Total pages in book: 54
Estimated words: 49416 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 247(@200wpm)___ 198(@250wpm)___ 165(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 49416 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 247(@200wpm)___ 198(@250wpm)___ 165(@300wpm)
“Is that right?” I ask as I navigate the highway toward home.
“Yep,” she says, her perfect pink lips popping on the P.
I do my best to keep my eyes on the road, no matter how tempted I am to look over at her. She's gorgeous, all fiery spirit contained in a tiny, irresistible delicate package. Smooth skin, blonde hair, and bright blue eyes that have starred in more than one of my favorite dreams lately.
“If we're going to have to plan and host a lot of the prenuptials for Anne and Jim, we're going to have to work together,” she continues. “Are you going to be able to spend so much time with someone you hate?”
Her words bring me up short.
“I don't hate you,” I say, shock drenching my tone, and I spare a quick glance, furrowing my brow at her. Her eyes are closed in what looks like an immediate and necessary power nap.
I shake my head, wondering how she could think that I hate her?
Okay, fuck me, I know I'm a grumpy asshole on the best of days, but people annoy me. There's only a handful of people I can stand, and she's one of them.
I put my eyes back on the road, searching for the right words to explain to her that I'm not always trying to be a dick—
“I think about your tattoos a lot,” she blurts, causing me to jolt a little at her sudden alertness. I hold back a laugh. She looks like she doesn’t even know she fell asleep.
I exit off the highway, heading back into Sweet Water and making the turn down her street.
“Like this one,” she continues, reaching across the car and running her fingers down the black inked tree that coils around my right forearm. “Does it mean anything or do you just like trees?”
Sparks burst beneath her touch, her fingers as silky soft as I've always imagined.
“I'll tell you when you're sober,” I say as I turn into her driveway, parking and killing the ignition as I get out of the car to open her door for her.
I reach for her, helping her out of the car. “I'm sorry I got out of hand,” she says, her lips shaping the saddest little pout I've ever seen as she leans heavily against me.
“Fuck that,” I say, slipping my arm around her hip and guiding her to her door. “You're never out of hand, Lyla,” I continue. “Now give me your keys.”
She digs in her purse before handing me her keys, her eyes fluttering open and closed as she leans against me. “No, I definitely got out of hand. I shouldn't have had so much to drink. I don’t normally. I haven’t had a night off in months though.”
“You're allowed to have fun,” I assure her, unlocking her door and swinging it open before I swipe an arm beneath her knees and cradle her to my chest. “You're free to do whatever the fuck you want and anyone who says otherwise is an asshole.”
I walk us into her house, kicking the door shut behind us before I linger in the hallway.
She looks up at me with wide eyes, her arms around my neck. “Really?”
“Really,” I say. “Now, where's your bedroom?”
A beautiful flush dances over her cheeks and she visibly swallows before pointing toward the stairs. “Up and first one on the right.”
I'm surprised the little vixen doesn't sass me for carrying her up the stairs, but I imagine she's a little bit too inebriated to hang on to that fire she normally reserves just for me.
I effortlessly climb the stairs with her in my arms before turning into her bedroom. I need to get her safely into her bed before I can grab her some much-needed water and make sure she's okay before I get the hell out of here.
“I want you to tattoo me someday,” she says, shocking the hell out of me. I freeze two steps away from her bed. I turn my head to look down at her, lips parted—
Her mouth crashes against mine, the kiss hot and needy and completely uninhibited. My eyes close automatically, and I hold her just a little bit closer as I return the kiss before coming to my fucking senses.
I draw back, chiding myself for returning the kiss when she's so drunk.
“Whoops,” she says, and bursts into a fit of giggles, her forehead dipping against my chest as she laughs.
Her laughter abruptly cuts off and she wiggles in my arms.
“Put me down. Now,” she demands.
I gently set her on her feet, and she races through her bedroom, disappearing behind a door—what I can only assume is her bathroom.
Ten seconds later I hear her getting sick.
I hiss, shaking my head before going back downstairs, raiding her fridge and thankfully finding a Gatorade. I grab a water bottle too, and head back up the stairs. Setting the items down on the nightstand next to her bed.