Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
“Sergio and Eden weren’t my guardians anymore.”
“On paper they were. But I’m not talking about technicalities.”
Starla leans in closer to me, her blue-gray eyes piercing. “Neither am I.”
God, I missed her. A pulse of electric energy vibrates between us.
Starla blinks before she pushes away from me.
I reach for her and miss, my reflexes too slow. Just as well. I’m not sure what I’d let myself do to her if I caught her.
“There’s no snow yet. They made it seem like such a big deal.”
“Sometimes they swing and miss.”
“I guess so. Huh.”
Yeah, I don’t think she jumped up so she could observe the weather.
I swallow and lay my head on the pillow. “You’re tired,” she says.
I don’t like this imbalance of power. I don’t like that she’s the stronger one right now.
“Yeah,” I say, my voice all raspy.
“What do you need, Timeo?”
You, baby.
“Sleep,” I mutter, my eyes suddenly heavy and sand papery. I open one eye. “And for you to show me you still know how to hold a gun the way I showed you.”
Starla’s cheeks flush a deeper pink. Her eyes open wide, and she swallows and holds up a pretend gun, her fingers poised in position.
The overhead light glints, illuminating a small fleck of gold around her neck. I blink.
There’s no way. After all this time, has she really held onto it? But when she catches me looking, she quickly tucks it back inside her top.
“Like this,” she says, with that adorable note of pride in her voice. “Dominant hand holds the gun, non-dominant hand supports and stabilizes. Always use two hands when possible, for added stability and control. Non-dominant thumb positioned beneath the dominant thumb.”
I nod, a surge of pride warming my chest.
“And your stance?” I ask like a stern teacher, not letting her know how proud I am of her. How fucking hot she is holding her pretend gun.
“Upper body leans slightly forward. Alert but not too tense. Soft knees to prepare for recoil but front foot forward slightly in case of the need to run,” she says, intent, her voice a slight whisper.
“Excellent. But your stance is a little off.”
I push myself off the bed and stand behind her. “Open your legs up wider,” I say in her ear. I’m aware of the press of her tight body against mine. Her quickened breathing. The way her pulse beats rapidly under the nearly translucent flesh at her neck.
Fuck.
“The most important rule to keep in mind when you’re about to shoot is not to hesitate. If you know it’s your life or the life of someone you love you’re protecting, you fucking pull that trigger. There’s rarely enough time for second chances.”
Starla lowers her hands, her voice wobbly. “You sure about that?”
I close my eyes against a rush of heat. I want her so fucking badly.
I swallow and lick my lips. “Rarely. I didn’t say never.”
“Thank you for showing me my stance,” she says, “but I sure as hell hope we won’t need it here.”
“Likely won’t but you can’t be too sure.” I yawn widely.
“Let’s get some sleep, Timeo. Where are you—” she looks around the room. “Uh, sleeping? Those couches are huge, but— you’re injured and all. I mean,” she says, clearly thinking out loud, “I could take the couch. And then you could—”
“Are you out of your fucking mind? Jesus. Get ready for bed.” I’m so tempted to slap her pretty ass.
Her take the couch? What does she think I am, a monster? Jesus.
I point to the door to the en suite bathroom. “Go.”
There’s a moment’s hesitation as she looks at me curiously, her hands planted on her hips.
“I’m only going to do what you said because I’m tired.”
“And the only reason you’re not over my knee is because I’m tired. So let’s get some sleep.”
I quirk a brow at her, make a motion to walk toward her, and with a little squeal, she grabs a small pile of clothes and runs to the bathroom.
So that’s the game we’re gonna play.
I didn’t pack a bag of clothes and there’s no way I’m traipsing through thirty fucking whatever rooms to find some, so I pull off my shirt and kick my pants to the floor.
I ignore the goddamn erection. “Down, boy,” I snarl, tucking a throw blanket over my lap. But when the bathroom door opens — and Starla comes out — fucking hell.
“I don’t keep a lot here anymore, alright?” she says on yet another eye roll as she steps out of the bathroom wearing a tiny pair of pale pink terry cloth shorts with the word PINK stamped across the ass, and a teeny, tiny ribbed white tank that shows her navel when she dares to so much as breathe.
“You would’ve worn more clothes if you knew I was coming?” I ask, thankful that throw blanket over my dick is thick.