Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 27076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 135(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 135(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
His jaw tics. “Accommodating, huh?” That voice drops another octave. “You keep talking like that, and one of these days, I’m going to see just how far you’re willing to go, Cydney.”
Holy. Shit.
My tongue goes dry while every nerve ending lights up like a Christmas tree. I might be the reigning queen of small-town sass, but there’s zero chance I’ll survive if he actually calls my bluff. He’s not grinning, either. He’s looking at me like he’s memorizing every detail, like he’s plotting to devour me for breakfast and lunch and dinner, too.
I can’t decide if I want to faint or throw him down and climb his body like a jungle gym. Maybe both.
I force out some kind of sound, which, shocker, comes out like a whimper. “Well… good thing you’re not afraid of a challenge.” My voice is so breathy it barely counts as real speech, but the man just grins like I’ve handed him a winning lottery ticket and he can’t wait to cash it in.
His gaze drops from my eyes to my mouth, lingering long enough that I forget how to swallow. “I never back down from a challenge, Cydney.” He’s so close I can see the flecks of gold in his eyes. His thumb brushes the lid of his coffee cup, slow and deliberate, and my brain short-circuits.
I’m not sure if I want to faint or melt into a puddle of goo right here in front of the entire population of Worthington Hills.
“Good to know.” I somehow manage to keep my voice steady, but my knees are straight-up knocking together under the counter. “I’ll keep that in mind next time I’m planning something seriously sinful.”
Oliver just gives me that look. I mean, THE LOOK. The kind that makes my breath catch and my girly bits sing.
“Counting on it.” His voice is so deep, I swear the glass in the pastry case almost vibrates. “I’m always game to see what you’ll come up with next.”
Holy mother of carbs and caffeine.
I’m standing here, trying to look composed, but what I really want to do is crawl over the register and see how much work it is to peel that suit off his muscular bod. Instead, I lean in, dropping my voice so it’s full, smoky, and maybe a little bit filthy. “Careful, Oliver. If you keep showing up, I might just start thinking you’re obsessed with me.”
He doesn’t even hesitate. He tips his head, dark hazel eyes glinting like he wants to devour me whole. “Maybe I am.” His eyes flick down to my lips, and I swear, my knees actually buckle. Oh. My. God.
His lips curl in a wicked, knowing grin, and then he winks at me. Not just a casual wink, either—a full-force, panty-destroying, alpha-male-who-knows-exactly-what-he’s-doing wink. My brain fries on the spot.
I’m still clinging to the countertop, sweating through my blouse, when Oliver turns and walks out the door. The suit, the swagger, the air of total control—the whole package should come with a warning label. My ovaries short-circuit, and my girly bits throw a parade in his honor, confetti and everything.
Holy shit. Get a grip, Cydney.
I fan myself, seriously debating whether to dump ice cubes down my bra. My cheeks are on fire. My pulse is doing Olympic-level gymnastics.
The glass door barely clicks shut before I’m sagging behind the register, grinning like an idiot. God help me, I think I might actually be obsessed.
I try to act chill, but I spend all Thursday morning staring at the door like a lovesick doofus. Seven-thirty comes and goes. Eight. Nine. Nine-thirty. Nothing. I pretend not to care, but my traitorous heart keeps skipping every time someone in a suit walks by.
At ten-thirty, right when I’m about to declare myself officially ghosted, the bell dings, and there he is. Looking unfairly hot in a navy suit, like he just conquered Wall Street and is now here to conquer me. My knees instantly go weak.
“Hey, stranger.” I try to sound breezy, but I’m practically vibrating. “I thought you were gonna leave me hanging today.”
He leans in, all slow confidence. “Had an early meeting. But I would never miss this.” His eyes lock on mine, and holy hell, my insides turn to mush.
Shop’s dead, so I grab two fresh pumpkin muffins and a pair of lattes, because this is a Big Mood situation and a girl needs backup. I toss them onto a plate, add a drizzle of cinnamon glaze, and walk around the counter like I’m on a goddamn mission.
Oliver’s standing there, hands in his pockets, just watching me with that look that should be illegal in most states. I swear I’m about to spontaneously combust right here on the bakery floor.
“Hope you’re hungry,” I blurt, which, okay, is not my most seductive line, but my ovaries are basically jumping on a trampoline. “I made these fresh. You get first dibs.”