Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92529 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92529 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
“Oh well, that name says so much. I want to meet these women.”
Mitchell had pulled her chair right up to his and had moved her right leg so it was draped over his lap, and he kept his palm settled on the inside of her thigh. He didn’t make a big deal of it, just squeezed her leg when she tried to move away. His fingers made idle sweeps along her inner thigh.
“Later today. It’s already well after midnight.” Mitchell kissed her forehead. “You wait here, I’ll get these guys on their way.”
She stood and ignored his frown. “Thank you for dinner. It was delicious.”
Tully was the first to arrive at her side, not even being the least bit subtle in shoving Mitchell away from her before he pulled her tight to his massive chest. “Thank you, Hope Roman, for bringing my best friend into the world of the living once again.” He kissed her cheek.
“My turn,” Linc said with a smile. He too pulled her close for a hug. Both of these men were large and held her like she was the most delicate flower. “You’re his woman so you’re our family. You need anything, you come to me or Tully. Go to the community center, someone there will know how to find me.”
“God, let her go. You have your own women. Leave mine alone.”
Mitchell pulled her from Linc, who winked and waggled his eyebrows. “You’re simply jealous you’re not getting our hugs now. We like hugging Hope more. She smells nicer and is softer.”
“Linc speaks the truth,” Tully confirmed.
“Get out,” Mitchell groused as he herded them to the door.
When the three of them moved out the front door, she began gathering up the dishes. Mitchell met her at the dining room table when she returned for the pie, grasping her wrist when she went to pick it up.
“My turn,” he growled, eyes aflame with lust.
“For?”
“Dessert. Come here, Flykra.”
Heat burned through her, and she grew slick with desire simply from his touch and those four words.
Gah, she was hopeless.
It never crossed her mind to say no.
Chapter Fifteen
“Hi, Hope!” Dawson waved her in, her fingers curled around a wineglass stem, the nails intricately painted. “We’re in the kitchen.”
Hope stepped into the home. The smells in the air made her mouth water. The moment Dawson closed the door, she wrapped her arm around Hope. The woman wore an oversize sweatshirt with the name of Tully’s ex-team on the front and a pair of black pants, looking all kinds of comfortable. Gray socks were on her feet and her hair was piled on top of her head in some sexy design Hope wouldn’t be able to duplicate with step-by-step instructions and all the time in the world.
“I’m so glad you could make it.”
Honestly, she hadn’t thought there was a choice about attending tonight. Mitchell had told her that the girls, which was what he called Dawson and Emma, had invited her for dinner. That had been it, not if she’d wanted to go or anything like that.
Ergo, here she stood, unsure what was going to happen. Even so, those smells…delish!
“Thanks for having me.”
Dawson watched her for a moment, sipped—okay, glugged—the rest of her wine and laughed. “Aren’t you cute. Like there was a choice.” She nudged her in the direction of the kitchen.
Emma stood at the stove, one hand on her full hip, wearing a blue polka-dot shirt and jeans. She shot Hope a quick look and smiled before staring down at the stovetop and using her fingers to flip what was in the skillet.
“Good to meet you, Hope!” Emma’s brown hair had been tossed into an easy ponytail and her blue eyes were welcoming.
“You, too.”
Dawson moved to the counter. “What’s your poison?”
Unable to ignore the scent of whatever was frying, Hope gave a quick look at the array of bottles in front of Dawson. Mostly wine but she noticed something she preferred.
“The Cachaça, please.”
“Coming right up.” Dawson reached for a glass and the bottle.
Hope sidled up to Emma. “What are you making? It’s not naan, is it?” She licked her lips. “Looks close but thinner.”
Emma shook her head as she reached in the pan and pulled out the golden-brown, delicious-looking flatbread. “No, this is roti. I affectionately refer to it as naan’s lanky younger brother.” Emma added another pat of butter to the skillet and the pop and sizzle pulled a growl from Hope’s stomach.
Before she knew what was happening, Emma switched places with her and Hope was in charge of the roti before her.
“I’m going to burn it.”
“You’ll be fine,” Emma replied, moving behind her to check a pot on the stovetop. “If you don’t want to use your fingers to flip it, there are tongs there. Dawson, put that one in the tortilla warmer, please.”
“On it.”
“Don’t eat this one.” Emma gave her a pointed look.