Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 22237 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 111(@200wpm)___ 89(@250wpm)___ 74(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22237 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 111(@200wpm)___ 89(@250wpm)___ 74(@300wpm)
“Fiancée?” I finally find my words. Derek’s hands grip the steering wheel so tightly I can see his knuckles turning white. He glances over at me like he is trying to read my face.
He just shrugs. Maybe he said it so Sam will leave me alone. If he thinks I’m with someone, he might back off. I don’t think that will work, but I know him a little better than Derek. I don’t think Sam will stop until he gets what he wants or I quit. I can feel it. I should have seen it before and paid better attention. Maybe I should have had a few job possibilities lined up and not let it get to this point.
“Has a nice ring to it,” he says, his little tease making my whole world tilt. His hands loosen on the steering wheel and he gives me a playful smile. I can’t help but blush and look away out the window.
I feel his hand take mine. I look back at him, but his eyes are on the road. His fingers lace with mine and give me a little squeeze.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“Home,” he says simply, like it’s my home, too. I haven’t had a place that felt like home in forever. Maybe I never really did. I’ve had places I stayed with my mother, but I will never call the house I lived with my father a home. That wasn’t a home at all.
“Where is your home?”
A sheepish look crosses his face, and I could swear he blushes a little, but it’s hard to tell in the dark interior of the truck.
“Yeah, about that.” A moment of panic hits me at what he is about to say. That sweet little bubble I’m in with him might be about to burst. I try to pull my hand from his, but he only tightens his hold. What if he’s married or something?
“Where you slept last night is my home. Well that, or the firehouse, and I’m sure as fuck not taking you back there.”
“You said”
“I know. I just didn’t want you to be unconformable and wanted you to have a safe place for the night,” he admits, and the now-familiar warm feeling wraps around me.
“You make me feel safe,” I confess. I feel the furthest thing from uncomfortable around him.
“You make me feel whole again.” He brings my hand up to his mouth, kissing it, never taking his eyes off the road. It almost sounds like he was in pain and I’ve taken it away. The idea that I have that kind of power is intoxicating. I wish I could see his face right now because that was the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me in my whole life.
We sit in silence for a little as he makes the drive across town.
“You hungry?” he asks, pulling up to the front of his house “I can order us something or take you somewhere, if you like.”
“I ate, so I’m okay, unless you want to get something.” He ate at the diner while he watched me, but I wouldn’t be surprised if a man as big as him ate every few hours. Firemen must work out a lot.
“The only thing I want to eat right now is you.” He words are deep and sensual and send a thrill up my spine. My face heats. I don’t think he knows I have no idea what I’m doing. Maybe I could fake it. I know about sex, I just haven’t done it. I don’t want to disappoint him, but the way he looks at me makes me think I could just stand here and he’d be happy with me. Whole, like he said.
“Don’t move,” he says before hopping out of his truck and coming around to my side and opening the door, giving me his hand to help me down. It’s not even a high truck, so his attentiveness has me fighting a giggle.
“You always this sweet?” I ask, looking up at him through my lashes.
He wraps an arm around me, pulling me close as we walk towards his door.
“My mom taught me manners, but I don’t recall anyone ever calling me sweet.” When we get to his door, he unlocks it and pulls me into his place. He shuts and locks the door behind me. The lock has barely clicked into place when he’s on me, caging me in with his big body. His hands rest on the door behind me, bracketing my head.
I still don’t feel a trace of fear. My hands go to his chest, my fingers digging into his shirt.
“Strawberry or mango?” he says, and I raise an eyebrow at the odd question.
“Thought you weren’t hungry.”
“I meant, which smell do you like more?” He presses into me.
“I’m partial to both,” I tell him, unsure what this is about.