Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71444 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71444 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
“You okay?” he’d ask.
Each time, I replied, “Yeah… gotta pee.”
I’m pretty sure he thinks I have a bladder problem at this point, but each time I returned to the bed, I lay on my side, back to him, with my fingers curled into the sheets on the edge of the mattress for anchoring.
Each time before I fell back asleep, I gave myself a stern lecture to stay on my side of the bed and not to inadvertently roll his way.
A lot of good that’s done because the sun is now up, and my worst nightmare has come to fruition. I’m snuggled right up against Cruce.
He’s on his back, and my face is pressed into his upper arm. I’ve got one arm curled under me, supporting my head, and the other resting on his belly.
Oh man… right on that part of his stomach at his navel where a sexy line of hair starts, running down into the cut-off sweatpants he’s wearing. I peek at the expanse of exposed skin before me as he’s bare chested.
Damn it!
I can hear seagulls screaming outside as we left the glass panels open last night. This was done only after Cruce determined it would be impossible for anyone to scale the outside of the house and enter as the outdoor balcony was built outward over free air space.
Casting my eyes down to where my hand rests on him, I can’t believe I’m touching him so intimately. The urge to move just a few inches forward until I can touch that trail of hair is strong. My fingers literally cramp as I restrain myself. Against all my wants and desires, I very slowly lift my hand off his body.
“About time you woke up,” Cruce murmurs and my hand freezes, hovering just over his stomach.
I scramble away, putting a good foot of space in between us. “I am so sorry,” I squeak as I stare with wide eyes. “I did that in my sleep. It wasn’t intentional, I promise.”
Lazily, he rolls his head on the pillow to give me a sly smile, those blue eyes sparkling. “It wasn’t a hardship, Barrett.”
God, why did he have to make that sound so sexy?
“Regardless,” I reply almost primly, “I’m sorry for encroaching.”
Cruce just stares. He’s obviously contemplating something, I can tell. I brace, wondering if he’ll take the time to remind me why nothing can occur between us. Or perhaps he’ll gently let me down by telling me he’s gay, which we both know isn’t true, but it would be the gentlemanly way of letting me know he’s not attracted to me.
Instead, he rolls on his side, props his head on one hand, and presses the other into the mattress. It brings us shockingly close again. Instinctively, I scoot back another few inches, mainly so I don’t assault him with my morning breath.
“Do you know you talk in your sleep?” he asks.
I blink in surprise. I did not know this, but it’s been a long damn time since I’ve slept with a man all night. No one around to point anything like that out.
“What do I talk about?” My tone is hesitant… fearful it will be something embarrassing.
“Interesting stuff,” is all he says, not even trying to hide the smirk spreading across his handsome face. “Lots of little sounds, too.”
Searching my memory, I try to grasp onto any fragments of my dreams last night. I don’t remember anything sexy that would cause me to moan, but then again… I don’t remember half the shit that woke me.
“Are you messing with me?” I ask, hoping beyond hope that’s the case. If not, I’m going to die from mortal embarrassment. Right now.
He ignores my question, which is intentionally evil on his part. “I’m starved. Eggs and bacon sound good for breakfast?”
Cruce doesn’t wait for my answer. Instead, he flashes a charming grin and rolls out of bed. I lock my eyes onto his body, because it’s impossible not to when it’s so damn gorgeous. Plus, I cannot miss the hard-on he has.
It presses right up against his cut-off sweatpants, tenting them in the middle. I only get a brief glance before he’s striding out of the bedroom.
Rolling to my back, I let out a huff of frustration.
Damn it… I want Cruce.
And he clearly wants me.
Unless he was dreaming about Scarlett Johannsen or something.
But what if that erection was because of and in reaction to me?
I don’t consider myself an aggressive female when it comes to the opposite sex. I’ve never been the lead in making something happen, mostly because of my inexperience but I’ve also not been shy about it if the perfect opportunity presented itself either.
In fact, I suspect there might be something wrong with me because I’m sitting here analyzing my sex life with the same detached, scientific curiosity with which I handle my work. That right there says I’m not all that great at this sort of stuff.