Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 151864 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 759(@200wpm)___ 607(@250wpm)___ 506(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 151864 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 759(@200wpm)___ 607(@250wpm)___ 506(@300wpm)
She looks down at her simple blue shirt-dress and tan sandals. “Thank you. So do you.”
I, too, look down my body. I never did get around to getting any socks and shoes on. Stupid Sal. “Thanks.”
“You do casual well.” She indicates to my worn jeans. “I like it.”
I laugh. “What, you don’t like the suits, then?”
She shrugs a little. “I love the suits. But you’re a bit intimidating in them.”
“I am?”
“And ridiculously hot.” She peeks up at me. “Not that you aren’t now. But the suits . . .” She shudders, taking a sip of her wine.
A smirk spreads across my face as I watch her body respond to whatever thoughts she’s having. “That’s big of you to admit.”
She slowly turns away from the window and starts wandering casually across the lounge, gazing around. “What, that I find you irresistible?”
Irresistible? I like that word. A lot. “If it makes you feel better, I find you impossibly hard to resist, too.” I put it out there and move toward my couch, sitting while she continues to roam, quietly taking in my home.
“Impossibly hard, huh?”
I nod when she glances over to me, and bring my glass to my lips, content with watching her explore.
“Sounds like we have a problem, Mr. Christianson.” She stops across the room and rests her weight on one hip, studying me.
“Don’t we just,” I agree, meeting and holding her stare. “Any suggestions of how we might manage it?”
“Resistance is key.”
“I don’t have much of that where you’re concerned.”
She smiles a little, definitely satisfied, but then drops her eyes to the floor at her feet. “Maybe you should try harder. Maybe I should, too.”
“Why?”
“I work for you.”
“But that’s not the only issue holding you back, is it?” Are we really going to go over this again?
She glimpses at me and nibbles on her lip for a few, deliberating moments, heightening my curiosity. “You’re a notorious playboy, Tyler Christianson. What has your attention one day might not the next. A woman must be mad to get involved with you. Especially if she’s in your employment.”
Right. I feel like we’re playing she loves me, she loves me not here. She’s here, but she’s regretful? That stings.
“You’re right. I’m known as a notorious playboy, and that does beg the question why you’re here.”
She smiles, swirling the wine in her glass. “Because apparently, I’m a mad woman. But lucky for you, a mad woman who doesn’t want anything from you.”
“Yes, you said that yesterday.”
She startles. Looks affronted. Perhaps that was a bit brutal.
“What are you proposing then, Miss Summer?” I know what I want, but clearly we’re not on the same page. Which sucks.
“It means I won’t expect anything more than sex. You’re safe. I don’t want a relationship ever again.”
My forehead bunches in utter confusion, but I cling to the tail end of her statement. “Again?”
She looks away, probably realizing that she’s said more than she meant to. “I was married once.” She rushes the words, and then immediately frowns, like she can’t quite believe she confessed it. I sit up straight, watching as her eyes drop and she scans the floor. She’s been hurt. Badly, judging by her fast-growing despondency.
“I’m sorry,” I say sincerely, because I can see something familiar in her eyes. A sense of failure mixed with anger and hurt. That could be all me, mind you, because men suck at reading the mind of a woman. But the woman I’ve seen challenging me, rejecting me, flirting confidently with other men . . . that’s not this woman in front of me now. Her eyes keep shooting for the door, like she’s contemplating leaving, and once again, I feel like I need to do the chasing.
“Lainey,” I call softly, prompting her to look up. “Come.” I pat the couch next to me in gesture for her to join me. The hesitation is back, but then as she looks me in the eye, she walks over and sits on the far end of the sofa to me.
The silence stretches as I search my failing brain. What the hell do I say now? Yes, I was a manwhore, but I want more with you? Or, Yes, you saw me take another woman home to fuck last night, but I was so fucking done with your games.
Because I’m sure that would go down like a lead balloon. It does make me realize something important, though. I don’t know Lainey Summer very well at all. I promised myself I’d never get in too deep again, and that’s what I’ve done. Random women. No emotion. No guilt. Just sex. Keep it simple to keep my sanity. It’s always been my moto. Lainey is the female version of me. Yet she isn’t simple.
I don’t want anything from you other than sex. I never want a relationship again.