Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 97287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 486(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 486(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
The thing is, I want something from Laila, and I’m not even sure what it is. It’s nothing serious—I’ve learned my lesson there and almost repeated that very same mistake with her. And while a lot of what I feel for her is sexual—my dick has a mind of its own while in her vicinity—there’s something else. Friendship, maybe. I just don’t know if it’s possible to be friends with someone after you’ve slept with them and want to sleep with them again, let alone after they’ve decided to hate your guts.
The wine bar is narrow and easy to miss. She’s managed to snag the sole window seat looking onto the street, though when I pass by her and give a wave, she can barely muster a smile. It’s not that she’s mad at me either; there’s sadness in her eyes, a look that makes my heart pinch.
I go inside the bar, the warmth and smell of mulled wine and fried fish overtaking me, and hang my coat up on the rack by the small table. It’s definitely an intimate spot, two seats beside each other looking out onto the street, and I have to fight the urge to lean down and kiss her on the cheek, like we’re out on a date.
I sit down next to her, smelling the jasmine scent of her perfume. “You got the best seat in the house. You charm them with your feminine wiles?”
She lets out a mirthless laugh. “I have no wiles today.”
That certainly isn’t true. She’s wearing a sweater that makes her breasts look stupendous, and I have muscle memory of running my hands and lips and tongue over them, knowing how heavy they feel in my palm, knowing what to do to her nipples so that she’s breathing out my name.
God, we had it good, didn’t we?
I avert my eyes before she can catch me staring at her chest again. I got away with it in the car, but now things feel different, like we’re on rocky ground.
“It was the only seat available,” she goes on, flipping over the thin menu. “Got it just in time.”
I see what she’s saying. She wouldn’t have asked to be seated so close to me. Laila is tall for a girl, maybe five ten, and she’s all hips and curves. I’m six foot three and have swimmer’s shoulders, so a seat like this is a tight fit. Far more intimate than she’d like, but it’s perfect for me.
I watch her face for a moment. She’s wearing bright red lipstick that shows off her perfect, expressive mouth and full lips, but it can’t hide her eyes.
“Did everything with your grandmother go okay?” I ask.
Her jaw goes tense, eyes still glued to the menu, but now I can see they aren’t taking anything in. “It was okay.”
The waiter comes by, speaking Norwegian, and Laila puts an order in for herself. “I’m getting a glass of the Chiara Condello sangiovese,” she tells me. “Plus fried klipfisk. What do you want?”
I would normally get a beer, but the weather and the atmosphere in here (and the fact that it’s a wine bar) have me placing the exact same order as hers.
“Do you even know what klipfisk is?” she asks me as the waiter leaves.
I shrug. “No idea. I’m sure I’ll find out. It’s not like fish eyeballs or something?”
“What if it was?”
“If it’s fried, I’m sure I can handle it.”
“Quite the stomach you have,” she says. “Then again, you’re Scottish. You invented haggis.”
“We invented a lot of things, lass,” I tell her, deepening my brogue. I twist in my seat to try to face her better. “You know, the only problem with sitting this close to you is that I can’t get a good look at your beautiful face.”
Just as I expected, her cheeks wash with a touch of pink. “Probably for the best. So what did you end up doing today?”
“Went to the museum, walked around the harbor, nearly slipped on ice a few times and went into the sea. Pretty good day as a tourist.”
She nods. “There’s a lot to see here. I’m sure all your days off will be booked.”
“As long as I’m booked with you.”
She finally looks over at me, a wry smile spreading on her face. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”
“I know. I believe you’ve told me that at least a few times.” I add a wink at the end, so she knows I meant in bed.
Her smile vanishes, her gaze going to the window, watching people pass by on the snowy street. “James…”
“What? You going to tell me I’m being inappropriate again?”
She sighs, putting her hands on her face. “What’s the point?” she mumbles. Her voice sounds so distraught that I actually don’t think she’s talking about me.
I place my hand on her back, and she flinches slightly from my contact, which, I have to admit, hurts a little.