Total pages in book: 168
Estimated words: 153571 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 768(@200wpm)___ 614(@250wpm)___ 512(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 153571 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 768(@200wpm)___ 614(@250wpm)___ 512(@300wpm)
By the time I convince myself to go downstairs to face him, it's almost noon, and my hangover is pretty much gone. I find him standing in the kitchen, staring out at the beach.
My steps slow and then halt when I see him. He's shirtless with bare feet, nothing but a pair of gray sweats on his body. They sit so low on his hips; my gaze is drawn to the little dips in his back, right above his ass. And that ass…good grief. He's got a great ass.
His body is honestly breathtaking. So is the art littering his skin. A massive eagle is etched into his upper back, its wings spread wide across his shoulder blades. Every time he breathes, it looks as if the eagle moves its massive wings, soaring across his back. Damn near every inch of him is covered in ink just as breathtaking as the eagle. His body is hard everywhere, like he really was sculpted from rock. He looks like a powerful, fierce warrior.
I shiver at the memory of having all that power, all that man, wrapped around me.
"Hey." I blush when he turns around and catches me staring at him.
His eyes rake across me, his expression indecipherable. I want to shift under the intensity of his gaze. It's like he's stripping me down to skin and bone.
Eventually, he reaches behind him and then holds a coffee cup out to me, still not saying anything.
"Thanks." I bring the mug to my lips, close my eyes, and breathe in the rich scent. I love coffee. I love the way it smells, I love the way it tastes, I love the way it burns its way down my throat, and I especially love the jolt of caffeine it delivers into my system. I'm addicted.
"Jesus," he mutters.
My eyes spring open to find him staring at me, watching me with those piercing, bright hazel eyes of his. Once again, he looks like he wants to devour me.
I blush at the thought and then stand a little straighter, ready to get this over with as quickly and painlessly as possible. I've never been a big fan of dragging things out. I prefer to deal with issues head-on.
"So I'm sorry about last night," I say, holding his gaze, refusing to fidget under its weight. My hand trembles, so I quickly set my coffee cup on the counter and cross my arms. "I never drink that much. I, um, I'm sorry I passed out, and you had to take care of me."
He frowns at me, something shifting through his gaze so quickly that I can't make it out. He looks…I'm not sure. It's like I've thrown him off balance again, and he suddenly isn't sure what to expect from me. That little flash of uncertainty gives me the courage I need to finish what I have to say.
"I should probably also apologize for going into your room yesterday. It wasn't fair of me to invade your privacy like that. You had your door closed for a reason, and I should have respected that."
He stares at me but doesn't say anything. He does that a lot. Just watches me. Ever since I first met him, he's watched me like he can't look away. He looks at me like he knows me inside and out and still hasn't decided what to do about me. It's unnerving and hot at the same damn time, and I have no clue what it means.
"You said you should apologize," he finally says.
"Hmm?"
"You said you should apologize." He tips his coffee cup up to his lips and takes a sip, watching me over the rim. Those hazel eyes rove across my face, not missing anything. "You didn't say you are sorry."
"Oh." I wander toward the fridge, grimacing when my foot throbs.
"Is your foot still bothering you?"
"It's okay," I say, giving him a partial truth. It's not too bad, but it feels worse this morning than yesterday. I think it may be getting infected. That's probably my fault for walking around barefoot all the time, but I like the feel of the floor beneath my feet. I love buying shoes, but I'm not big on actually wearing them.
I squeak when I'm suddenly lifted off my feet. My hands go to Roman's shoulders, clutching as he swings me up into his arms like I don't weigh anything. He doesn't seem to notice my weight at all, actually. It's honestly kind of hot. Damien was tall and lanky, and he never picked me up. I always felt a little out of place next to him. Or maybe he made me feel out of place beside him. I'm not sure, but Roman doesn't make me feel that way.
He turns and plops me down on the island. The marble is cold beneath me, and my thin shorts don't offer much protection. The chill fades quickly when he runs his hand down my bare leg, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. A different kind of shiver rolls through me, and then he's propping my foot up to examine it, a furrow between his brows. I fight the urge to reach out and smooth that little wrinkle with my fingers.