Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 106298 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106298 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Straightening her spine, she squares her shoulders. “If you had any good stock tips for me, Mr. Finance Fancy Pants?”
The smirk comes naturally, but resisting those lips doesn’t. I do, though. “I have a tip for you.”
She tries hard to restrain her own smirk but fails as it tickles its way onto her mouth. “Is it considered insider trading if you share your tip with me?”
What is she doing to me? The tease. “It will be inside her, alright.” Rubbing my thumb over my bottom lip, I steady my gaze on her and lean in. “I could be taken to jail over such a risky proposition, though.”
Her eyebrows bounce once, and she leans in as well. “Sharing your tip with me might not be worth the risk then.”
I cup her face and scrape my lips against hers. Just as her eyes close and her hands hold tight to my biceps, I whisper, “You’re always worth the risk.”
CHAPTER 14
Lauralee
My body wants to melt against him, and my mind still swirls in the swoon, but it’s that other part, the part of me that wants this man more than seems feasibly possible, that wins out.
I kiss him, holding his arms as he moves me inside the apartment. He lowers his hands to get a good grasp of my ass, and I squeal as he lifts me from the floor. The thrill of seeing Baylor again, those blue eyes telling me how much he misses and craves me without a word uttered, had me riled for more the moment I opened the door.
His pace is quicker as we get closer to the bedroom. Wrapping my legs around his middle, I shamelessly rub myself against him, needing the friction, which already has me tugging at this pesky shirt. “Take it off,” I say through jagged breaths.
He stops, tilts his head, and grins. “You want this shirt off, Shortcake?”
“I want all of it off.” My core tingles in anticipation.
Pushing me to the wall, he uses it as leverage to take the shirt off over his head. God, I missed these shoulders so much, the muscles, the divot on the corner, highlighting his hard work. Just all of him.
I throw my head back as he kisses across my shoulder. His fingers are deft as the button of my jean shorts pops open, and the zipper is forced halfway down. I start on his neck as he shifts us back into action. Then I come to my senses and throw my arms out wide. The tips of my fingers grip the doorframe, and I breathe, “Stop.”
His head straightens on his neck as his eyes latch onto mine. He’s breathing as hard as I am when he asks, “What is it?”
“I have a reservation arriving any minute.”
When his brows pull together, his eyes briefly dart from my lips to my eyes. I don’t have to be a mind reader to know what he’d rather be doing. I’d rather be kissing him, too. “A reservation for what?”
I don’t know why that makes me laugh. It’s probably this carefree feeling he evokes in me. It’s probably him being here and kissing me like it was his top priority upon returning. And I don’t mind that one bit. I can’t say I haven’t thought about how this reunion would be or even go—if he would be mad how we left it or understand the mixed emotions.
“The apartment,” I say, lowering my feet back to the floor. “It’s rented for the entirety of the festival.”
His head shakes as it juts back on his neck. “What are you talking about?”
My smile is wiped away as confusion sets in. “I’m talking about this apartment we’re standing in right now. Someone rented it out for top dollar.” I grin, as this investment is already starting to pay off. “You need to get out of here before they show up.”
“Who?”
“What do you mean who?” I laugh again as I slip out of his arms but flatten my palms to his torso to start working him back toward the door. His skin is warm, his chest hard. I bend to pick up his discarded shirt and toss it to him. “The renter. Mickey something.”
His expression morphs from confusion to a rogue grin that makes me want to kiss him again. I don’t because if I do, I won’t want to stop kissing those lips until I’ve come. “Baylor, you need to go. We can catch up later.”
“Baylor?” My mom . . . her footsteps are heard as she treks the staircase. “You still up here?”
“Shit,” he whispers, pulling his shirt back on over his head and running a hand through his hair. “What do we do?”
I start to laugh quietly so my mom can’t hear, which starts to make Baylor laugh as well. I whisper, “And here I thought we were adults, but Mom shows up, and we’re suddenly afraid of getting caught.” I fidget with my hair to smooth it down before remembering the button of my jean shorts is still undone. I start to button them back up and silently mouth, “Go. Go. Go.”