Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 77341 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77341 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
“Funny. I didn’t ask a damn thing about work.”
My brows pull together. “What are you talking about? You asked me if I’m taking care of myself, and I answered you.”
“You just gave me a laundry list of shit that you have to do, but never once did you tell me how you are taking care of you.”
I blink.
He takes a step toward me. “You’re putting in long hours—for whom? You’re—”
“That’s my job.”
“—fixing your dad’s fuckups—”
“To save the company, Foxx.”
“—and you’re supporting your mom and your brothers.” He takes another step my way, his chest rising and falling like he’s run a mile. “But who is taking care of you?”
My breath trembles as he approaches me. Every cell in my body is on high alert. I can’t process his question because the look on his face—the severity, the agitation, the anger?—demands attention. He demands attention.
I suck in a lungful of air and hold it. He stops moving inches in front of me.
“For two and a half years, I watched you kill yourself for everyone around you,” he says, the words filled with grit. “You’re brilliant, Bianca. Strong. You’ve never met a challenge you can’t conquer.”
“Except you.”
His blue eyes flash, melding into green. “That works both ways.”
I lean back until my back presses against the counter. Foxx matches every move, maintaining the small distance between us. My head spins as I try to make sense of his words. Of his actions.
Why is this so important to him? Why does he insist on sliding into my personal space when I thought he wanted distance?
“Your relationship with everyone in your life is based on the fact that they need you or want something from you,” he says, lowering his voice.
“Not true.”
“And you keep giving, feeding your magic to better their lives while never bettering your own.”
“That’s not true.” It’s absolutely true.
“And you’re so damn good at it that I wonder if they even realize what’s happening. You make it look so easy,” he says. “But, my God, Bianca, how long can you do that before you break?”
I lift my chin. “I’ll never break.”
“Everything breaks.”
There’s a lot to unpack in this conversation. There are a lot of truths that I have no interest in uncovering in front of Foxx. So I divert.
“My turn,” I say.
He smirks, knowing exactly what I’m doing. But I don’t care.
“Why did you leave me?” I ask.
His smirk fades away.
“Is it because you were doing too much for me?” I ask, unable to keep the frustration out of my voice.
“No.”
“Was it because we almost kissed?”
“No.”
I cross my arms over my chest, my gaze unwavering. “Was it because you actually—probably accidentally—opened up to me the tiniest bit?”
“No, Bianca.”
I pause and wait for an explanation that, unsurprisingly, doesn’t come.
“This is the part where you elaborate,” I say, talking slowly as if I’m talking to a toddler. “This is where you set the record straight and explain yourself.”
“You really don’t know?”
I throw my hands up, almost smacking him in the face. He leans back just in time.
“No, I really don’t know. Do you think I’d keep asking if I knew?” I ask, realizing I’m trapped in the bend of the counter. I press my hands to his chest to guide him out of my way, only to realize that touching him is a very, very bad idea.
A shot of fire races through my veins as my eyes connect with his. I gasp, my lips part, as I watch him absorb the connection as forcefully as I do.
His irises burn so green that they’re nearly yellow.
He takes a half step toward me. I try to move a step back but am stopped by the stone countertop. He moves again, even closer—so close that the fabric of our clothes dust each other.
The air is filled with the woodiness of his cologne. My fingers dip into the cotton of his shirt, skimming his hard chest beneath it. He breathes shallowly but roughly, and every breath he takes causes my heart to strum faster.
My tongue swipes across my bottom lip. His attention drops to my mouth. He widens his stance, caging my feet in with his, before returning his gaze to my eyes.
“This.” He bends, gripping the counter with both hands.
I’m confined, fenced in by both his arms and legs. It’s heady and intoxicating—dangerous and foolish.
And I’m just dumb enough and brave enough to do something I know I’ll regret.
I wad his shirt in my hand and give it a gentle tug. His eyes sparkle as he’s jostled another inch closer.
My insides buzz—deliciously zinging from the close contact and proximity to the man I can’t stop thinking about.
“I didn’t leave because I almost kissed you.” His tone is rough and raw, scraping against my emotions. “I’ve stopped myself from kissing you every day I’ve been near you.” He licks his lips, his gaze dropping to mine. “It’s taken every ounce of control I can manage not to kiss you, fuck you, make love to you, and everything between for three years.”