Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 91140 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91140 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Is he talking to me or himself?
The relaxed and aroused expression on his face turned to one of pure torment.
My stomach sank, and all I managed to utter was, “I, um…”
“I can’t,” he muttered. “I’m so sorry.”
I stepped back as he lifted himself to an upright position, holding the towel for dear life over his crotch. “Fuck.” His eyes filled with regret. “I’m sorry, Wren,” he repeated.
What have I done?
Before I could say anything, I heard a door slam.
Dax hopped off the table and ran to grab his pants. He slipped them on as if we’d been caught in the act of something inappropriate.
Had we?
“Is that your housekeeper?”
“I think so.”
There was a knock on the door, but she opened it before he could say anything.
She started talking before she’d fully entered. “They told me tha—” She stopped at the sight of me, and then looked over at him.
His hair was disheveled. His pants were still undone. And given the looks on both of our faces, I was sure she assumed she’d walked in on something.
“Oh…I’m…sorry to interrupt.”
Winston then stormed into the room, barking like crazy as he circled around Dax.
“I didn’t think you’d be back until three,” he told Shannon.
“The groomer called and said Winston was ready early, so I figured I’d bring him back here before I picked up Rafe. I had no idea you had…an appointment.”
Winston looked beautifully fluffy and clean. His tongue hung out, and he seemed out of breath. I could smell the shampoo from across the room. As much as he hated me, I wouldn’t have minded burying my nose in his shiny fur—you know, if I weren’t currently in the middle of the most mortifying moment of my life.
She looked over at me. “You’re the same massage therapist who was here a while back.”
“Yes.” I cleared my throat. “We’re finished, and I was just leaving.”
Dax turned to me. “You don’t have to leave, Wren. We should talk first.”
No way I was gonna subject myself to that so he could elaborate on why he’d rejected me. Some things were better kept a mystery. Come to think of it, some things were better not spoken or thought of ever again.
“Yes, I do have to leave. Talking is not necessary. Truly.”
Utterly humiliated, I threw all the oils into my bag as fast as possible and worked to fold up my table. Dax tried to help me, but I held out my hand to stop him. Seems he got the message because he took a step back—unfortunately still looking painfully sexy with the top of his pants unbuttoned.
The housekeeper continued to stand there, watching the whole thing unfold.
I finally packed everything up and headed out the door.
He called after me as I made my way down the hall. “Wren, wait…”
“I really need to go,” I said as I proceeded to exit the house.
Dax stood at the doorway shirtless. I realized I’d never gotten my towel back. Oh well. I hoped it lived a long and happy life in Dax’s possession because I sure as hell wouldn’t be coming back for it.
He watched as I loaded my SUV. I slid my table in the back and dumped my bag next to it before slamming the rear door closed. I still sensed his presence in the doorway as I started my car as quickly as I could.
Before I drove off, I took one last fleeting look at the stunningly beautiful man standing at the door, certain I’d never lay eyes on him again.
The worst part? All the way home, my damn nipples were still hard.
Dax
I sat at the dinner table, staring blankly into my wine glass. Rafe had just gone to his room, leaving me alone with my thoughts. My eyes landed on the bowl of candy Shannon had been putting out on the table lately, and the mini Butterfinger bar immediately made me think of Wren—not that I needed a reminder to think about her. I thought about her every damn day.
A month had passed since the afternoon she’d stormed out of my house. Christmas had come and gone, and it was now early January—the start of a fresh, new year in which I vowed to stop fucking up. Deciding not to reach out to Wren again had been part of that resolution. That had been difficult, but I was convinced it was for the best. Any action I took would only make the situation worse.
When she’d lowered her mouth toward mine that day, I’d wanted nothing more than to kiss her. The ball had been in my court. Wren had very firmly placed it there. But instead of taking it and running with it, I’d freaked out. I knew if I’d let things go in that direction, there would be no turning back—even if kissing her would have been the most natural thing I’d done in a long time. I’d been a hair away from inserting myself in places I didn’t belong, both literally and figuratively. Plain and simple, my attraction to Wren was selfish. I wasn’t the right man for her in any way, shape, or form. So I made the difficult choice to end what was happening before it got out of control.