Total pages in book: 168
Estimated words: 159420 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 797(@200wpm)___ 638(@250wpm)___ 531(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 159420 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 797(@200wpm)___ 638(@250wpm)___ 531(@300wpm)
Nervous and chewing on his lip, the bartender brings Radisson the drink, and for some reason, he’s refusing to look at me. His cheeks are red and he’s deliberately trying to keep his eyes downcast. But before I can wonder about it, he walks away and Radisson turns to me.
As soon as his green eyes, looking greener now, fall on me, I draw back. The intensity in them is that heavy and powerful. Almost as powerful as his bulk on that tiny stool. Crazily, I think it’ll give out any second under his dense muscles and bones. My heart is ready to do that already, give out from how fast it’s beating. Keeping his gaze locked with mine, he grabs the glass at the bottom, by the palm of his hand, all five of his fingers covering it, and takes a sip. Then he dips his chin, and I know he wants me to go to him.
I’ve been standing in a corner, watching everything with wide eyes and my fingers twisting my dress. But at his unspoken command, my feet move on their own. I approach him with trembling legs, and he keeps me under his scrutiny the whole time I’m walking, taking another sip of his whiskey. When I reach him, he widens his thighs on the stool, the muscles under his jeans bulging in a way that makes me bite my lip. I know what he wants, so I keep going until I’m between his muscular thighs, his heat and scent engulfing me right away.
My body shivering, I whisper, “How did you… find me?”
His expression may be blank, but I know something is going on under his cool mask as he rasps, “Never lost you.”
I jerk and curl my hands into fists at my sides. “You knew where I was the whole time?”
He takes another sip of his whiskey as the answer.
“So you were just waiting for me to come out?”
Another sip but no words.
“Did you watch me leave the store then? Is that how you knew?”
He shakes his head no.
“So then how—”
“Always knew you were gonna make a run for it.”
“How?”
For this question, his pause is longer and his eyes are grave. He takes another sip of his whiskey before he answers, “You don’t trust me.”
“No,” I answer immediately. “That’s not why… I do. I trust you. I can explain. It’s just that—”
He stands up then, the stool screeching against the floor as he crowds me, my body. I try to take a step back, but he doesn’t let me go anywhere because he grabs my hand. And he drags me away from the bar. I’m so shocked at this turn of events, at the fact that he’s holding my hand, all I can do is stare down at where we’re joined. He’s not only holding my hand, but he’s rubbing his rough thumb over my skin as if trying to memorize the feel of it. Every couple of seconds, he also squeezes my hand, tightens his fingers around me like he never wants to let go. Whatever it is he’s doing, though, I like it so much that my heart is about to burst out of my rib cage.
God, Peyton, you need to find a way to get away from him.
We finally come to a stop at one of the tables, or rather a booth, with deep burgundy leather seats and a walnut-brown table. It’s slightly toward the back but has a direct view of the bar. I notice the bartender turned toward us, his cheeks still red but his eyes firmly averted. He looks focused on mixing a drink, even though there isn’t anyone else here but us and we didn’t place an order. Again, I think he’s deliberately avoiding looking at us.
My attention is diverted when I feel Radisson take a seat, our hands still joined. I notice he dwarfs the booth just as much as he did that stool. His shoulders cover half of it, and his thighs sprawled wide cover the entirety. But that’s all I get to notice because he tugs at my hand and before I know it, like his thighs on the seat, I’m sprawled across his lap. My back to his front. He goes ahead and adjusts me, grabbing me by the waist. As always, his large hands span the entire length of it as he maneuvers me so that my butt is firmly secured against his pelvis. And God, it feels so right, like I belong here, on his lap, that I can’t help but adjust myself until I’m firmly tucked against him.
Then I feel his face come down, his nose nuzzling the side of my neck, smelling my hair, my skin, and instead of focusing on the important things, I whisper, “You did that. Before too.”
He takes a whiff of my hair again, his hands on my waist, squeezing. “Did what?”