Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 135539 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135539 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
“I’m sorry,” I tell him in the resounding silence. “I thought I could handle it but—”
His big hand engulfs my clenched fist. “Pen, I was sitting out here trying to come up with the nerve to talk to you about all this. First, I want one thing clear. If you’re not in the same place as I am, it’s okay. I’ll always be in your life, if you want me there.”
“Of course I do.” The idea of him not being in my life as he’s been lately fills me with panic.
Inky strands of hair fall over his brow as he ducks his head and smiles faintly. He gives himself a shake and then focuses on me with unnerving intensity. “You’re right. We can’t go on like this.”
Oh.
“This pazzo plan of mine was doomed from the start. I think I knew that even when I was forming it in my head.” Softly, he tucks a lock of hair back from my cheek. “Thing is, Penelope, I looked at you, standing there in my parents’ doorway and . . .”
He trails off, drawing in a breath before letting it out slowly. “You know what I think when I look at you?”
Oh, God, I’m almost afraid to ask. But those quicksilver eyes hold so much emotion. Eyes I’ve been wanting to look my way for so long I’ve lost count.
I lick my lips, find my voice. “What, then?”
“That you’re so beautiful it makes my heart hurt. That I want to touch you so badly my hands shake. But that you’re Penelope Morrow, and I’m not supposed to want you this way.”
Oh, God.
A fine tremble starts low in my belly and begins to spread outward. He wants me. Me, Penelope Morrow. But wait . . .
“Says who?”
His brow furrows. “Says who?”
“Who says you’re not supposed to want me?”
That gives him pause. “Well, hell.”
“Have I told you no?”
His lips twitch, a light entering his eyes. “No.”
“Do you want to touch me, August?”
The wry humor dies. Instantly he’s serious. Intent. “Yes. Fuck yes.”
“Then ask me.”
His nostrils flare, and his voice dips low and strong. “Penelope. May I—”
“Yes. Fuck yes.”
That’s all he needs. His mouth is hot on mine in the next breath.
Twenty-Six
August
She tastes like honey. I’ve waited for so long—so fucking long—to know. And she’s delicious. I eat at her mouth, a man consumed by hunger. I didn’t know I could be this hungry. My fingers slide into the thick mass of her hair, gripping it as I angle in for a deeper taste. It will never be enough.
She’s just as frantic, fisting my shirt, cupping my cheek like she’s afraid I’ll disappear. Never going to happen. Little gasps puff from her mouth as we feast on each other. Groaning, I lift her onto my lap and lean back as she presses against me. Lust makes me lightheaded, clumsy. My tongue slides over hers, slick and hot and perfect. I could lose myself in this. Just kissing. I nip her lower lip, slide my hand up under her shirt to feel her silky skin. I want to touch those tits. They’ve starred in too many dreams. My hands are shaking with that want.
But suddenly she pulls back, our kiss breaking with an audible wet sound. Her hair is mussed, breasts heaving with panting breaths. “Wait. Hold on.”
The command knocks the wind out of me. It’s such a shift that my head pounds before I can find my voice. “What’s wrong?”
If she’s changed her mind I’m going to cry. Big football player tears.
My fear increases as she slides off my lap and curls up at the edge of the sofa. Her velvety eyes are huge in the oval of her face as she bites the edge of her thumb. Fuck. What did I do? Was I coming on too strong. Probably. I’d never been that relieved or that needy from hearing a simple “yes.” I’ll have to explain; I can be gentle. I can.
“Pen—”
“I have to tell you something.” She lowers her thumb then nibbles on it again. “But I . . . well, honestly, I should have said this before.”
The way her gaze keeps darting away makes me sit up fully. “What is it? You’re scaring me with that expression. Just tell me, Sweets.”
“I will, I’m just . . . God. I’m so embarrassed. I can physically feel little flames of it on my skin.” She waves her hands as if trying to beat off that embarrassment. It’s cute. Or would be if she hadn’t just slammed the breaks on us. She’s also clearly uncomfortable, which is the last thing I want her to be.
“Sweetheart, nothing you could say could possibly be—” She shoots me a repressive glare, and I hold up my hands. “Okay, okay. Just . . . take your time. I’m here.”
“I know. You’re so great. I want you so much—”