Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 100853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
But she was asleep, and I wouldn’t be the asshole who woke her up. Instead, I closed my door behind me.
I crossed mental fingers and let out a sigh when steaming water came from the showerhead. I washed off the brewery, scrubbed a towel over my hair, slung it around my waist, and stepped into my room—to find the door closed, the lock turned, and Paige tucked beneath my sheets. Her robe and what looked like a nightgown were draped over the end of the bed, her bare shoulders gleaming in the moonlight.
“I thought you were asleep,” I said.
A slow smile spread across her face as her eyes traced my mostly naked body. “I was. And now I’m not. Are you tired?”
“Not that tired,” I said. “We got him.”
“Really?” The smile widened. “That’s good news. Like, arrested and in jail and everything?”
“Exactly like that,” I said, closing the distance to the edge of the bed. “I think that calls for a celebration, don’t you? We’re in the clear. At least, for the next day or two.”
“I do,” she agreed.
Dropping the towel, I slid between the sheets, desperately grateful that I’d optimistically run an errand that morning and had a fresh box of condoms tucked in my bedside drawer. If I was lucky enough to be naked with Paige McKenna, I wanted to be prepared.
She curled into me, warm and soft, the weight of her breasts pillowed on my chest.
“I’ve been thinking about this all day,” I said, my lips closing over hers.
She answered by sliding a leg over my hip, her fingers sinking into my hair, kissing me back until my head spun, my senses full of Paige—and nothing else.
Chapter Twelve
PAIGE
Instinct had driven me across the hall to Ford’s room and into his bed. I couldn’t shut off the need burning inside me, no matter how many times I tried to talk myself out of it. All those shoulds and shouldn’ts—I was tired of it. That voice in my head reminded me of my mother, overanalyzing, criticizing, breaking me down.
Maybe I shouldn’t want Ford Sawyer, but I did. And miracle of miracles, he wanted me back. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea, and maybe it was. I wouldn’t know unless I took the leap, and I was so fucking tired of telling myself no. I was an adult, a free woman, and he was a free man. I wasn’t asking him to marry me or make me any promises, but I wanted him. He wanted me. And what was wrong with that? Not a damn thing.
I hadn’t had a plan in mind as I lay in my bed, listening to the clock tick, trying to find sleep, and tossing and turning in the dark. I’d heard his feet on the stairs, the way he paused in the hall before moving to his door instead of mine. After the night before, he had to know he’d be welcome, but perhaps he hadn’t wanted to wake me up. Or maybe he was exhausted and would turn me away if I knocked. No way to know unless I took a chance.
I had slid out of my bed before I could talk myself out of it, grabbed my robe, and crept across the hall. I’d tried the antique crystal handle on his door, and it turned easily, swinging open to reveal an empty room, the beat of the shower pounding on the other side of the bathroom door. A smile curved across my mouth as I thought about my next move. And again, before I could talk myself out of it, I tossed my robe and nightgown across the foot of the bed and slid between his sheets. It could have been the most humiliating moment of my life thus far… But I had payback in mind, and as much as nerves fluttered in my belly, I didn’t think he’d send me away.
The look on his face when he saw me in his bed told me everything I needed to know. That flare of hungry desire. The slow smile. I was coming to love every one of Ford Sawyer’s smiles. As faint and brief as they were, they were real, and I treasured every one. But none as much as this one—not just curving one side of his lips, but stretching all the way across, so real and true I could see his teeth and the light of it in his eyes.
Even once he told me they’d caught the bastard who’d come after him, I could tell the smile was about me.
He reached for me, awe and lust a heady swirl in that sea-green gaze. His kiss was possessive, his hands closing over me, one cupping my chin, the other sliding down my back to rest on the curve of my ass. Strong. It was one of the things about Ford that sent heat spiraling through me every time we touched. His body, his hands, his mouth, his eyes—every part of him. And yet he didn’t use that strength in force. He used it to protect, to care, to pleasure. Everything about that turned me on so much; it made my head spin.