Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 84928 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84928 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Well then. Maybe my stay wouldn't be so bad after all.
I cleared my throat and fought a smile when she jumped, slamming her head up into the half-open door to the cabinet. Her hand was reaching up to rub her head as she fell back onto her ass and looked up at me.
Fucking hell. That face.
She was of some sort of Spanish heritage that brought back images of the six months I spent in Mexico with Breaker and Alex, hiding out from the shit we got ourselves into. Six months of native ladies with their exotic eyes and long dark hair and curvy as fuck bodies. Oh, yeah. I had a good time in Mexico.
But this woman put each and every one of those ladies to shame.
Her jaw was on the square side; her nose straight and thin; her lips were plump and perfect. But it was the eyes that did a man in. She had deep, heavy-lidded bedroom eyes, looking sleepy and sexy at once, and were the darkest shade of brown possible. Her skin was on the light side which only served to make her dark hair, eyebrows, eyes, and lashes stand out all the more.
My eyes slid lower, taking in her body with a leisurely inspection I was sure she didn't appreciate from a complete stranger. But I just couldn't help myself.
She had it all: lush tits, hips, thighs, ass... and she somehow managed to have it all while still looking fit. It was a biological impossibility that all of mankind owed her parents a heartfelt gratitude letter for making possible.
"Hey there angel," I greeted, lips quirking up.
Oh yeah.
Maybe the trip wouldn't be a total waste after all.
Two
Amelia
I hated that stupid cat.
I hated her from the first day Ben Allen brought her in from the dumpster where she had been living for months, hissing at me whenever I went to toss my trash and swatting her nasty little cat claws at my shoes, usually managing to leave some scratches around my ankle. She was a she-devil but, for whatever reason, she took to Ben in a sort of disinterested just-feed-me-and-leave-me-alone way only cats can pull off.
In general, I stayed clear of her. But Ben had been gone for two days and I couldn't keep going into his apartment to take care of her. His relatives were sure to start showing up and they didn't need to see me there. So I had every intention of letting myself into his apartment one last time, grabbing the demon-cat, and taking her back to my apartment until I could figure out what to do with her. She was, of course, not too keen on my plan and as soon as I bent down to pet her, slashed at my arm and flew under the kitchen cabinet.
"It is too darn hot for this," I hissed as I fanned myself, annoyed that the AC unit was busted. It was the middle of August and there was no escaping the stifling heat in Ben's apartment. I sighed, lowering myself down on the floor and reaching under the cabinet. "I'm gonna get you sooner or later, Millie. You might as well just give in now. I have a big ole can of cat food just sitting on my counter waiting for you." I sighed when she hissed and moved further out of reach. "I'm talking to a cat," I murmured to myself, feeling the edge of a furry paw and closing my hand around it. "Come on you stupid, evil thing..." I cooed at her.
The sound of a man's throat clearing had two effects: one, Millie raked her nails over the back of my hand, and two, my heart flew up into my throat as my body automatically jerked. My head slammed into the bottom of a open cabinet door as my body twisted and I landed down on my butt hard.
My eyes landed on his shoes first, my brows drawing together. He had on black and white checkered creepers. Who the heck wore creepers anymore? And, further, who the heck wore creepers in the middle of summer in Alabama? My gaze slid up, taking in the tight (but not too tight) black skinny jeans and the faded black ZZ Top tee over a body that looked fit, but not excessively so. His bare arms were covered in bright, colorful tattoos and I started to have a sneaking suspicion of who was in Ben Allen's apartment. My eyes shot to his face and, holy heck.
His face was on the thin side, his eyes a familiar dark green. His hair was toeing the line between blond and light brown, cut short at the sides and slicked back in the middle. His ears were gauged with black plugs in the holes. He was, well, he was hot. He was way hot in that he's a bad boy who will roll you around the sheets and never call you again way that most women went all gaga for.
"Hey there, angel," he said, his lips quirking up and making his already handsome face devilishly so.
He had one of those voices too; one of those panty-melting voices. I'd always heard voices like his described as 'smooth like butter', but that wasn't right. It was smooth, yeah, but it came with a kick too. Like an Irish creme liquor.
Oh yeah. I knew who he was alright and it didn't matter how good looking he was, he was a real sonova...
I pushed myself up off the floor, having the sudden need to be level with him. At my full height, I was still several inches shorter, but at least I didn't have to look up at him.
"Johnnie Walker Allen," I said, my brow raising in a way that I knew was haughty and didn't care. "It's about time you showed your face."
His head cocked to the side slightly, brows drawing together for a second. "You know who I am?"
"Oh yeah, I know who you are," I said, crossing my hands over my chest, suddenly really self-conscious about my outfit. It didn't exactly do any favors for my body. It wasn't that I was insecure, I just had no illusions either. I wasn't a skinny girl; I would never be a skinny girl. It didn't matter how much I worked out or ate right, I always had a little extra padding. And, for whatever reason, a lot of that padding seemed to wrap itself around my thighs. And it was hot and I wasn't planning on seeing anyone that day so my shorty shorts were doing nothing to flatter my figure- my thunder thighs were on full display. Great. Okay. So they weren't exactly thunder thighs but they were thick and I freaking hated them. I especially hated them when I had them on display in front of this guy. Why, exactly, that mattered was beyond me. I wasn't trying to impress Johnnie Allen. I loathed him. But, somehow, I didn't want to look like a slob around him either.