Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 90899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
“I’m not your roommate,” he says, his gaze narrowing in playful irritation. “I’m your partner.”
I bite my lip, enjoying that more every time he says it. Anthony said he felt too old to be a “boyfriend,” and while I don’t think he’s even close to old, I agreed he was too distinguished for such an adolescent word.
He’s not a boy; he’s a man. And “partner” is the perfect word to describe what he is to me. What we are to each other.
We’re partners. The help doesn’t just flow my way. We’ve spent hours brainstorming ideas for what comes next for Anthony, too, and he loved my suggestion that he should consider applying for a teaching position at one of the universities in the area. He wants to get back to the pure beauty of math that he once loved so much, and he clearly enjoys mentoring people.
Besides, I have some serious “professor” fantasies that I wouldn’t mind living out when I go visit Anthony at his office after hours…
“You are,” I agree, brushing his leg with my foot beneath the table. “You’re also my lover. Which is also much better than a roommate.”
“Damned straight.” He pours champagne into delicate flutes. “You look beautiful tonight. Maybe I should become a personal shopper. I have great taste in clothes.”
I grin. “You do. Though I think your brilliant mind might get bored with fashion after a while.”
“Especially if I’m not shopping for you,” he agrees. “You’re my fashion muse. I’ve already ordered a few things for the ski trip in February, by the way. All you’ll need to shop for are base layers and socks. I couldn’t get excited about socks.”
“I have base layers and warm socks. I’m a Maine girl,” I say, a wave of giddy excitement rising inside of me again.
We already have plans to take a ski trip with Sydney and Gideon, and to have dinner with Weaver and Sully as soon as they’re back in the city. Two weeks ago, I was reluctantly single and not sure I’d ever lose my virginity, let alone fall in love. Now, I have plans for the future with the man of my dreams. A man who looks at me like I’m all he’s ever wanted and all he’ll ever need.
Maybe it’s crazy to believe this is all going to work out after just seven days, but I do.
I believe in miracles. And in this man.
“Love you,” he says, his eyes soft in the candlelight. “And I really love it when you look at me like that.”
“Like I’m never going to let you go?” I whisper.
He holds my gaze, making my nerve endings prickle with awareness. “Yes.” A slow, wicked smile stretches across his lips as he adds, “And like you can’t wait to be naked and alone with me at the earliest convenience.”
I grin as I murmur behind my glass, “Well, I am a very dirty girl.”
“The dirtiest. And the best.” He lifts his glass toward mine. “To new beginnings.”
“To new beginnings,” I say, clinking my glass to his.
Our waiter arrives just then, and we place our orders for each of the four courses. As he moves away with the menus, the band launches into a jazzy version of “Strangers in the Night” and I smile. “Want to dance?”
He cocks his head. “I thought you didn’t dance, Maya from Maine,” he says, calling back to that first night.
“Do you remember everything I’ve ever said?”
“Everything,” he says. “And yes, I’d love to dance. Any excuse to touch you.”
“Good,” I say, rising from my chair as he stands, holding a hand out my way. “Besides, I happen to think we move very well together.”
“That we do.” He squeezes my hand as we cross the small dance floor.
Once there, he pulls me close. Other couples move around us, but I barely notice them. All I can focus on is Anthony’s hand on my waist, his warm fingers wrapped around mine, and the sexy smell of him teasing at my nose as he guides me around the edge of the floor.
And no, we’re not the most graceful couple, but we’re in sync and in love and enjoying the hell out of ourselves, and that’s all that matters.
“I feel like Cinderella,” I say, grinning up at him.
“I feel like the cranky ogre who lived in the swamp,” Anthony says. “The one who finally woke up and realized there’s more to life than work and going home to his shack alone.”
I arch a brow. “Your ‘shack’ is the biggest, most beautiful apartment I’ve ever seen. It makes Sydney’s look like a hovel.”
“But it’s cold,” he says. “Bare. It needs books and rugs and art. I want to change everything. Together.”
After the song, we return to our table, where the first course awaits—delicately sliced raw scallops with citrus and a hint of chili oil that make me moan in appreciation.