Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 87289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
As much as I don’t want to be totally entranced by the sight of him, I am.
At this very moment, I’m having a difficult time ripping my attention away. My gaze drags across the broad line of his shoulders, the sculpted muscles of his chest before sliding over the deep ridges of his washboard abs. And then there are the tattoos. But it’s the sharp cut of muscle just above the waistband of his boxer briefs that melts my brain.
I have no business looking that low, and yet… here we are.
It’s official.
I’m way in over my head.
When I’m finally able to shake myself out of my River Thompson induced trance, I snatch my duffel bag off the floor and flee to the en suite bathroom to clear my thoughts.
It’s the best option.
The only one available to me.
The second I step inside the massive bathroom, I come to an abrupt stop, momentarily stunned by the sheer luxury of it all. Like the kitchen, the walls are a rich charcoal gray that somehow feels both sleek and soothing. The color perfectly complements the gleaming white marble floors laced with subtle gray veining. Chrome fixtures catch the muted ambient lighting, casting a quiet elegance over the entire space.
A freestanding soaking tub sits beside a floor-to-ceiling window that frames a spectacular panoramic view of the city skyline. It’s the kind you only see in luxury hotel ads or dream real estate listings. Across from it, a deep mahogany vanity stretches along one wall, topped with a matching marble counter, and outfitted with double sinks. The open shelving beneath holds neatly folded towels that practically beg to be wrapped around bare skin.
I trail my fingers along the polished stone, taking it all in with wide eyes before they land on the glass-enclosed shower at the far end of the room. The bathroom is easily bigger than my entire living room.
Probably twice the size.
And just like that, I’m already imagining the feel of warm water pouring over me, the steam curling around my body as I let myself unwind, even if only for a few minutes. I’d be crazy not to take full advantage of the spa-like features while I can. In a week or two, this won’t be my reality.
But right now?
It’s calling my name.
Shoulders squared and chin lifted, I head back to the bedroom. River is sprawled across the king-sized mattress with his hands folded behind his head like he doesn’t have a care in the world. The position draws my eyes to the curve of his biceps, flexed just enough to make my mouth turn cottony. He glances over, his gaze tracking me as I pause at the doorway, suddenly more aware of myself than I want to be.
“Is it all right if I take a shower?” I ask, trying to sound casual.
His brows lift just a fraction. “Callie, you don’t have to ask permission to do anything. This is your home now. Nora’s too.”
The way he says it tugs a string loose inside me. A string I’ve kept wrapped tight for too long. The ache that blooms within me at the sound of my daughter’s name on his lips catches me off guard. Like he already sees her as part of his life.
It takes effort to swallow the lump of emotion rising within me. “Thank you.”
His lips lift. “No problem.”
With a nod, I turn and slip back inside the bathroom. The moment the door clicks shut behind me, I reach for the lock and twist it.
Not because I don’t trust him.
I do.
It’s probably what unsettles me the most.
I lean against the solid wood and try to gather my composure. There’s something dangerously comforting about this space. About him. About the quiet, steady way he keeps showing up.
It’s unfamiliar territory.
And yet, it doesn’t feel wrong.
It feels like the start of something I have no idea if I’m ready for but can’t bring myself to walk away from.
More than anything, I need a sliver of control in a situation that feels like it’s slipping further from my grasp with each passing second.
I twist the shower handles and watch as water cascades from the rainfall head mounted in the ceiling. For a long beat, I stand and stare at it, letting the sound calm my frayed nerves. Then I move on autopilot, peeling off my clothes and dropping each piece into a neat pile on the cool tile. I dig through my duffel for a ponytail holder and then twist my hair into a messy bun before stepping into the enclosure.
The second the warm spray hits my skin, I exhale.
Not just a sigh, but something that sounds a little too close to a sob.
I close my eyes and tilt my face toward the heat, letting it wash over me, melt into my muscles, and sink deep beneath the stress that’s been living in my bones for months. It feels so good I could cry. Instead, I press my palms to the wall, let my forehead rest against the tile, and try to regain my bearings.