Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 59183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
“Look, Pixie, it was a bump. Didn’t even tip me over.” Pointing at my chest, I continue, “See, I’m a big man; takes a lot to knock me on my ass. You didn’t, so move on.”
“I can’t,” she responds with her hands crossed in front of her chest, making her breasts stand out more as her breathing picks up. “I have to make this right.”
“Nothing wrong, Pixie, so no need to make it right.”
She pokes my chest. “Look, Mr.”—she studies my cut—“Coal.” She clears her throat, and I find the whole thing cute. “I bumped you. While I’m thankful you weren’t harmed, I have to make this right.” She stutters, “I-I know it doesn’t make sense to most people, but our energies are entangled now. I’ve messed up and must make it up to you so that we aren’t entwined together in a negative balance.” She’s not afraid of me, but she’s nervous in explaining herself. Again, I find this all cute.
Wait, I just found something cute. This isn’t in my genetic makeup. Did I hit my head or jar myself when she hit me?
“Looks like we’re at a standstill, then,” I tell her, knowing that no matter how strong this pull to her is, I won’t get involved.
“Dinner.” She looks up at me, and I swear she has eyes so crystal blue they must come from Heaven because those are the kind saved for angels. She studies me while rolling her shoulders back to gather her confidence. “I owe you dinner, at least.”
Stepping into her space, I do so in hopes of intimidating her. Still, she doesn’t back away, even as her eyes widen, giving away her insecurities.
“Made a living for myself reading people, Pixie. You don’t want dinner with me.”
Steeling her face, she looks me in the eye again. “Breakfast.” Her gaze drops quickly. Ah, the confidence slips.
I laugh before stepping closer to stand toe-to-toe with her. My entire upper torso towers over her. She doesn’t look up but rather stares at the middle of my cut. Tipping her chin, I force her to look at me. I expect her to pull away. I expect her to retreat.
She doesn’t.
No, the tiny pixie of a woman reaches out, grabs the sides of my cut in a tight grip, then rolls up on her tiptoes, still not able to reach my face.
Curious as to what she’s trying, I drop my head.
My forehead rests on hers in a way that is far too intimate for my comfort. It’s like my body, my spirit, is in control instead of my mind. Every inch of me wants to cover and touch every inch of her.
“Please,” she says before licking her lips.
My instincts scream run. My body hums kiss her, and my mind … blanks.
“Please, Coal, let me at least have dinner one night so I can know I did something to make up for my distraction.”
Distraction. A perfect word to describe Pixie. She’s a distraction, and she doesn’t even know it.
I don’t say anything in reply. I’m too busy trying to stop the hard-on growing in my pants.
“Breakfast, lunch, dinner—something,” she pleads in a serious way.
“I don’t even know your name, so dinner doesn’t seem like a good idea, Pixie,” I tell her as her hot breath mixes with mine.
Primal feelings erupt deep inside of me like never before. I don’t remove my forehead from hers, and she makes no effort to pull away from me.
“Paisley Asher.”
I watch as her chest rises and falls in heavy breaths. “You’re in over your head, Pixie.”
She smiles before sucking in her bottom lip. “Or maybe I’m right where I’m supposed to be.”
Like a knife cutting me to the core, I jump back at her words. Does she feel the pull, too? Like this is some fucked-up destiny?
It’s one giant joke … Has to be.
My history, my sorted past that is full of blurred memories, is one that should scare every woman away.
“I’m not at all a man you should have dinner with. In fact, Pixie, you need to get in that tin can you call a car and drive as fast as you can away from me.”
I see the rejection hit her like a slap to the face.
“You don’t see it, do you?” she whispers before backing away. She doesn’t turn around, though, and for some reason, it nags at me.
“Don’t look for the good here, Pixie. Coal.” I point at my name patch. “Dirty, dark, and hard. I’m scarred, marred, and more than you can take on.”
She studies me before she slides into her driver’s seat again. “Or maybe, Coal, this is about finding what makes you combust so you can use your energies for fuel instead of staying in your hard form, all locked up tight.”
Shit! I have never encountered a single person ready to challenge me the way she does, with her own verbal twist on the one word that has described me for far too long.