Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 109637 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109637 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
I’m covered in grime, just as he is. My skin is cold and clammy, and a shower sounds like heaven.
He points out the bathroom, just through another doorway. “I’ll take the guest bath.”
He doesn’t wait for me to protest that I should take the guest bath—I’m the guest, after all—but walks out the door with his fresh clothes in hand.
So I help myself to Gabriel’s ultra-modern bathroom, washing in the massive, glass-walled shower and using his fancy shower gel that smell like him. It all feels like a dream. A really weird dream. It might very well be. I can’t wrap my head around the fact that I’m here. That he’s brought me here.
I dry my hair with one of his thick, fluffy towels and pull on his clothes.
You know those books and movies where the girl wears a guy’s pants and they hang on her tiny frame? Yeah, I’m not sure what sort of pixies populate fiction, but not so much for me. Oh, the legs are too long, and I have to roll them. But the pants stretch tight over my ass and thighs to a cringe-worthy degree.
The T-shirt fits better, but basically looks like a sack. Sexy, I am not. I’m also not wearing a bra because mine is soaked and cold. I don’t think the fact that my girls are free-swinging does much for the cause. I’m just frumpy with limp, damp hair and no makeup.
I laugh though, because does my appearance even matter? The way Gabriel looks at me never seems to change with my outfits. And he’s made it clear this is not about sex.
A flash of us on the street streaks through my mind, his hard body and thick cock pressing into me for one heady moment. That was real. But was it a reaction to me? Or just the fact that he was between a woman’s legs?
“You do think too much,” I mutter to my reflection and then return to his room.
He isn’t there. I absolutely do not imagine him showering. I’ll have to face him soon enough, and I don’t need that image in my head when I do.
The room is fairly dark, only a bedside lamp glowing and the flicker of embers dying in the fireplace. The chill of the rain is gone now, and my body is warm and relaxed.
Idly, I wander over to his bed. It’s huge and plush. The flax linen duvet is slightly rumpled, as if Gabriel had been lying down on the covers, trying to get comfortable, before getting up. Oddly, I can’t imagine him allowing himself to relax enough to actually sleep. Which is ridiculous; even gods have to sleep sometime.
I sit on his bed. It feels like a sin, something naughty. I can’t help but smile at the thought of him frowning at me invading his personal domain. I run a palm over the covers, smoothing out the wrinkles. They’re soft and cool, giving under my hand. And suddenly, it’s far too easy to lower myself onto his bed, let his plump pillows cradle my head. Because everything is just too heavy now: my body, my limbs, my eyelids.
His bed smells of fresh linen. So soft. The rain drums against the roof, the dying fire crackles. My eyes close. I take a deep breath, try to open my eyes again. But I’m so comfortable. Everything is still, calm here. And Gabriel is just down the hall. Whatever he thinks of me, he’ll make certain I’m safe, watched over. He’s a steady rock.
My legs straighten, moving farther onto the bed. With a sigh, I settle down. I’ll just rest my eyes until he returns.
Chapter Seven
Gabriel
* * *
There are only so many times you can ask yourself what the fuck are you doing before the question becomes pointless. Being a tenacious bastard, I give up only after the hundredth time. Fuck it. I want Sophie here. Denying it is stupid. The moment she agreed to come over, the hard compression that’s a near constant on my breastbone eased. It got lighter still when I saw her standing on that foggy street, her white blond hair frizzing in the damp, the lilting sound of her voice and that unflinching honesty of hers working like a balm.
It damn near lifted entirely when I rolled on top of her and pressed my cock between her legs. Her lips had parted in shock, those soft brown eyes widening. I meant what I said when I told her I wasn’t after sex. It would be the height of stupidity to get involved with that woman. But there’s a perverse sort of pleasure to be had in shocking Sophie Darling.
I find myself wanting to do it all the time.
For fuck’s sake, I’m making tea. For the insane chatty girl I met on a plane. If I haven’t fallen off the cliff already, I’m certainly teetering on the edge of it.