Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 91285 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91285 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Or not.
Who knows.
It just sucks that whenever I think about getting serious, it’s Cheyenne’s face that flashes through my head before I can stop it.
And that’s problematic for a variety of reasons.
No one knows about my fascination with her.
Least of all my family.
My older brother, Colby, would probably string me up by my balls if he caught wind of it. In the beginning, I’d assumed it was a passing fixation. No woman has ever held my interest for more than a few weeks.
A month, tops.
Whatever this is with Cheyenne is uncharted territory. And I wish to hell it would fade. I don’t need it. More than that, I don’t want it.
I don’t trust myself where that woman is concerned. Not even a little. One taste and I’d be fucked. She’d carve herself even deeper into me than she already is and then what?
I’d wake up the next morning with all the same reasons she’s off-limits and a whole new set of other problems.
End of story.
Thoughts of the reality star reluctantly circle through my brain as I head into the kitchen, open the cabinet, and grab a glass before filling it from the tap. I guzzle down half of it and then step toward the living room, flicking on the lights. Maybe I’ll watch a little game film or a movie. I need a distraction to take my mind off Chey, or I’ll end up jacking off.
And that never works out well for me. I only end up hating myself more than I already do.
As soon as the place is lit up, I catch movement from the corner of my eye.
“It’s about time you came home, McNichols. I’ve been waiting here for hours.”
For a second, maybe two, I can only stare. Part of me wonders if I’m hallucinating. Or maybe I’ve actually lost my fucking mind.
With the chokehold she has on me, I wouldn’t be surprised in the least.
I stare at the woman stretched out on my couch, one leg crossed over the other, her clutch tossed beside her. The soft lamplight spills over auburn waves and bronzed skin, catching the green of her eyes and the glossy shine of her lips.
She looks unexpectedly perfect in my space.
Too damn natural.
Not to mention, tempting.
It’s as if every fantasy I’ve ever entertained about the woman decided to show up and make itself at home in my penthouse.
When I remain silent, she lifts a brow. “And you’re actually alone? Wow. It really must be my lucky day.”
It takes effort to keep my features carefully blank. “What are you doing here, Cheyenne? Actually, first things first—how’d you get into my penthouse?”
She holds up a keycard between manicured nails. My guess is that it’s the one I gave my parents in case there was an emergency.
Except, Cheyenne fucking Benson is no emergency.
I set the glass down on the counter with a thud. “Want to tell me the reason you decided to break into my place?”
She tips her head. “Break in? The word choice seems a little dramatic, McNichols.”
I pop a brow. “You used my family’s emergency keycard to sneak into my home.”
Her mouth twitches. “Sneak also feels dramatic.”
I huff out a breath that’s not quite a laugh.
The second I do, her expression shifts, and for just a moment, there’s a flash of strain around her eyes and perfectly painted mouth. It would be too quick to notice for anyone who wasn’t paying close enough attention.
Unfortunately, when it comes to this woman, I see everything.
Her posture remains confident. Almost careless. Her tone is laced with that dry, dismissive bite she uses when trying to keep people at arm’s length. But there’s tension in the set of her shoulders. It’s almost as if she’s holding herself together by sheer force of will.
Hmm… Something’s off.
She rises to her feet with one smooth movement. And, fuck, she looks even better than I first suspected. My greedy gaze skims down the length of her before I mentally backhand myself and force my attention to her face. She swallows up the distance between us, stopping less than a foot away.
My hands tighten into fists as I tamp down the urge to reach out and drag her closer. When I’m around her, every bit of self-control is put to the test.
Ironically, Chey has no idea the effect she has on me.
None. And that’s exactly the way it needs to stay.
For a second, neither of us speak.
She simply stands there, looking up at me, and I’m hit with the same jolt I felt six years ago. As if the room has narrowed to the space between us. I should take a step in retreat, but I can’t make myself do it.
Her gaze flicks to my mouth before darting away so quickly I almost wonder if I imagined it.
Almost.
“What’s going on?” I ask, my voice sounding as if it’s been scraped out of me.