Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
All the times before this, orgasms I’ve given myself, orgasms I’ve had at the hands of past lovers—they pale in comparison. This bliss is blinding. Petrifying.
I go limp in his arms as the realization dawns that this isn’t so simple, not by a long shot. Luke is not the love ’em and leave ’em type of guy, and I want him in ways I’ve never felt before.
I’m utterly drained, and yet my heart still races. Luke turns me and cups my face, tilting it up so I’m forced to meet his eyes in the moonlight. He doesn’t ask me if I’m okay; he checks every inch of me, looking for himself.
He straightens my camisole and opens my drawer so he can pick out a new pair of panties for me to change into. After, he helps me into my shorts, going down on his knees in the process, and once they’re sitting up on my hips, and I’m fully dressed, he looks up at me.
I swallow as he rises to his feet and bends to kiss my cheek. “This is just the beginning.”
TWENTY-FOUR
CHLOE
In the morning, I go for the longest run I’ve managed all summer: 4.79 miles and not a step more. Had I pushed it to 4.80, I’d be crawling around this kitchen right now. The run was a necessity. It helped me clear my head and burn off some of my nervous energy, but it doesn’t last for long.
Turns out, I’m not the only one who needed to exercise this morning. I’m tossing together ingredients for a green smoothie I’ll share with Harper when the porch door slides open and Luke appears, hot as hell in his workout clothes. His baseball hat is turned backward, and I watch a drop of sweat roll down his neck. The fact that I want to find out what it tastes like tells me all I need to know concerning where my head’s at.
My dirty mind goes there before I can tell it not to. I get distracted by the thought of Luke sidling up behind me and grabbing ahold of my hips. He’d tug me back against him then peel my clothes off just like last night. We’d go at it without caring that we’re both sticky with sweat.
That’s…that’s when I flip the switch on the blender and realize I never put the lid on. Green smoothie splashes onto the counter, the backsplash, and the floor at my feet. Oh, and me.
“Shit.”
The curse word flies before I can help it. Yet another offense to add to the list this morning.
“I’ll help!” Harper says, shooting to her feet. “But first, let me take my bracelet off. I don’t want it to get dirty.”
I presented her with her birthday present as soon as she emerged from her room this morning. She tore off the wrapping paper and bow with eager abandonment and audibly gasped when she saw the delicate charm bracelet nestled inside the box. She loved it as much as I hoped she would.
“No, it’s okay, Harper. You keep playing. This is my mess.”
Luke’s already at my side, grabbing a towel to help out.
“Between your finger and this, maybe we should say the grill is off limits until further notice,” he teases.
From this distance, I know better than to look at him.
“I was distracted both times…” I say, unable to meet his eyes.
In truth, things like this are going to keep happening until Luke and I can spend a week alone together locked in a padded room. I can imagine it now. We’d go at it like crazed animals, surfacing only for air, water, and the occasional protein bar.
“Have a good run?”
“Yeah. Felt great. What about your workout?”
“Not nearly as satisfying as I’d hoped.” His words drip with innuendo.
Luke, Luke, Luke. You’re killing me here!
We finish cleaning up, and I replenish the ingredients in the blender just as the front door opens and a woman’s voice sounds from the foyer.
“Yoohoo! Anyone home?! I brought presents!”
Harper screams so loud my ears start ringing. She flies off her barstool where she had her Barbie convertible set up and rushes out of the kitchen as fast as her legs can take her.
Meanwhile, my brain has a hard time catching up. That was a female voice, so a woman just let herself into Luke’s house? She feels comfortable enough here to not bother with knocking or ringing the doorbell, and Harper clearly knows and loves her. So who is she? A nanny? Friend? Ex-girlfriend?
I’m so hung up on the last possibility—no matter how preposterous it is—that when a pretty brunette walks into the kitchen, my heart sinks.
She’s petite with shoulder-length brown hair and big hazel eyes. Her dimpled smile is infectious, and there’s an endearing spray of freckles dotted across her nose and the apples of her cheeks. She’s the spitting image of Harper, all grown up.