Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 27188 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27188 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
I lean in just enough to make her tilt her head up. “Tell you what–I’ll be a gentleman, for now, but one bed or not, you’re gonna have to learn how to share, Amelia.”
With that, I brush past her, my smirk widening as I hear her muttering something under her breath.
Thirty minutes later, I’m sprawled out on the couch, staring at the ceiling and regretting my decision to be a “gentleman.” The couch is about as comfortable as lying on a pile of scrap metal, and my back is already screaming in protest. Buttercup, of course, has claimed the corner of the couch as her throne, watching me with those unblinking eyes like she’s judging my life choices.
I hear soft footsteps above me, followed by the creak of the loft floor. Amelia’s silhouette appears at the edge of the stairs, her flannel-covered form illuminated by the dim light of the lamp. My flannel. I can’t help the way my eyes trace her legs, bare and smooth, the fabric hitting just high enough to make my thoughts stray.
“You look ridiculous down there,” she says, her voice teasing but quiet. “You’re gonna hurt yourself.”
“I’m fine,” I grunt, shifting to get comfortable. Buttercup lets out a hiss, clearly annoyed at my movement, and I glare at the cat. “Your pet, on the other hand, is a tyrant.”
“She’s sweet,” Amelia says, descending the stairs and walking toward me. “You just don’t understand her.”
“She hates me.”
“She tolerates you,” she corrects, standing over me with her hands on her hips. “And she’s got a good read on people, so I’d say that’s a compliment.”
I sit up, rubbing the back of my neck. “What are you doing down here, anyway?”
She hesitates, fiddling with the hem of the flannel. “I, uh… I can’t sleep.”
“And you think staring at me is gonna help?”
She rolls her eyes, but there’s a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “No. But I figured I’d at least make sure you’re not dying of hypothermia.”
“I told you, I run hot.”
Her gaze flickers, and I can see the way her throat bobs as she swallows. “Well, it’s not exactly warm down here.”
“Neither’s the bed up there,” I say, raising an eyebrow. “You sure you’re not just looking for an excuse to drag me back to the loft?”
Her cheeks flush, and she crosses her arms over her chest. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
I stand, stretching to my full height, and watch as her eyes widen just a fraction. “If you’re that worried about me, Sugar, why don’t we solve both our problems?”
Her brow furrows. “What are you talking about?”
“One bed,” I say simply. “We’ll share it. No big deal.”
Her jaw drops, and I swear I can see the war waging in her head. Finally, she sighs, clearly resigning herself to the inevitable. “Fine. But no funny business.”
I grin, motioning for her to lead the way. “Whatever you say.”
Back in the loft, the bed feels smaller than I remember. Amelia curls up on one side, clutching the quilt to her chest like a barrier between us. I lie on my back, my arms folded behind my head, trying to ignore the warmth radiating from her side of the bed with her damn cat nestled up near my armpit.
The silence stretches, heavy and charged, until I can’t resist.
“Your pussy’s already addicted to me,” I say, my voice low and teasing.
She gasps, her head whipping around to glare at me. “Excuse me?”
I nod toward Buttercup. “Your cat. She’s been glued to me since you brought her here.”
Amelia groans, covering her face with her hands. “You’re impossible.”
And then, Jet climbs into my bed, snuggling up against Amelia and whining for some attention from her.
I chuckle, the sound rumbling in the quiet room. “You walked into this, Sugar. Don’t act surprised.”
She gives Jet a quick scratch behind his ears, her laughter finally breaks through, soft and genuine, and for a moment, the tension eases. She turns to face me, her expression still half-exasperated, half-amused.
“Goodnight, Fox,” she says, her tone firm but not unkind.
“Goodnight, Amelia.”
I close my eyes, a smirk still playing on my lips, and let the warmth of her presence lull me to sleep.
Chapter Three
Amelia
The loft is quiet, the soft hum of the heater barely cutting through the early morning stillness. I stretch under the quilt, Buttercup nestled up against Fox’s neck like a traitor. She stirs as I slip out of bed, padding toward the bathroom.
The floor is cold underfoot, and I shiver, pulling Fox’s borrowed flannel tighter around me. No suitcase. No clothes of my own. But at least I have his shirt, warm and worn, carrying the faintest trace of his cedar and motor oil scent. I hate how comforting I find it.
The shower is my first priority. The loft is freezing, and the hot water is the only thing capable of thawing me out. I turn the knob all the way to hot, steam filling the small bathroom almost instantly. Stripping off the flannel and stepping under the spray feels like stepping into heaven.