Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 83912 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83912 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Clamping down on all those male urges and a hell of an overload of testosterone, I walk to the barstool opposite her at the island and sit down. She walks to the Keurig, fills her cup with creamer, and then turns to face me, that cup cradled in her hands. “I am not your plaything.”
“No,” I say. “You are not. And I’m not yours, either, Faith. That isn’t what this is.”
“It feels like it is.”
“We are, as I said before, red-hot together. That doesn’t make it all we are.”
“You can’t just come into my life and try to take over,” she repeats.
“I’m not.”
“You are. It’s your way.”
She’s right. It is. “Usually people are relieved when I want to help them.”
“Aside from the ridiculous arrogance of that statement that isn’t working for you right now, Nick Rogers, have you just fucked and spanked those people?” She holds up a hand. “Don’t answer that. I don’t want you to tell me what I want to hear.”
“What do you want to hear, Faith?” I ask, her statement speaking volumes about where her head is, and it isn’t focused on kicking me out.
“Nothing,” she says. “I told you—”
“Let’s talk about my hard limits with women,” I say. “They’re really quite simple. No tomorrows. No conversation. No confession about my many nannies, who I tell no one about. For me, I just want to fuck.”
“Why did you tell me about the nannies?”
“Because my gut said that you needed to hear it. Fuck. Maybe I needed to say it to someone who needed to hear it. I don’t know what this is between us, Faith, but it’s not what you’re trying to turn it into.”
“You said that we just needed to fuck each other out of our systems.”
“I know what I said.”
“And now—”
“And now I want more. That is exactly what I keep thinking with you. I want more. What the hell does that mean? I don’t know, but I need to find out, and I think you do, too.”
“Arrogance again?”
“Not this time. Just facts. Just possibilities. And I can’t promise where that leads, but I can tell you that for me, it’s not just sex. If it was, you’d be naked and on the counter right now, because that’s exactly where I wanted you when I walked into this kitchen.”
She doesn’t blush. She looks me in the eye. “You said you didn’t want more.”
“I didn’t, but I have learned in life not to run from the unexpected. And I’m not running from this, and I’m not letting you run from it because of a past that I’m not a part of.”
“The past is a part of me.”
“But I am not,” I say, “and in the foyer, you responded to me like I was.”
She turns her head, obviously struggling with where this is leading, seconds ticking by before she sips her coffee and then sets it on the island, her eyes meeting mine. “You are very assuming, Nick.”
“Agreed,” I say, reaching for her coffee cup. “But only about things that matter to me, and it appears you do.” I turn the cup so that my lips are aligned with the exact spot where hers were moments before, the act telling her we’re connected now, that possessiveness I’ve felt on numerous occasions with Faith back again.
I drink, taking a sip of the chocolatey concoction that would taste better on her lips, against my lips. “I’m beginning to get the idea you have a sweet tooth.”
“I do,” she says. “And yet there is nothing sweet about you, Nick.”
“You might be surprised. If you give me a chance.”
“You aren’t going to bulldoze me.”
“So you told me,” I say, sipping her coffee again, then setting it back in front of her. “And since you seem to need to hear it again, if I could, you wouldn’t be interesting to me.” I soften my voice. “Don’t let pride, or fear of us, get in the way of a solution to a problem you need to solve.”
She picks up the coffee, takes a drink, and then another, and when she sets it back down, I arch a brow at her interest in drinking, which she’s used to calm her nerves. I like that she can be nervous and overcome those nerves. That makes her strong, as proven by her next smart question. “Isn’t sleeping with me and representing me some kind of ethical issue for you?”
“Not so long as the relationship existed prior to me becoming your counsel.”
“Frank is my attorney already. I have him on retainer.”
“Frank’s an estate attorney on the verge of retirement. He is not going to make the bank his bitch. I will.” I soften my voice. “Talk to me, Faith. Let me help, and I promise that help comes with no conditions. Whatever happens with us personally, I’m with you on this until the end.”