Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 24043 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 120(@200wpm)___ 96(@250wpm)___ 80(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24043 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 120(@200wpm)___ 96(@250wpm)___ 80(@300wpm)
"When I spilled my coffee on you the first time we met." She shrugs, the corner of her mouth quirking up into a half-smile that makes my chest tight. "You were beyond grumpy then. Your face turned this interesting shade of red, and I swear I could see steam coming out of your ears like some cartoon character. You looked like you wanted to strangle me."
"Oh, coffee girl." I walk over and pull her curvy body close to mine, feeling the soft cotton of her shirt against my palms, her warmth radiating through the thin fabric. The scent of her rose-scented shampoo hits me like a drug. "Strangling you was the last fucking thing on my mind." I smirk down at her, watching her pupils dilate as she tilts her face up to mine.
"What were you thinking?" Her warm breath brushes against my lips, sending electricity down my spine.
"How much I wanted to throw your gorgeous ass over my shoulder and drag you back to my lair." My voice drops to a growl as my fingers press into the small of her back.
“Oh.” The vein at the base of her throat pounds away as she stares up at me.
Needing to take things down a notch before I spread her little ass across the breakfast bar and eat her for dinner, I pour us each a glass of wine. Our fingers touch as I hand one to her, and the contact zaps through me, straight to my cock. Jesus. I’m one breath away from losing control and fucking her in my goddamn kitchen.
She tries to pretend she doesn’t notice the spark, but her eyes go wide, and that shy smile is back. I want to taste it. I want to put my ring on her finger and tie her ass to me for life.
She swallows her entire glass down in one swallow, then steps back and glances around. “Wow,” she says. “Your kitchen is… insane. I mean, it’s bigger than most restaurants.” She steps past me to peek at the lasagna, and my eyes drop to her ass in those yoga pants. I can’t stop a groan from erupting from my throat as my cock hardens.
I set the wine bottle down and force myself to focus. “I hope you’re hungry.” My voice sounds rough even to my own ears.
She laughs, low and surprised. “I’m freaking starving.” She glances up at me from under her lashes, and I swear my cock twitches in appreciation. Zero shame. Every inch of me is ready for her.
I grab plates and serve up portions of lasagna that would make Nonna proud. The scents of garlic and cheese fill the kitchen, but all I can focus on is Alice perched on a barstool, bare feet swinging, lips parted in anticipation. She watches me like I’m the main course, and for a second, I almost forget how to function.
I set the plate in front of her, and our fingers brush again, even though it’s unnecessary. I want to touch her. All the time. Might as well make it obvious.
“Wow,” she breathes, fork poised. “This looks incredible.”
“Wait until you taste it.” My voice is rough.
She takes a bite, and her eyes roll back. “Oh my God, Gabe. This is… I don’t even have words.” Watching her eat turns me the fuck on so much, I don’t taste a bite of my own meal.
Dinner is… surreal. Alice is working on her second huge helping, sopping up the sauce with garlic bread and moaning in a way that makes my pants tighter with every bite. We talk between mouthfuls, and she tells me about her time in college, her favorite trash TV shows. And I can’t take my eyes off her. I drag my gaze over her perfect curves, then force myself to focus on something besides pinning her to the polished kitchen counter and making her scream my name.
“How did you end up in Worthington Hills?” I ask, voice low and rough.
Alice looks up, fork pausing halfway to her lips. “I wish I had a really great reason. But honestly, The Mercer Group’s offer was the best one I received.” She grins, but I catch the flicker of hesitation in her eyes.
She tries to play it off with a quick grin, but I spot the truth in her eyes. There’s something she isn’t saying. I lean in, elbows on the counter, crowding her a little just to watch her squirm.
“Did you not want to work for The Mercer Group?” I press, voice low.
She stabs at her lasagna, cheeks flaming. “Honestly? No. It’s not my endgame. I want something a little more… creative. But this pays the bills and keeps me sane until I figure out my real dream job.” She shrugs, trying to act casual, but that stubborn chin tips up and she meets my gaze, defiant and honest and so goddamn sexy I want to drag her onto my lap right now.