Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 110360 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 441(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110360 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 441(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
When he was done with my mouth, he dropped his forehead to mine, our breath and a million unsaid words swirling in the space between us.
“Devon…” I started, even though I wasn’t completely sure what I was going to say. And pretty damn positive it was going to be too soon for all of it.
Devon must have sensed it too. “Shower.”
“Shower,” I agreed.
He stepped back, caught my hand, and pulled me into the bathroom.
“Hey, can I ask you a question?” I asked as he held his hand under the stream of water, waiting for it to get hot.
“You don’t have to ask, babe.”
“Okay. So now that we have made things official, do you prefer Boyfriend, Bae, Beau, Snookums?” His expression flattened incrementally with every word. “Maybe Honey Bunches, Cuddle Bear, Pookie, Sugar Lips.” I drew in a dramatic breath. “Oh, oh, oh. What if we go full Game of Thrones? Devon Grant, First of His Name, Breaker of Professional Boundaries and Bed Slats, Warden of the Beck Family Farm, Master of Stoic Brooding, Protector of the Menacing Lofton Beck, and Rightful Heir to All Her Orgasms?”
He blinked at me.
Once.
Twice.
Thrice.
“So that’s your game? You hook me, check yes, make me your man, and then not thirty seconds later unleash all the crazy?”
I grinned wide and proud. “I mean, yeah. You wouldn’t have checked yes if I’d led with that.”
He shook his head, hooked his arm around my hips, lifted me—with one freaking arm—and deposited me into the shower-bathtub combo. All the while mumbling, “And here I thought you were going to be the one with regrets.”
After he joined me, he grabbed the bottle of my body wash and lathered up his hands. In his usual order, he started with my breasts.
“I overheard you arguing with your agent earlier. You fire her yet?”
I squeezed some of his body wash into my palm and got busy on his pecs as well. “Unfortunately, no. Though there is a solid chance she’s going to fire me.”
He arched a brow. “Why’s that?”
I glided my soapy hands up his shoulders, watching intently as I trailed them down his stomach. He rewarded me with a flex, each ab popping in a way that should’ve been illegal.
“I’m supposed to do reshoots on Lavender Daybreak in a few weeks. I told her I can’t make it. So now the director is losing his mind.”
“What kind of reshoots?”
“Studio stuff. Dialogue cleanup. A couple of emotional beats they want to punch up.”
“So, a soundstage?”
“Yeah.”
“And you said no?”
My hands slowed on his skin. “I don’t know. It’s only been, like, six weeks, and LAPD still doesn’t even have a suspect. Every time they contact me, they just feed me some theory about an obsessed fan who got in over his head and gave up.”
His jaw ticked, but his voice stayed even. “Case is still open.”
“Barely,” I muttered. “It kinda feels like everyone just… moved on.”
He shifted out of the spray, allowing the hot water to rinse me, and then immediately pulled me into a hug. “I didn’t move on, babe.”
“I know. That’s why you’re the Protector of the Menacing Lofton Beck. But regardless, it’s probably wise to sit this one out.”
Devon stepped away an inch, his hand moving to frame my face. He tilted my head back and then dipped low for an all too brief kiss. “I think you should go.”
My stomach sank. I knew he was going to say that. It was exactly why I hadn’t mentioned the phone call. But after the last time I’d felt brave—when I thought I was ready for a night out with Brittany and Francine—and then I’d practically had a nervous breakdown twice, I hadn’t been eager to give it another whirl. Especially not in LA.
I anchored my gaze on the white tiled wall over his shoulder. “I’m not ready.”
“Babe,” he whispered. “You can’t stay locked up here forever.”
“Technically, I can.”
He kissed me again, just as chaste as the first one, but no less meaningful. “It’s a soundstage. Controlled access points. Limited crew. I can lock that place down so tight it’ll make Fort Knox look like an open house.”
My nose stung, but I continued to avoid his gaze. “That seems excessive.”
“I am excessive. You should know this by now.”
I huffed out a quiet laugh. “I don’t know.”
“It’s been well over a month,” he pressed gently. “Whoever this guy is, he’s gone quiet. That doesn’t mean we drop our guard. It means we adjust.”
“And if he’s not gone?”
“Then you still got me, and he still can’t touch you.” There was no bravado in his words. No ego. Just fact.
Those stupid tears welled. And then I made the mistake of looking back into his eyes. His dark brown, gorgeous eyes, with long lashes and pure love blazing within. A tear spilled down my cheek, and because Devon missed exactly nothing, I couldn’t even play it off as a bead of water.