Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 154595 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 773(@200wpm)___ 618(@250wpm)___ 515(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 154595 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 773(@200wpm)___ 618(@250wpm)___ 515(@300wpm)
So what are you doing here? With her?
Sex.
It’s just about sex.
So he shouldn’t feel the need to apologize, right?
“Sorry.” Fuck.
Her eyes widened. Yeah, he wasn’t great at apologizing. Getting information out of people, intimidating them, assessing risk and eliminating it . . . those things he was good at.
Or he thought he had been. Things seemed to be turning to shit lately.
“Are you going to ask me in?” he asked.
She bit her thumbnail. “Yep, I, uh, my place is a mess, though.”
“I don’t care about a mess, girl.”
“Just, um, give me two minutes, maybe three. It’s really a big mess,” she muttered that last part, closing the door on him.
To his surprise, amusement filled him. When was the last time someone had shut a door in his face? Usually, everyone went out of their way, falling over their feet to give him whatever he wanted.
And this little thing was closing the door in his face without even flinching.
Unbelievable.
And what was he doing? Standing here waiting like a good, obedient boy.
Hmm, he should make her pay for leaving him out here like this . . . only, she wasn’t his sub.
Fuck. The urge to turn her over his knee was strong.
Suddenly the door opened and he nearly fell forward since he hadn’t been expecting it. Fuck, that was embarrassing. He really was tired if he was letting himself be taken by surprise like that.
“Shoot! I’m so sorry.” She threw her arms around him.
He froze. “What are you doing, girl?”
“Stopping you from falling over, of course. What happened? Did you trip over something? I can’t see anything. Are you okay? Are you steady? Have you eaten dinner tonight? Maybe you need a snack. You might have low blood pressure. I get light-headed when I skip meals too. Come on, come sit down. Here, lean on me.” She wrapped her arm around his waist.
He stared down at her incredulously. What the fuck was she thinking? He had to weigh twice as much as she did.
“Oh! You have an . . . oh, um . . .”
What was she . . . ahh, right. “Yeah, I carry a gun.”
“Why?” She stared up at him.
“Lots of people do in this state.”
“Right. Sure.”
He felt bad about not telling her the truth, but how would she react if she knew why he carried a gun?
“Did you have it the other night? Lean on me.”
“Girl, if I lean on you, you’ll fall over,” he told her.
“Nonsense, I’m far stronger than I look. Here, take a seat.” She pulled out a chair at the tiny dining table. In fact, the whole place was small. He’d looked it up after leaving her here the other night, only to learn that it was a pay-by-the-week boarding house.
He hated that she lived here. The security was shit. Someone was coming out tonight as he’d been walking in and had actually held the door for him.
It was a small studio apartment with a bed that she obviously hadn’t made since the blankets were a mess, a tiny kitchenette area without an oven, and a small drink fridge.
There were two doors, one he guessed led to the bathroom and the other a closet. A two-seater sofa sat in front of an ancient-looking television.
None of it looked like it suited Maeve. Although she did have a bright purple cover on her bed and a gold throw over the sofa.
So he guessed she’d tried to add some touches to make it hers.
The place was kind of a mess, with clothes strewn around the floor as well as bits of material. He wondered how messy it had been before she’d tidied up. Normally, a mess like this would drive him nuts. He liked everything to have a place and to stay there.
But for some reason it didn’t irritate him like it usually would.
She moved quickly back to the door, shutting and locking it. Then she turned to him, looking nervous. As though she wasn’t sure what to do with him.
“Can I get you some tea? Coffee? You look like you need coffee.”
“I don’t need coffee.” He thought his blood was ninety-nine percent caffeine by now.
“Hot chocolate? I have mini-marshmallows.”
“Do I look like I drink hot chocolate with mini-marshmallows,” he grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest.
Yes, he knew he was being grouchier than normal. And he wouldn’t be surprised if she kicked him out. But she just stared down at him for a moment.
“So no marshmallows then?”
He shook his head, then stood and stretched. He took off his jacket and slid his gun out from its holster. She watched nervously.
“The gun upsets you?”
“It doesn’t upset me. Do you carry it all the time?”
“When I’m working.” He’d had it close at the club the other night because things could still happen. But he hadn’t exactly been working. Maybe he should have left it in his truck before coming up to see her.