Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 142728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Z and I share similar bloodthirsty smiles. But I’m the one who answers.
“What we do best, sweetheart.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Dex
Friday night’s finally here.
I’m thirty-fucking-four years old. Why the fuck am I…nervous? It’s been so long since I experienced the feeling, it takes a second to identify it.
I step onto Emily’s small, concrete front porch. Bright yellow lights illuminate every inch. No place for anyone to hide. I jab the doorbell, hear the chimes inside, and wait.
A few seconds later, a shadow bobs behind the curtain covering the small glass window in the front door. The hinges creak as Emily pulls the door wide.
“Hi,” she says in a low, breathless tone.
Struck dumb, I stand and stare at the beautiful firecracker in front of me. Loose, spiral curls brushing her shoulders, her lips a glossy dusky pink. I want to squeeze her face between my palms and smash my mouth against hers.
My gaze travels lower to the dark blue dress with a row of buttons from her chest to her shins, highlighting all her curves. The red belt at her waist is like a damn neon sign pointing to where my hands belong. Everything about her is so vibrant and real. Not just beautiful. I encounter plenty of pretty women in my business. Emily has an inner glow that can’t be bought, taught, or surgically enhanced.
Genuine happiness to find me on her doorstep seems to light up her eyes.
“Hi, Emily.” Damn, I even like the way her name sounds in my mouth.
She smiles and opens the door wider. “Come in.”
Even though the house is one of those large, old rambling structures with high ceilings, I feel like a giant towering over her as I step inside.
“Do you want something to drink?” she asks, turning toward the kitchen.
You. I stop and slip off my cut, hanging it on a rack outside the hallway closet, right next to her coat.
The scents wafting from the kitchen make my mouth water, and I head toward the door Emily disappeared behind. “Whatever you’re making smells amazing.”
She’s standing by the stove, and she throws a quick smile over her shoulder. “It’s nothing fancy. Roast chicken.”
“I like chicken.” I step behind her as she transfers half a chicken from a roasting pan onto a platter. “Do you need help?”
She jumps and turns. “Oh!”
“Didn’t mean to startle you.” I should back up. Give her room. But I can’t convince my body to move an inch away from hers. “You look pretty tonight.” Fuck, that’s weak and not even close to fully describing what I see in front of me.
“Th-thank you.” She tucks her hair behind her ear. “You wear that T-shirt quite nicely.” Her hand flies up to cover her mouth. “Oh my God. I can’t believe I…”
One corner of my mouth shifts to the side. “I don’t mind hearing it. Glad you approve.” I lift my chin, indicating her dress. “For a minute, I was worried I was underdressed.”
“Not at all.”
I cock my head toward the kitchen door. “Is Libby joining us?”
“No.” Her forehead crinkles. “Why?”
Shit, I probably sound like I want to maul her in private or something. Which I do. But that’s not why I asked. “I could probably eat that whole platter of chicken by myself.”
“Oh!” She lets out a nervous laugh. “There’s more. I promise. She’s at her friend’s tonight.”
“The speed racer?” I lift an eyebrow.
“It’s supposed to be a sleepover. So, hopefully no racing around town.”
“That’s good.”
The timer on the oven dings. I back up to give her room but keep my gaze glued to her ass as she bends over and pulls a pan of stuffing out, setting it on one of the burners. Her movements are quick and jerky. Am I making her nervous?
“How do you…how should we?” She blows out a frustrated breath and slaps her hands against her thighs. “I don’t entertain a lot. Do you mind filling your plate at the counter?”
This is why I didn’t want her to go to so much trouble for me. “Whatever’s easiest, Emily. I’m not fussy.”
She gestures toward the cozy round table in the center of the kitchen. “Libby and I usually eat there, but we can eat by the windows if you want.” She waves her hand at the large windows at the back of the kitchen where there’s a long wooden table and several stiff dining chairs.
“Right here is good.” I nod to the round table. “So we can talk easier.”
She nods quickly and hurries to the refrigerator, gathering several items. Her quick, jerky movements jostle the glass bottles she’s loading into her arms.
“Relax, Emily.” I take a butter dish and bottle of lemon juice out of her hands. “I’m just happy to spend time with you.”
Her eyebrows shoot up.
Why does she seem so damn surprised?
A shy smile curves her lips. “I like having you here.”