Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 148473 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148473 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
“Red it is,” the croupier says.
The ball spins, my heart pounding as I watch it circle the wheel. It bounces once, twice, and then lands…
On red.
15
IT’S ALL COMING BACK TO ME
Maeve
When the door to our room shuts, my nerves gallop, but so does my excitement. I catch a glimpse of his duffel bag, with the box of condoms poking out. Kissing is one thing, but sex is entirely another. I don’t think I can have forget-about-it-tomorrow sex with Asher. It’s too intimate. And I’m too needy.
I need boundaries for my own emotional health. I place a hand on his chest. “Just kissing. That’s all.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t let you see the flamingos,” he says.
I laugh, and his comment erases my nerves. He knew what to say. Asher always knows what to say to settle my wild thoughts and my racing heart.
“Besides, there’s a marriage pact loophole where you get free kissing practice on your wedding night,” he adds.
“I had no idea. You’re quite the expert on marriage pacts,” I tease.
“Well, I did strike ours, and look—it paid off. You’re having fun.”
“I am,” I say, but then my nerves resurface. Where do we go? The bed? The couch? Here? Do we stand and make out?
Before I even have time to analyze all the logistics, Asher takes my hand and leads me to the couch. He sinks down on it, and I follow, sitting next to him. Closer than I usually do.
But now what? “This is awkward,” I observe, looking at my hands.
“Doesn’t have to be,” he replies, sounding relaxed, confident. Maybe I need that.
“Yeah?” Is it obvious how eager I am?
Of course it is. I bet him for a kiss.
He takes a beat, his gaze thoughtful, then asks, “Do you trust me?”
He said those words at the auction, and my answer came easily. It flies off my tongue tonight too. “Yes.”
“Then let me help you remember,” he says. I expect him to come in for a kiss, but instead, he takes his time, lifting a hand and running a finger across my lower lip.
Like I did moments ago at the table. I tremble. He knew what I was doing then—recalling the kiss.
But the other thing I realize is…he noticed.
Does Asher watch me?
The bold part of me wants to ask him that question—when in Vegas, after all. But the part of me that likes how he’s setting the pace waits for him to go next.
He lowers his hand, meets my eyes with his darkened ones. “Does that help you remember how I turned you on so much with our wedding kiss that you bet on another one at the roulette table?”
I’m so obvious, and he likes it. “Is that what you think happened?” I ask coyly, testing him. I’ve never known what Asher’s like after dark, of course. Haven’t really thought about it much either. Now, my curious mind is buzzing with questions.
His gaze locks on mine. “I don’t think it. I know that’s what happened.”
My heart stutters. Is my life-of-the-party, emotionally astute, shoulder-to-lean-on friend a bossy man in the bedroom?
Please say yes, universe.
Wait. I can’t think that. I really can’t. Except, I am. And I want more of it, so I tease him with a bob of my shoulder and a flirty, “Maybe.”
There’s a rumble in his throat. Then, he says, “Pretty sure it is…wife.”
My breath hitches from the thoroughly possessive way he uttered one word. “Okay. You’re right,” I murmur.
“I know,” he says, and he cups my jaw, stroking it slowly.
Is my jaw an erogenous zone? Well, it sure seems it is, since I feel like a cat, purring, leaning into his hand, moving with him as his thumb explores the line of my jaw. I’m shivery from what he’s doing. He slides the pad of his thumb up to my ear, tracing the shell with a light caress. He hasn’t even dropped his mouth to mine again. He hasn’t even dipped his face near me.
And yet, I’m melting inside.
“We’re not practicing kissing,” I whisper, but my eyes are fluttering closed and I’m not sure my thoughts are truly coherent. I feel like a chocolate bar in the sun right now, and it’s all from his fingers on my face.
He tips my chin up, forcing me to look at him. My eyes float open. Asher’s green irises are usually clever, inviting. Now they’re mesmerizing, glimmering. They’re…a little filthy too.
“We are, Maeve,” he says, firm, commanding. “We are practicing kissing.”
My brow knits. I’m a little confused. “But—”
Then, he shuts me up by pressing a finger to my lips. “Do you think a good kiss only involves lips?”
“Well…”
He shakes his head. “A kiss doesn’t start with lips. It starts with want. With desire. With anticipation,” he says, and I whimper from his words and the way they’re tugging low in my belly. Then, he slides a hand down my bare arm, watching as the little hairs on my arm rise up. “It starts with other people looking at you. Thinking they have a chance with you. And being so fucking wrong.”