Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 97994 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97994 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
“And?” I am hanging on her every word.
She nibbles her lip. “And he forgot.”
“He forgot?”
What a self-absorbed prick.
She nods again, slower this time. “He double-booked himself with a team dinner—I don’t remember the excuse. But he didn’t show to pick her up.” Her voice softens. “She waited for him at her house for over an hour.”
Jesus.
“And he just what… What did he do then?”
“He texted later,” Juliette says quietly. “Apologized. But of course, the damage had been done and now she hates his guts.”
Hates his guts.
Sounds familiar.
I clear my throat. “That’s brutal.”
Her head bobs. “Yup. Try being in a room with both of them at the same time…”
“And you?” I lightly run my fingers through her silky hair. It’s straighter now that it’s drying. “Were you the golden child with all this golden hair?”
“Hardly,” she says. “I was the quiet one. I didn’t need as much attention. It’s not like I was headed to a D1 school to play a sport.” A tiny shrug. “Everyone kind of knew early on Declan was going to go pro.”
Same.
I hate how easily I can picture it. The praise. The house, orbiting around the golden boy with a stick in his hand. Especially knowing what a bag of shit the dude is and how he treats women.
“Are you two close?” I ask, keeping my tone even.
She studies me for a half-second before replying. “We used to fight a lot when we were kids—he was overly protective. Bossy. But yeah. He’d do anything for me.”
Would he?
“And you?” I press gently. “You’d do anything for him?”
Her answer is immediate. “Of course.”
I file her answer away under: Loyal to a fault. Move my hand from her hair, down her arm, to her waist at the exact time she leans forward to kiss the tip of my nose.
It’s light. Playful.
“We’re family. That’s what family does.”
Juliette lowers her hand between us on the comforter, palm open. And without thinking about it, I take it. Lift it. Turn it over in mine.
It’s warm. Tiny.
I bring it to my mouth.
Kiss the center of her palm.
Her wrist.
Press my lips to her erratically beating pulse.
My mouth remains there, and when I glance into her eyes she’s staring as if I’ve done something far more intimate than anything that happened earlier in the shower.
We don’t speak.
There is no need to.
I slide my hand from her palm to lace our fingers together, kissing her knuckles.
“Aaron, what has gotten into you?” she whispers.
I wish I knew.
I have no fucking idea because I am not supposed to be feeling anything for this woman, let alone tenderness.
Not admiration. All of this is supposed to be a sham, for fuck’s sake.
And why does my throat feel tight?
“I just—” Don’t even know what I was going to say.
I just…
I just what?
Feel like a complete asshole because the most patient, sincere, quietly stunning woman I’ve ever met is fluttering her lashes at me, pink lips parted, skin glowing?
So what if she’s nice? Lots of people are nice.
And kind.
And caring.
That doesn’t mean they crawl under your skin and settle there like a tick. That doesn’t mean they make you question your own motives. That doesn’t mean they make you want to be better than the man you were five minutes ago.
Big fucking deal.
I can’t imagine what the look on her face is going to be when—
“Can I say something cheesy without you getting all weird on me?”
I nod because that’s all I can muster up.
“No guy has ever…” She swallows the confession. “Treated me this way before. You make me feel so safe.”
Safe.
Jesus H Christ. I am going to hell.
My chest constricts so hard I have to look away for half a second. Safe is the last thing I should be to her.
I glance toward the television, pretending to focus on whatever’s flashing across the screen. Because if I keep staring at her while she’s saying things like that, I might have second thoughts about all this.
“Come here, babe.” I know the words are manipulative, but they slip out and sound like the right thing to say.
I pull her into me—tuck one of my arms behind my pillow, the other sliding around her waist until she’s flush against my chest. I press my mouth into her hair, inhale the expensive shampoo.
She sighs against me, palms sliding up my chest. Around my neck, fingers teasing the hair at my nape. “You know what the worst part about dating you is?”
“What?” I murmur.
“Seeing you in secret is the most rebellious thing I’ve done. It makes me feel like such a badass.” She laughs.
My heart thuds.
If only her only danger was a fucking memo at the office; human resources isn’t what’s going to bring this all crashing down.
“That’s the worst part?” I am unable to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.
“Obviously,” she teases, raising her face to look at me, lips kissing the tip of my chin. “We’ll have to calculate the risk at some point to see if we should, you know—keep talking.”