Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 111980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
“I do, Chloe. I do,” I say, raw and truthful. I want to know everything about her.
“It’s a deal,” she says.
I shake my head. “No, it’s a date.”
And her smile, my god, it does something terrifying to my heart. Until she mutters, “Oh shit.”
“What is it?” I tense. She’d better not take off now.
“I promised you a blow job.”
I relax. “You promised the blow job of a lifetime.”
“I suck,” she says with a sigh.
“I wish you sucked.”
“Hey! Don’t make me get on my knees right now.”
I tug her close. “Tomorrow night, sweetheart.”
She sighs happily, and that cracked-open feeling returns, staying even when she says, “We should keep things on the down-low for now.”
“Agreed.” I hop out of bed, grab a washcloth, and clean her up. After, I wrap an arm around her and tug her close. “I guess we’ll have another secret.”
“I like our secrets,” she says, snuggling against me.
I press a soft kiss to her forehead. “Me too.”
Far too much.
30
SECOND BREAKFAST
CHLOE
By the time I pad into his kitchen, the smell of mango and brewing coffee hits me. “I knew it.”
Sawyer turns around, meeting my gaze as he pauses while slicing a mango. “Knew what?”
I make myself at home at the island, Captain settling in at my feet like he owns the place already, the morning sun streaming through a big window overlooking Sawyer’s yard. “That you could cook.”
“I’m slicing a mango, woman.”
“And doing it well,” I say, nodding to the artfully arranged fruit on the wooden cutting board. He’s not only cut the fruit open, he’s scored it. Juicy little perfect cubes are attached to one side of it—no easy feat. “Do you know how hard it is to score a mango?”
He meets my gaze with a smug grin. “I don’t. Because it wasn’t hard.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re so cocky.”
“Just good,” he says, then nods to the array of food he’s taken out of the fridge. A carton of free-range eggs. A basket of blueberries. Some mushrooms that look fancy. And a couple of peppers—orange and red. No boring green peppers for this man. A loaf of bread and some avocados sit next to the peppers. “Do you eat eggs?”
“I do,” I say.
“Then sit down, and I’ll cook you an omelet. With mushrooms and peppers. I already let your dog out at six, then took him for a run while you were sleeping. Excellent running companion, by the way. And,” he says, stopping to peer at the clock on the kitchen wall—a minimalist steel thing—“I should be able to feed you and still get you to work on time for your first training session. And my meeting.”
Sparks shimmy through me. He’s so…on top of things. “Why does your efficiency turn me on?”
He sets down the knife, leans across the shiny white counter, and drops a kiss to my nose. “Because I turn you on.”
He’s right. I should say yes, you do. But this is part of our game. “A little,” I say, feigning indifference.
He arches a brow. “Watch it. Or I’ll make you come again before you go into work.”
I shoot him a look like he’s gone mad. “So I should sass you?”
He pauses, stares at the ceiling like he’s deep in thought. “Yeah, you should.”
“It’s on,” I say with a pop of my lips as I stare at the spread, then nod at him. “What’s your meeting for, and will you wear a tie that you’ll tie me up with later?”
His eyes glimmer with filthy thoughts as he cracks an egg into a glass bowl. “Of course I’ll wear a tie. And slacks and a button-down. And it’ll make you hot.”
Dammit. He’s right. I’m turned on thinking about him dressed like that. “We’ll have to test that theory.”
“Fine by me,” he says, cracking another one. “And the meeting is with the parks and rec department. About sponsoring the upcoming Dog Day Afternoon.”
“Oh, that’s next week! I love that event, and so does Captain,” I say, glancing down at my dog. “He loves to swim in any pool but especially the community one when it’s open only to dogs.”
Sawyer looks over the counter, catching my dog’s attention and saying in a voice people use for their pets, “Then I’d better ink a deal for the sponsorship, right, buddy?”
Captain’s tall ears prick higher. Sawyer’s whisking the eggs as I point at the bowl. “This tracks. Like I said, I pegged you as a cook.”
“And why’s that?”
“You like to be capable. You like to fix things. You like to be a knight in shining armor.”
“You think I’m cooking for you because I have a knight-in-shining-armor complex?”
“Maybe,” I say with a shrug.
Shaking his head, he pours the eggs into a saucepan, and they sizzle softly in the butter. “You’re wrong.”
“That’s not why you’re cooking?”
“I’m cooking for you because I fucking want to.” This time it comes out a little harsh—but in a way that I like. It’s an admission from him. And I don’t know if it was hard to say, but I’d bet it was.