Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 67492 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67492 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
“I’ll be there. We will have dinner first. You can’t eat that late.”
“It’s not going to kill me to eat a late dinner.”
“I’ll be ready to go at five.”
I want to stomp my foot and argue, but there’s a larger part of me that wants to have dinner with him. “You’re buying.” This time, I’m the one crossing my arms over my chest and scowling at him.
“Like I would let you pay,” he scoffs.
“I can afford to buy my own meal, thank you very much.”
“Doesn’t matter. I’m paying.”
This man.
“I changed my mind. Only if I can pay.”
“Not happening, baby,” he says.
Baby.
Wow. Normally, I’d be rolling my eyes at the term, but not when it comes from this man. “Take it or leave it.” I hold his stare.
“Fine. Five o’clock. My office.” He’s not looking away, and neither am I.
“I’ll meet you in the parking lot.” I’m being stubborn, but I don’t care. I’m not a puppet.
“Fine,” he says, but his tone says it’s not fine. “You text me when you head out to your car, so you’re not waiting on me.” He sits back, crossing his arms to mimic me, and gives me a smug grin.
I roll my eyes. “Are you one of those?”
“One of those what?”
“One of those people who always has to have the final say? The last word in every conversation or argument?”
“No. But with this, yes. I don’t want you waiting out in the cold.”
“Then we could just cancel dinner.”
“Blake.”
I love how he shortens my name. He leans in close, and my eyes once again go to his kissable lips. Damn, they really do look soft. “Ollie.”
The corner of his mouth lifts in a grin. “Only you,” he says, almost affectionately. “Text me when you head out, and I’ll be right behind you. Deal?”
I give in. “Deal.” It’s a small concession, after all.
“Now, let’s go over these seating charts.” He places his arm behind me on the back of the couch, and that’s what we do. Well, that’s what I try to do. His nearness and the way his hand brushes my shoulder are driving me crazy. By the time we’re finished with the seating charts, I need a break. I need some distance. I’m sure it’s frowned upon for a lowly assistant director of marketing to seduce a staff physician. That’s what’s about to happen. I’ve never felt this kind of pull, this kind of attraction before in my life.
“Dessert,” I blurt, standing abruptly from the couch. I fumble with my tablet, turning it off and shoving it back inside my messenger bag. “It’s time for dessert. We’ve earned it.” I smile, trying to seem unaffected, but I’m sure he can tell what his nearness is doing to me.
“That’s right. Your cookie.” He smirks.
“Cookies. The sugar variety. Come on.” I don’t know why I do it, but I offer him my hand to help him stand from the couch. He doesn’t hesitate to place his hand in mine. When I try to pull away, he laces our fingers together. He looks down at our joined hands as if he can’t understand the act of holding hands before leading us out of the room.
In the kitchen, I try to let go again, but his hold is strong. We move to the opposite side of the island where the chairs are. Before I know what’s happening, his hands are on my hips and he’s lifting me to the counter. Stepping between my thighs, which I automatically open for him, he leans in close, reaches around me to grab the container of cookies, and hands them to me.
“You made these?” he asks as I try to control my racing heart and pull the lid off the container.
“Yeah, my little sister, Brooklyn, came over Sunday after family dinner, and we made them.”
“Family dinner? Is that something you do all the time?”
“At least one Sunday a month. It used to be more, but with sports and life, we don’t always have the time to get everyone together. I have a big family.” I hold the container up for him, but he shakes his head.
“Christmas,” he says, almost affectionately. “Pick one for me.”
Reaching into the container, I grab a Christmas tree with green icing and colorful sprinkles. I hold it up to him, and my breath stalls in my lungs when he grips my wrist, leans in, and takes a huge bite. He chews, holding my gaze.
“Delicious.”
Is it hot in here?
My heart is racing, and my palms are sweaty. I’m in serious danger of this container of cookies slipping from my grip. That would be a waste, because they are yummy, if I do say so myself.
“Your turn,” he says. Before I can process his words, he moves my hand so that I can take a bite of the same cookie he just bit.