Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 88992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
“I hired this guy, Nick, out of Phoenix,” Isaac says. “He’s the best private investigator out there. You need to heal, be patient, and be ready so when we get this cleared up, you’ll be right back to work.”
“Yeah,” I say, huffing a breath. Lights shine through the gym, reflecting off the glass and the plaques hanging off the walls. “Isaac, I gotta go. Thanks for the update.”
“Anytime. I’ll keep you posted with any updates.”
“Sounds good.”
I end the call just as a white Jeep stops in front of the building. I shove open the door, fueled by restlessness and relief, while my brain flashes warning signs through my head. It’s a damn good thing I’m adept at ignoring those bastards.
“Hey,” I say, as I open her car door.
“Hey.”
It’s one word—a single, breathily spoken syllable that wrecks my defenses.
She’s so beautiful with her hair pulled back, showcasing the angelic light in her eyes. It’s easy to see why Gray described her as a good girl and innocent as hell, and I’m sure she is both of those things.
But Gray missed something, and I bet most people do.
I saw it the first night we met—that faint glint. A hint of impatience. A spark flickering, as if it hasn’t yet decided whether to go out or to burn.
She’s here to burn. I just have to make sure the fire doesn’t destroy us both.
Audrey hops out, her tennis shoes crunching the gravel, and blows out a breath. Thin whisps of warmth slip past her pink lips as I shut the door. She clutches a water bottle as we turn towards the building.
“Sorry I’m late,” she says, following me inside. “My GPS wanted me to turn right instead of left off Sour Run Road.”
“It does that sometimes. I was starting to think you got scared and backed out on me.”
Her eyes meet mine as a flush settles on her cheeks.
“You almost did, didn’t you?” I ask, laughing.
“This is new to me, okay?” She sets her bottle down on a small bench covered in chipped yellow paint. “I’m not used to …” She nibbles on her bottom lip. “Whatever this is.”
“It’s whatever you want it to be.”
Her shoulders square to mine, and excitement shimmers in her eyes. They’re wide, bright, and hopeful. But there’s a touch of caution clinging to the baby blues that steals my breath.
I know what she wants, and I think I know what she needs. But if her objective is to walk into that party full of fuckheads with her head held high, she needs confidence more than she needs to get off. If I don’t give her both of those things, I’m just taking advantage of her, and I’d die before I do something like that.
“I don’t think what I want is a secret,” she says softly.
“And as soon as you can tell me exactly what that is, you’ll get it.”
Her jaw drops to the floor as I chuckle, walking away. “Are you ready for your first self-defense lesson?”
“You know,” she says, walking to me on the mat, “I’ve only dated a few guys in my life, but the ones I have gone out with have tried to get me to have sex with them from the first date. And now there’s you, and I feel like I have to beg you.”
“Ooh,” I say, widening my eyes for effect. “That could be fun.”
“I’m not begging you.”
“Are you sure about that?”
She grins. “No.”
The thought of her on her knees in front of me, those beautiful eyes staring up at me, is enough to make me say fuck it and just strip her down right here. It takes every ounce of restraint I can find to turn away from her and breathe.
How can this woman walk into this gym like a breath of fresh air immediately following a tense conversation and make me forget all my problems?
Ironically, she’s going to add to that pile of problems before it’s over, and I don’t think I care.
Focus, Dempsey.
“What kind of self-defense do you want to learn?” I ask.
“I think I’d like to be able to throw a punch.”
“That’s as good of a place to start as any.” I motion for her to come closer. “You’re right-handed, correct?”
She nods. “Hang on. Let me take this jacket off. I took it from Astrid’s closet, and it’s a little big on me.”
Her fingers grip the zipper, and she drags it down her chest with a movement so intentional that it hurts. She draws it between her tits, exposing a white sports bra that displays her cleavage so perfectly that I’m pretty sure my drool has landed on the mat. Lower it goes, over her rounded stomach, displaying an inch of her skin at a time.
My eyes shift to hers as she slips it off her narrow shoulders.
She’s so gorgeous that it’s unfair. And somehow, standing in sweatpants and a sports bra, she’s even sexier than she was in lingerie. How?