Total pages in book: 176
Estimated words: 167940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 840(@200wpm)___ 672(@250wpm)___ 560(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 167940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 840(@200wpm)___ 672(@250wpm)___ 560(@300wpm)
“It’s been easier that way. Sex. Fucking. At first, it was the novelty of it, and then everything changed. It became a way of life. A way of not letting anyone in. I guess we’re the same in that respect.”
“I don’t . . .” He’s right, despite my protests. We just took our lives to different extremes.
“We’re both closed off.” There’s a note of something wretched in his tone as he stares unseeingly at the grate in the fireplace. “I never told anyone about you. About that night five years ago. Maybe some of the best moments in life are the ones you can’t admit to out loud.” He looks up then, seeming to come back to himself. “I’m giving it up, Fee. Ardeo. Giving up my stake in the business, and I’m not going back.”
“You can’t do that,” I protest, even as my heart lifts in my chest cavity like it has tiny wings. I don’t want that, do I? “Not because of me.”
“Why not? I want you to give me a chance to show you I can make you happy.”
“But we hardly get along like a house on fire!” I find myself on my feet, pacing away and then back again. Raising a finger as though I’ve something to add when I don’t because even my brain is screaming, give the man a chance!
I like him. I like him so bloody much. And Lulu likes him, too.
“Don’t we?” He springs up quite suddenly, like a lion after a gazelle. “Don’t you ever find yourself wondering when I’ll turn up next? Wonder what I’m doing? Where I am? Because I wonder about you. I want to know where you are and what you’re thinking. I find myself staring at my watch when I know you’ll be on your way to school, you and Lu. I think about you living here, under my roof, wishing with every fibre of me that I was here with you, too. And let me tell you,” he adds, his voice a low rasp, “the thought of you being with another man tonight made me fucking burn. So I’d say we get along just fine. As fiery as all fuck, but that’s the opposite to apathy.”
“Relationships aren’t built on fire,” I mumble, stumbling backwards.
“Aren’t they?” His eyes fall to my lips as he moves with me.
“What if I make you miserable?”
“I’d rather be miserable because of you than be miserable without you. And if nothing else,” he utters, all silky mouthed, “there’s always the sex.”
My bottom hits something solid, my fingers revealing the dining table as his eyes roam over me covetously, his hands holding me, adding to the sense he’d make me his.
“I’m not interested in being your toy.” Somehow, this comes out much weaker than I’d thought it would, even as my hand presses to the centre of his chest.
“What happens if I’m asking to be yours? Just for the next fifty years or so. I see the way you look at me, Fee.”
I hate that he’s right.
I hate that the whole time he’s been sitting there, I’ve been trying desperately not to watch how his hands hold his glass. Watch the shapes his mouth makes as he speaks. He’s just so comfortable in his own skin. Something I would love to be. I want to bury my nose in that little triangle of skin his shirt collar exposes, inhaling lungsful of his warmth and his scent. I’d slide my hands under his shirt, already knowing how smooth his skin feels. Knowing how his muscles would ripple with pleasure and how that feels under my fingertips and the sounds he’d make at the scrape of my nails.
I know I’m wrong. So wrong as I watch, almost out of myself, as my hand balls the soft fabric of his shirt to pull him closer. His face is a mixture of light and shadow, hope and maybe dread as I hold my fist there. But then I tug, and my last thought before our mouths meet is his mouth is not the most expressive part of him. Because his love radiates.
Our kiss is . . . unravelling. Carson’s lips are tender and unhurried yet so masterful, his arms resting against my waist as he dictates the pace, forcing me to slow as he attempts to temper my need. But there’s no slowing this train as my fingers tighten against his biceps. Tight. Tighter. Willing him on, dragging him with me towards a derail. Yet he just groans against my mouth, the sound one of masculine approval, the pace of his kiss never altering.
“I need you.”
It takes me a moment to compute the words are mine. I screw my eyes tight, sensing the triumphant smile pressed against my lips. But it doesn’t last long, not as he begins to devour me. Frantic fingers and desperate lips, tongues tangle and teeth clash as the glass I’d forgotten he was holding clashes against the wooden surface of the table. Two hands now. Two hands that hold and squeeze me. Own me. Make me wholly his.