Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 74782 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74782 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
My plan was to rub sweet-smelling lotion all over my body, apply light makeup, and do a quick blowout, and then be waiting on the bed with my hand down the front of my panties when he walked in.
I was going to stage a scene that would make him crazy, and I’d texted him a taunt earlier that he wasn’t going to be able to hold back when he saw what I had planned for him.
Except… as I was rooting around in my drawer, the TV caught my attention. I’d put on a recorded episode of Dateline to half listen to as I got ready, except that old formula of murder, deception, and betrayal hooked me. I first stood at the dresser and when it went to commercial, I moved to my bed to grab the remote so I could fast-forward. I sat on the edge of the mattress and continued to watch. Next commercial, I fast-forwarded through again, and because my position was uncomfortable, I moved to the middle of my bed and propped myself up with pillows, curling my legs underneath me.
Just a little more, I kept telling myself, but time got away from me, and now Riggs is here and I’m still in my towels and not ready. I also need to know who the murderer is.
I consider making a mad dash to ditch the towels and put myself in a sexy pose, but my eyes keep getting drawn to the TV where Keith Morrison is interviewing the sister of the murder victim.
It’s intense, and I can’t look away.
It’s how Riggs finds me when he enters my bedroom.
Holding out a hand, I say, “Don’t talk. There’s only about eight minutes left, and I need to see what happens.”
Abruptly, Riggs pivots on his foot and marches out of the bedroom.
I’m stunned, hit the pause button, and wonder if I’ve pissed him off. I know he was expecting something far hotter than me sitting in the middle of my bed, big towel on my head while I watched Dateline.
I start to scramble off the bed but before I move, he’s walking back in.
“Stop,” he orders, and I halt. His voice is gruff, but he’s got a slight smile on his face, as if amused. “I wanted to walk out and walk back in… experience seeing you like that all over again.”
I stare at him wide-eyed, rolling those words over in my brain.
He likes what he sees? Me nowhere near the sexy vixen I’d promised and likely at my worst looking? Plus, I didn’t apply lotion, so my skin is a little ashy.
But within his tone and the way he’s looking at me now, I see that he finds me just as appealing as if I were naked and playing with myself.
As I’d promised but didn’t deliver.
He’s looking at me as if he likes me better this way. As if sex isn’t at the center of our time together, and that knowledge squeezes something within my chest.
Not once since we started sleeping together have I felt that way. There’s been amazing sex, and some fun conversations in between, but there’s always been a disconnect. It stems not from his original aversion to me for being a rich divorcée, but from the fact that both of us went into this knowing it would be nothing more than sex.
If it was nothing more than sex—a commodity either of us could get anywhere—why did he seem delighted to find me this way?
And more importantly, why do I feel so damn pleased that I’ve affected him in a way that has nothing to do with sex?
Riggs and I are defined by the intimacy we share. We are blistering in bed, feed off each other, enjoy giving each other pleasure. In between the sheets, we are perfect together.
But the way he’s looking at me now… it goes beyond mere lust or attraction. Riggs is looking at me as if sex isn’t quite on his mind, and it’s disconcerting.
I nod toward the TV, sounding lame in my excuse. “It’s a really good Dateline episode.”
“Clearly,” he replies and moves to the edge of the bed. His eyes pin on me so intently, I feel self-conscious and tug at the towel, knowing it’s the stupidest thing about what he’s seeing right now. My hair comes down in a wave of wet locks that are cold against my skin.
Riggs puts a knee to the mattress and presses his palms down. He crawls my way, and when he’s moved right over top of me, I think he might kiss me.
Instead, he takes the remote from my hand and tosses it to the floor. “We’ll finish Dateline later.”
Riggs moves so fast, I’m not sure what’s happening. But somehow, he whips the towel from my body, has me flat on my back, and my legs spread wide. He moves backward, gliding his mouth over my skin as he kisses his way from my neck all the way down between my legs.