Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 21156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 106(@200wpm)___ 85(@250wpm)___ 71(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 21156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 106(@200wpm)___ 85(@250wpm)___ 71(@300wpm)
“Lead the way.” She falls into step next to me, and we walk side by side while Salty zooms around our ankles, tangling his leash. I carry all her bags in one arm, and her shoulder brushes mine with every step, sending little zaps straight through my suit and into my bloodstream. I want her. I want to press her against the wall and taste her, right here in the mirrored foyer.
The elevator dings, and we step inside. She presses the button for the third floor. Her hands are small, fingernails short and painted a pale pink. Fuck, even her hands are sexy.
She glances up at me, blue eyes all sharp and curious. “Do you live in the building, too?” she asks.
“I live on the sixth floor,” I tell her as Salty sniffs his way around the elevator.
The elevator dings at three, and we step out into the hallway. Nadia leads the way, glancing over her shoulder. Her stride is shorter than mine, but she moves with determination.
She stops at 3H and reaches for one of the totes I’m holding to grab her keycard, and our hands touch again. Static zings between our fingers, and her eyes flick up to meet mine. For one beat, I think about kissing her. I imagine cupping the back of her neck, feeling those wild curls against my palm, tasting her exhaustion and her laughter and the hundred-watt hum of her.
But I don’t. I know I need to take things slow if I’m going to convince this gorgeous woman to give me the time of day.
We step into her small studio apartment, and I hand her the totes before stepping back to give her space. “Here you go,” I say, a little too softly.
She leans against the breakfast bar. “Thanks for the rescue.”
I rub the back of my neck, suddenly clueless. “Anytime. Really.” Great, now I’m just fucking awkward.
She looks at me for a long moment, like she’s searching for something in my face. “Have a good night, Jay.” She reaches down to give Salty a little pat on the head, and my fucking dog eats the attention up. The little shit rolls over onto his back and literally groans when she gently rubs his belly. “You have a good night, too, Salty,” she croons, and my fucking cock turns to stone in my pants. Fucker. She isn’t talking to you.
“Goodnight.” I have to practically drag my dog out the door. Little traitor.
She closes the door behind us, and I hear the click of the lock. Salty and I stand there for a second. He looks up at me, like, “You gonna stare at that door all night, Romeo?”
Maybe I will.
We make our way to my apartment, and I replay every second of the encounter: the smell of her, the accidental touches, the curve of her mouth when she said my name. There’s an itch in my chest that won’t go away.
I need to see her again. Tomorrow would be nice. Tonight would be better.
But I can wait. I don’t want to rush this, whatever this is, and scare her off.
I barely sleep. The kind of night where you keep rewinding the same thirty seconds of memory, trying to find new angles, like maybe this time the outcome will change. Instead, the instant replay of Nadia’s laugh, the scrape of her voice, the way her hair blew around her gorgeous face while she wrangled her bags, circles my brain in a continuous loop. And the crazy thoughts keep multiplying like a virus.
Not even Salty’s snoring can drown it out.
By morning, I am a man with a mission. I knock out emails in record time, field a call from a client who clearly has no idea what the fuck he wants, and set up a new security cam array for a paranoid plastic surgeon on the outskirts of town. Normally, my brain would be engaged, running a dozen silent diagnostics, checking and cross-checking with military precision.
Today? My mind keeps wandering to the third floor. To 3H. To the stunning woman who already occupies every ounce of brain power I possess.
At 4:25, I finally admit defeat. No way I'm getting any work done at this point. Across the room, Salty is already gearing up for his evening walk, pacing tight circles in front of the door, sniffing at the crack like he's starved for fresh air, never mind the fact that I took him out just a few hours ago. Classic. Of all the animals in this building, my dog is without question the most spoiled, the most pampered—the undisputed king of routine. As the owner of Vale Security Solutions, I make my own schedule. I try to work from home at least three, sometimes four days a week. Plus, on the days I head into the office, I pay a dog sitter to swing by and take Salty for his afternoon trek. The little shit has a better daily schedule than I do.