Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 74383 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74383 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
The warmth of his words wrapped me like a blanket, and it took the protection I felt to another level. Cared for in ways I never experienced in the system. Loved.
Yep, that was the issue. If a fake date felt like this, how would my heart survive sleeping under the same roof with Montana, alone in La-La Land, for two nights?
“How’s mommy’s baby?” Sleep and distance made my voice crack. As I focused on FaceTime, my cheek left a bit of drool on the silk pillowcase.
Darius had called me first thing. Well, I guess not. He mentioned a sleepover with Shanice’s daughter and three other kids while shoveling pancakes into his mouth.
“Who are Terry and—”
“Auntie Genèse’s kids. Grandmommy said she and Uncle Brian wanted a date night.”
I got the grandmommy reference. But Aunt? Genèse was Montana’s cousin. Apparently, in kids’ logic, auntie was a universal reference for all grown-ups.
The doorbell chimed in the receiver while I sat up in bed. Genèse’s rudeness better not be contagious. Her purse had held me hostage.
“Mommy, Auntie’s here. She brought—”
At Adele’s familiar voice, my eyes widened.
“Do you wanna speak to my momma?” Darius asked.
“Non, bébé. Are those yummy pancakes?” Adele asked.
“Yep. Byeee, Mommy!” He hung up.
“Wait!” I needed to speak with Virginia. Not that I was uptight. Or interested in knowing why she invited Adele, yet disliked the girl.
I glanced at my phone’s clock. Ugh. Gotta get up. My toes landed on something silky when I got out of bed.
Roses.
No, he didn’t.
Red roses trailed from the bed to a lounge chair. On the surface sat a shiny red gift box with a designer label, as if it had rolled straight off Rodeo Drive. My hand brushed away the roses. I opened the gift box muttering, “If it’s too short, I’m not wearing—”
I blinked.
“Big Country!” I glared at the toothpick-sized nurse lingerie. Black silk with red crosses. Atop the silky thread-count disgrace sat a luxurious sponge and a note.
A sponge bath will get me in the headspace for this meeting.
Big Country
Igripped the sponge in my hand. Annoyance mixed with something combustible. Oh, I was going to beat this big, sexy, beefcake with a sponge until he regretted this.
I stomped toward his bedroom. The double doors were open, and Montana stood in a Dodger blue cotton robe. He placed a suit next to two others on his already-made bed.
“Big Country,” I hissed, holding up the offending lingerie. “Explain.”
His cocky grin made me want to commit three misdemeanors. “Before we left home, we had a routine. Thought since you were in Hollywood, you’d want to upgrade your uniform. This is what we call professional development. You’re welcome.”
“Last time I checked, I was a doctor. No disrespect to nurses. Besides, I never gave you a sponge bath. Don’t tell me you haven’t washed your behind since getting stitched up.”
He chuckled. “We in LA now, bébé. The city of sin.”
“FYI, that’s Vegas. However, I’ll make this the city of me knocking you out.”
“Gotta catch me first.”
“What you gonna do, huh?” I placed a hand on my hip, still clutching the sponge like it would help me beat some respect into the six-foot-four tyrant with dimples and imperiousness. “You gonna hide in the bathroom?”
His head tilted. “Don’t insult me, Sweet Cheeks.”
I blinked.
One measly blink and he ran past me in a blur, through the double doors. Oh, so it begins. I chased him downstairs, looking like Tom to his Jerry. Except Jerry was tall, two hundred plus pounds of pure muscle, and too pleased with himself. Around the grand piano. Across the marble foyer. And the scent of him nice. Very nice. He must’ve taken a shower. Probably taut … dangling, and naked beneath that robe.
I stopped.
Dead in my tracks.
Montana spun. No sweat. A Louisiana Creole statue. Breathing? Maybe. Amusement sparked in his eyes. Oh, he was loving this while I stood, breathless and ragged.
“The only thing big about you is the booty.” His brows knitted. “Why was I running?”
“I … dunno …” I backed away.
He lunged, and I squealed, throwing the sponge. Dang. It should’ve bounced between his eyes, but he’d dodged it. I tore away. In two steps, Montana scooped me up, and we laughed, lost our damn minds in a multi-million-dollar mansion. And then suddenly we were in a race. Lips colliding, a collision of minty toothpaste. The room spun slower as his beard roughed against my cheek. Soft but with grit, and that Bay rum scent—warm, spicy, clean—hit me right in the chest. I’d know that smell anywhere.
He brought me to the ground, heavy over me. My breath tangled with his, and the look he gave me.
Satisfaction.
All the torture and angst that sat between us melted as his hands slid over my pajama pants, and he deepened the kiss. His mouth moved like he’d been waiting all of last night.