
I slip into the bathroom, use it, and then take my toiletries bag with me down the hall into that guest room so I can use the shower there where I left my big duffel bag with all my hair stuff and makeup.
But when I step into the bathroom, I’m greeted with steam and an almost naked Killian Coulter.
He’s drying off and has the towel in front of himself, but I can see both hipbones and most of the rest of him – other than the pelvic area behind the towel.
I screech in surprise as I face his bright green eyes, his inky wet hair, and the expanse of muscle on display.
I spin away.
“I’m so sorry!” I scurry out of the bathroom.
Not five paces away, my wrist is shackled by his grip. Not roughly, just to halt me.
“Hey. It’s okay. We didn’t discuss the morning routine, so I decided to shower here since you were asleep.”
“Sorry,” I don’t meet his eyes. I stare at the ceiling. “I figured most of my stuff was in here so I should get ready in here near my clothes and figured you’d want your own bathroom. Plus, you left the door open…”
“And we should’ve talked about it last night. But we didn’t. No biggie. Go ahead and take your shower. I’ll get dressed in my closet.” He lets go of me and gestures for me to pass him.
He has a thick purple towel wrapped around his waist and it sits low. Very low, showing off his defined abdomen and the V of his hips.
Oh shit. I’m gawking.
My eyes snap away and I scurry back into the bathroom and shut the door.
I hear a sexy chuckle.
“Now we’re even,” he says.
I frown, but then it dawns.
I guess he’s right. He saw me in a towel once.
And his boxer briefs and a pair of track pants are staring at me from the floor by the toilet this morning.
Sheesh. What a disaster.
14
Killian
First, I climb in bed with the girl and put my hands on her; now I’m almost showing her my junk. Fuck sakes.
I head into my closet to get dressed in a suit while I ponder how fucking right she felt in my bed last night, in my arms, her sweet ass cheeks cradling my cock.
I already jerked off in her shower to that memory, and now I’m fuckin’ hard again thinking about how her sexy eyes raked over my body.
This arrangement could be interesting.
Why did I wind up in bed with her last night? I guess I must’ve half-woken on the couch and wandered to my bed. Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve fallen asleep on the couch and woke up in my own bed, obviously stumbling off half-asleep. I was a sleepwalker when I was a kid, especially when I was fretting about something. But last night, I must’ve been on autopilot.
First, the girl goes through that trauma last night with that shit stain and has to pack her stuff and come to my place – and I know she has a bunch of questions but is too afraid to ask. I’d put her out of that misery, but frankly, I’m flying by the seat of my pants here. Or mostly. I haven’t yet decided how all this is going to play out.
Then, the poor girl wakes up to me pawing at her, half an inch away from getting my hand in her underwear and then this morning – on top of all that – I nearly flash her.
I roll my eyes as I fasten my belt.
***
I’m at the kitchen counter, finishing off my coffee when Violet comes out, biting her lip.
She trips as her eyes land on me and she recovers as I reach for her hand. She doesn’t take it. Instead, she squeaks, “Oops.”
She’s got dry hair, beautifully sleek and straight, though I do like her corkscrew curls, too, and she’s in jeans and a soft-looking deep purple sweater with the beige heeled boots she had on last night.