Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 87988 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87988 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
“Did you know I would? Is that why the front door wasn’t locked?”
“The lock is broken. It’s always open. But if it weren’t, I would’ve left it open for you. Wasn’t sure you would show. I was hopeful, though.”
I lift my chin, gesture to his laptop. “What are you working on so intently?”
“A book. Thriller. Started it a few years ago. Had to set it aside a while back. Writer’s block.”
“I take it you’re feeling unblocked?”
The corner of his lip quirks up, causing a positively charming dimple to pop out. “I’m feeling inspired lately.”
I tilt my head. “I’m feeling . . . something right about now, too.”
“You didn’t know he was coming today, did you?”
I shake my head. “No, I didn’t.”
“He’s a little old for you, isn’t he?”
“I didn’t realize there was an age limit on the men I spend time with.”
“Is that what you do? You ‘spend time’ with that guy?”
“I used to.”
“When did that end?”
“Officially? Today.”
Noah chuckles. “Note to self, call Elizabeth before dropping by in the future.”
“Aren’t you going to invite me into your room?”
“You didn’t need an invitation to let yourself into my house.”
“True.” I push the door the rest of the way open and take a few steps inside.
Noah’s eyes rake up and down my body. “How long were you with the old guy?”
“Do you really care? I don’t want to talk anymore, Noah.”
He smiles and sets his laptop aside. “I’m happy to use my mouth for other things, then.”
The room feels charged, sexual energy arcing between us. I can’t wait to dig my nails into his back, claw his skin. I stalk over to the bed, climb on, get ready for whatever the night brings us. Noah’s eyes glitter with anticipation as I straddle his hips and press down to find he’s already rock hard. My eyes close, roll back into my head. This. This is exactly what I needed after today.
“You’re ready for me.” I groan.
“I’m ready for whatever you’ve got for me today, Elizabeth.”
I lean down, lick a line from his Adam’s apple to his chin, kiss the underside, then trail my way to his ear and bite. Hard.
“Fuck,” he hisses. His fingers dig into my hips. His other hand trails up my spine, winds my locks around his palm, tucks a wad into a fist. He yanks so hard, my head jerks back. Noah leans forward, sucks along the delicate skin of my pulse line, traveling up to my ear. When he reaches my lobe, he bites back. But I don’t feel like Noah wants to top me from the bottom. He only wants to give me what he thinks I want.
We make out for a few minutes, nibbling and sucking, biting and bruising. But he still has pants on, so I wrench my lips from his and start to unbuckle. Something shimmery catches my eye as I work, and I freeze when I realize what it is, sitting near the hollow of Noah’s throat. My racing heart comes to a screeching halt, and I bolt upright. “Where did you get that?”
His face wrinkles. “Get what?”
“That pendant around your neck.”
Noah reaches up, feels around until he finds the silver charm. “Oh, this? It’s Saint Agnes.”
“I know what it is. Where did you get it?”
“I don’t remember. Why?”
“You weren’t wearing it the other day. You haven’t had it on any of the times we were together.”
He shrugs. “I guess I took it off when I was doing some work and forgot to put it back on. It dangles, so I take it off when I’m using the table saw and stuff. Safety hazard.” Noah reaches for me, like we’re going to pick up where we left off. But we aren’t. We definitely aren’t.
I pull back, climb off the bed. “You just happened to put it on today?”
“What are you doing? Where are you going?”
How could I be so stupid? Noah Sawyer, the son of a man I killed, happens to walk up to me at the bar, and he just happens to be a writer, and happens to wear a Saint Agnes pendant? This man has been playing me from the start. I narrow my eyes at him. “What are you doing, Noah? What kind of sick, twisted game are you playing?”
Before he can answer, I’m already running. Out of the bedroom, down the hall, taking the stairs two at a time, and crashing open the front door. I don’t stop until I’m in the car, doors locked. My hand is shaking so much I can’t get the stupid key into the ignition. It clanks to the floor, and I curse, trying to scoop it up while keeping my head high enough to watch the front door. But Noah never comes out. At least not that I see from my rearview mirror as I hightail it the hell out of there.