Total pages in book: 157
Estimated words: 159208 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 796(@200wpm)___ 637(@250wpm)___ 531(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 159208 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 796(@200wpm)___ 637(@250wpm)___ 531(@300wpm)
Umm—what? I blink.
Am I still asleep and dreaming? Either way, I walk into his embrace.
He hugs me tightly and kisses my forehead.
“Did you sleep well?”
“I did. But, uh, have you seen my clothes?”
“They’re in the dryer. By the time we eat, they should be ready,” he says, his eyes shining happily.
Sweet Jesus. What universe did I wake up in?
“You...you washed my clothes?” I say slowly.
“Yeah. Thought I’d do you a favor.” He shrugs like it’s nothing.
My jaw scrapes the ground. But before I can say anything, there’s a loud ding!
The oven timer.
Lincoln strides over and pulls out a tray of huge, piping hot cinnamon rolls. “Give them about five minutes and I’ll get the frosting on.”
He cooks?
Well, I knew that since last night, but...he bakes? He makes me freaking cinnamon rolls?
“You made us rolls?” I ask, disbelief ringing in my voice.
“I wasn’t sure what else you usually ate for breakfast.” Again, he shrugs like he isn’t demolishing what’s left of the stuck-up suit I used to think he was.
“Who are you and what have you done with Lincoln Burns?” I shake my head, my hair lashing my shoulders.
“I’m a thoroughly satisfied man this morning,” he growls, swatting my butt.
I jump. Heat burns my face and I double over laughing before I look up. “Jeez. If I’d known you just needed to get laid to act like a human being, we could’ve adjusted your attitude a long time ago.”
He stiffens.
“That’s not why—”
I smile. “No. Of course not. Sorry. Bad joke.”
“You cleared my head, Nevermore.” He nods. “I woke up thinking maybe we should reconsider Anna’s idea.”
“Anna’s idea?” Oh, what? The idea hits me like a Mack truck. “You can’t mean—the fake engagement thing?”
“Yeah. That 'thing,' as you so eloquently put it,” he says with a snort.
I’m not sure how I’m still standing.
“Are you crazy?” I toss at him.
“Dakota, if you’re interested, I could use a lot more of last night in my life—”
“Sex?” I interrupt.
“You, but sure, the gravity defying sex is great, too.”
My heart rivets. My face is on fire. My everything short-circuits.
“I mean, I guess I would like that. I’d love spending more time together, if only that charade wouldn’t create a million other problems.”
“Worrywart,” he whispers, stroking my hair. “Where’s my spitfire who tells me to go to hell on a daily basis? She disappeared when I kissed her, and I don’t want that. I like her.”
I wonder if he’s right.
“Sorry. I haven’t been in this situation too many times—”
“Situation?” His eyes search mine.
“With a man—like that, I mean. And the last time I was, it didn’t end well. I’m just afraid if you’re serious and things get out of hand with this goofy engagement trick...” I trail off, my brain spinning too far to finish.
“You still think you’re unlovable? Listen to me,” he whispers, tracing my cheek with his finger. “There’s nothing fucking wrong with you, Dakota. That little ant who ran out on you just had his head up his ass so far he could spit into his own throat.”
I laugh at the crude statement.
“But what does spending more time together have to do with Anna’s scheme?” I ask.
“It’s too soon to talk to HR about this since we don’t know how serious it is—”
“Oh. Right!” I say too eagerly.
He’s right. We don’t.
I’m still convinced this is just a crazy hookup and my rabbit brain is making a mountain out of it.
“We’ll need excuses if anyone notices a change in our demeanor. Need to explain why we’re spending so much time together. Anna’s fake wedding shit gives us the perfect cover. Plus, I think you agree it’s a crazy-like-a-fox marketing plan. It could give the wedding line unprecedented reach.”
“This is really fast,” I whisper.
Not to mention intense.
Me, men, and engagements—fake or otherwise—don’t normally get along.
Don’t get me wrong.
I’m as much fun on a date as the next gothy poet chick. I look okay in a wedding dress—as good as any short, slightly awkward girl with white-blond hair is, anyway.
But it’s the combination.
The skyrocketing stakes.
The alien feeling of caring again and bracing for disaster. I know how it ends and the potential final chapter of this situation scares me.
My brain says run, Dakota.
Run fast. Run far. Run to safety.
“Dakota?” he urges.
“Can I think about it?” I whisper.
“Can you think while wearing pretty dresses and taking pictures with me?” His eyes scan me up and down. He’s as relentless as ever. “I think I’m going to request another dress design.”
Why did his eyes roam my body as he said that? He doesn’t think I’ll do justice to the current designs?
“Why’s that?” I wonder, searching his eyes.
“Because I know exactly what I want to see you wearing,” he says without a shred of doubt.
The way he says it reminds me of last night. Memories of being held as he pummeled me into the mattress invades my mind.