Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 85228 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85228 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
I pull the cord on her blinds, opening them all the way so I can see if that piece of shit drives by. I have no idea how he plans to react after I hit him in the nose in the club parking lot, but it might've brought on more trouble than he was initially planning. It annoys the shit out of me that my inability to control my temper might've put her in more danger, but nothing good comes from a man following a woman home without her permission.
I try not to internalize that thought, considering that's exactly what I did. I don't like comparing myself to other assholes who might mean someone harm, but the facts are there like a beacon in the darkness, telling me that I have some shit of my own to work on.
"Shouldn't you keep that closed?" she asks.
"Need to see what's going on," I mutter, standing by the window when the whisper in my head tells me I should be comforting her right now.
I can't believe that whisper any longer. Before her, it would be what kept me out of trouble. It kept me safe. My intuition has been spot-on for years. I've never been put in a situation where I needed to doubt it until her.
Now, I don't know what to trust.
I'm just grateful to be inside and off the damn porch because the memories of the two of us out there last week were enough that I swear I could still smell the scent of her arousal on my skin, and now is not the time to be thinking about the grip of her pussy on my cock. Not when she's in real danger.
"Would you like something to drink?"
I look over my shoulder, a second away from asking her what she thinks this is, but that seems rude. The woman might've put herself in the path of someone else, someone who might want to hurt her, but she doesn't deserve to be victimized any more than she deserves my judgment over her choices.
"What do you have?" I ask.
"Milk."
She gives me a faint smile when I scrunch up my nose, and it makes her look so young, nothing like a woman who is seeking something in a sex club.
"Whiskey?" I ask instead of openly questioning why she'd put herself in danger, rather than offering to give her exactly what it is she's seeking just to keep her safe.
She shakes her head. "I don't drink. There's no alcohol here."
"Good girl," I whisper, my tone raspy and full of more suggestion than it should be.
She swallows, her hand running down her dog's back differently from before.
"Water would be great," I say, needing a reprieve from the way she's staring at me right now. "Anything wet really."
Jesus, did I just say that?
Good girl?
Anything wet?
What the fuck is wrong with me and my lack of control where this woman is concerned.
I tilt my head, refusing to apologize, although I know I should.
It's not her fault that I got my wires crossed, that I got confused as to why I felt a deeper connection to her in the first place. I have no idea what that mistake is going to cost either of us, but I have to confront the danger she's facing first before we can get all reflective on what has already happened.
What I can do is not let it happen again. I realize just how fucking hard that's going to be when instead of putting my attention right back out the window like I should, my eyes drop to her ass when she turns toward the kitchen.
I force my eyes out the window, standing just to the side for safety's sake. Standing directly in the front would make for an imposing picture, but it also makes me an easy target.
"Here," she says.
I turn and see her several feet away, the glass of ice water in her hand. Her arm is stretched out as far as it goes, and she maintains a distance from me.
I want to assure her that she's safe with me, but I'm not so sure it would be received very well. I made hasty accusations on the porch not long ago, insinuating that she makes a habit of entertaining men there, and as disgusted as I am by those words, I can only imagine how they made her feel.
"Thank you," I say as I take the glass, making sure to position my hand in the spots on it that keep me from touching her.
She steps back the second I lift it to my mouth, but her eyes stay on my lips.
I could easily call her out on it and bring light to how her body speaks to me, but it would do us no good. Attraction is a battle that can be fought and easily won. We're both adults, not wild, rutting animals.