Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 82747 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82747 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
As if she can sense me, she turns, giving me a look over her shoulder. She startles some, but there's a smile on her face not a look of annoyance like she feels irritated that I'm in her space again.
Without pulling her earbuds out, she says, "Twenty minutes until dinner is ready. Go shower."
The command in her voice makes me want to challenge her, to walk up and wrap my filthy arms around her just to see how fiery I can make her, but then there's a chance she'll refuse to feed me, and I can't have that.
I dip my head in agreement before walking toward the guest bedroom to grab clothes to change into after my shower.
The sound of her off-key singing follows me, and I find myself smiling the entire time.
My shower is quick and economical, and I do my best to convince my brain that I'm just hungry and anticipating the taste of her food, but I know better. I want to spend time with her, and as much as I like sliding inside of that tight, perfect body of hers, I know I enjoy talking to her just as much.
I towel off, rubbing, not dabbing like a crazy person, before pulling on a pair of sleep pants and forgoing the shirt because I know it will annoy her as much as it will turn her on.
I fully expect her eyes to roam over my bare chest when I enter the kitchen, but her gaze drops to my feet.
"You aren't wearing shoes," she says almost absently.
"Are your floors dirty?"
"What?" she snaps, her eyes dragging up my body until they lock with mine. "My floors are clean."
"Do you have a foot fetish, baby?" I tease.
"I just... don't think I've ever had a barefooted man walking around my house before."
I watch, seeing her fight the urge to look back down, and I smile when she loses the battle. I wiggle my toes, laughing when she grins.
"I've been barefoot in your bedroom several times now," I say.
She spins, messing with something on the stove rather than answering, but I give her the reprieve because I'm fighting my own battle, wondering why it pleases me to hear that there haven't been other men here.
Unless...
"Do they usually keep their shoes on or something?" I prod.
"Dinner is ready. Will you grab plates?" she says rather than answering my question. "They're in the cabinet right up there."
Her kitchen is small, and I don't think she purposely wants me to step up behind and crowd her in place near the stove, but then again, that doesn't stop me from doing it.
She's as still as a statue when my bare chest covers her back so I can grab the plates, and she doesn't breathe until I take a step back.
I'm struggling with how fucking irresistible she is, and as I set the plates down at the breakfast bar, I can't help but wonder if asking to stay here was a terrible idea. I feel as if I'm feeding some sort of addiction each time I touch her, and when my fingertips aren't tracing over her skin, they itch to do just that.
I'm not the type of man to go out looking for a ton of women to sleep with, and I also don't put myself in a position to end up in a situation that looks like a relationship, either.
I don't want her to get the wrong idea about this, but taking a step back and looking at it from an outsider's impression, I had sex with her and then shortly moved into her house. It doesn't really matter that I'm technically sleeping in the guest bedroom if she falls asleep in my arms.
I've well and truly fucked this whole thing up already, and we're only twenty-four hours into it.
"What is this?" I ask as she uses a serving spoon to dish out food on my plate.
"Pasta bake," she says as she serves herself some as well.
"It has to have a different name than that," I say, picking up my fork and moving the food around.
"If you're going to insult—"
"I'm not insulting the food, Riley. The name is the insult. Look how colorful it is. It smells delicious. Mmm," I groan after taking a bite, all the different flavors exploding on my tongue. "It's fantastic. It's the name that doesn't do it justice."
I look up at her, and I swear the smile on her face is enough to knock any man off his feet. Jesus, she really is absolutely gorgeous.
"You asked for something my grandma would make."
"She made something like this?" I ask, hesitant to speak because it interferes with shoveling food into my mouth.
"She made something similar. I added more vegetables than she put in hers, and mine is made with whole wheat pasta. There's not as much butter in mine as she'd put in hers."