Total pages in book: 34
Estimated words: 32155 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 161(@200wpm)___ 129(@250wpm)___ 107(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32155 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 161(@200wpm)___ 129(@250wpm)___ 107(@300wpm)
I mentally add romantic to her list of attributes. “They remind me of my parents,” I say, grinning as I watch them.
“You’re lucky, and so are they.” Her eyes mist as she takes in the slow movements of the older couple.
My heart twists in my chest as I realize the things she’s missed out on in life. The things I take for granted. Parents who not only grow old together, but who, by example, prove that happily-ever-afters do happen. Maybe not for me, but I don’t not believe they can occur.
I glance over. Her eyes have filled up, misting with tears. “I just miss her still. I think I feel an ache for the events she missed out on in my life…graduations, jobs, celebrations. She’d be so happy about this cure. Not for herself, but—”
“She’d be proud of you.” I smile because I am proud of her. “So would your dad.”
She brushes at a stray tear. “I know.” She smiles. “Hey…let’s dance,” she says, clearly wanting to change the subject.
Before I can answer, she rises from her chair and grabs my hand, pulling me to join her.
I give in…only because I will have an eye on the front and back doors the whole time. She slips into my arms like she is meant for me, her breasts pressed enticingly against my chest, causing my body to hum with desire. A burning need for this one woman.
And when she slides her hands into the back pockets of my jeans and cups my ass, all bets are off. I wrap an arm around her waist, lift her until she is up on her toes, and seal my lips over hers. I feel her mouth curve up in a smile. Little smarty-pants got what she wanted, but in doing so, I won as well.
I slide my tongue between her lips and delve deep, indulging in her sweetness and taste, my cock pulsing against my jeans and her soft body. We sway in time to the music, her tongue gliding against mine, my mind wondering how fast I can get her out of here and into a bed.
“Food,” she whispers, breaking the kiss. “We need to eat so we can get out of here.”
She is reading my mind. “I could devour you,” I say, nipping at her bottom lip.
Now that I’ve overanalyzed for the better part of the day, I am finished treating her with kid gloves, as if she were some fragile flower. This woman has guts and strength, and I want her bad.
After we get through this meal and I check us in for the night, I’m not backing off once we are alone. I’ll be careful with her safety, but I am giving in to what we both want.
I grasp her hand and lead her back to the table, where our plates are waiting. I barely taste my food, eating only as a means to keep up my strength—we are both going to need and appreciate it later.
“This is good barbeque sauce,” she says, her eyes glittering as she runs her tongue over her lips. “Hot and spicy.” Her cheeks flush a healthy pink.
I know it isn’t in her nature to be the sexual aggressor, but she is pushing me anyway. Even if it isn’t easy.
“You’re stepping up your game.” And she is getting to me. I gesture for the check.
She lifts her shoulder in a delicate shrug. “You didn’t give me much of a choice. You weren’t going to make the first move. Or the next one. And we’re long overdue for this, wouldn’t you say?”
I reach into my pocket and throw cash on the table, pull her from her seat, and make a beeline for the door, my body hot, bothered, and insisting that I get her alone.
Except as I push through the crowd, the back of my neck begins to tingle, and a glance at the front entrance tells me why. A man stands at the entryway, looking out of place in black slacks and a white shirt, a holstered gun covered by his jacket but visible by the slight bump of fabric.
And though this guy could be anyone, I never ignored my sixth sense. But fuck. How the hell were we located again?
I pull Talia behind a group of people, out of sight.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, taking my cues and inserting herself into the crowd.
“We’re going out the back. Take off your glasses,” I instruct Talia. “Just until we get to the car.” They are less likely to recognize her without the visible prop.
She slides her glasses off her face and tucks them into her hand. “I don’t get it,” she says, her frustration mirroring my own.
“Let’s figure it out once we’re out of here. Stick close.” I glance around and see the man walk up to the hostess stand, which is far from the dance floor, giving us the opportunity to slip away.