Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 116031 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116031 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
“That’s good because I’d hate for you to miss out on the other tricks I can do with my tongue—”
I burrow myself into the nook of his shoulder, refusing to ever be seen by him again as mortification heats my face and chest and every other part of me. “So you heard that, huh?”
“Glad you enjoyed last night.”
“That’s a yes, then.”
Stroking his hand over my back, he dips to kiss droplets of water off my shoulder. “It sure is.”
“M’kay. Soooo . . .” I gulp and finally face the music, a.k.a. him, by walking to the mirror and gripping the edge of the faux marble countertop.
He leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest, and grins like the cat who ate the canary. What a terrible metaphor. “So?”
Is he going to force me to say it again? “Any thoughts on what was said?”
Checking a wrist where his watch typically is, he says, “Like I said, I have time now. I can have you coming within a few—”
“I meant the other part. About . . . well,” I say, rolling my wrist and tossing it back to him. “You know.”
“You mean the part about wanting to spend every waking minute of your day with me?” He gives me a wink, and his smirk arrives on time, right behind it.
“When you put it like that, maybe not every waking minute, but some minutes most days.” And then I remember his words like he just said them. “What was I thinking?” I turn, facing the mirror and avoiding eye contact in the reflection. I tighten the hair clip holding my hair in place so it didn’t get wet in the shower. Grabbing my vitamin serum, I squirt it onto my hand, hoping to distract from his rapt attention and the silence which is an answer as well. “I shouldn’t have said anything. You made yourself very clear that you’re not a relationship kind of guy.” I mistakenly look into his eyes. His usually brighter blue eyes have darkened. It’s hard to tell from here, and I’m too worried I’ve already crossed the million lines he drew between us.
I reach for my moisturizer just as he wraps me in his warmth again. I still, not sure if I’m even breathing when he kisses my jaw, then turns me toward him. Cupping my face, he kisses me once, and with our lips barely apart, he says, “I leave tomorrow. I want to see you tonight.”
“You’re asking me out?”
I shouldn’t act surprised, but this man doesn’t do relationships. It’s a date, Cate. Not marriage . . . oh wait. That major life event was crossed off my list a long time ago. Never thought that would be reality, or Shane Faris asking me out twelve years after graduation. I still shouldn’t get ahead of myself when it comes to dates with him. One does not necessarily lead to more.
Releasing me, he turns to lean against the counter, facing me with a grin so big that you’d think he was the one who scored and not me. “Yes, I’m asking you on a date, Cat.”
My gaze deviates to his bruise. It’s healing, but fortunately, I can keep an eye on it without him being the wiser. “It doesn’t have to be a production. It can be something easy, relaxing like watching a movie, a nice change from your busy schedule.”
He sweeps hair from my face and tucks it behind my ear. “You deserve the big production—dates in public sharing Italian food or going to the Santa Monica Pier and holding hands at sunset.” He takes a sobering breath as his smile falters. “I can’t give that to you now, but one day I will.”
Now he has me grinning. “Are you making long-term plans with me? The guy who doesn’t believe in relationships?” I only tease to let him off the hook he’s lodged himself on by thinking I need more. “I don’t need all that. But I am thinking pizza tonight.”
He kisses me again. “Pizza it is, then.” Walking away, he adds, “And if you have time before work, I’m up for the job this morning.”
“What job is that?” It hits me as soon as he walks out. “Oh!” Giddiness shoots through me, and I jump. But then I check the time. “Dammit.”
He calls from the bed, “Don’t worry, babe. It’s not a one-time offer.”
It’s also something I won’t be able to stop thinking about all day. I already wish it was over so I could climb back into bed with him.
One week later . . .
“How have you not done the deed yet?” Luna says over speaker for all of Pasadena to hear.
My office isn’t much bigger than a matchbox, but I’m not here enough to worry. Her voice, on the other hand, is loud enough to reach reception. “Well, there are several reasons. One, he’s been out of town except for two nights.”