Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 102778 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 514(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102778 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 514(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
My lip wobbles, emotion pushing up past the lump in my throat. He must see my distress—the smile that’d been blooming drops.
My chest heaves as I struggle to keep my breathing normal. If I can just get to Dex, everything will be okay.
I walk straight to him, not stopping until I wrap my arms around his waist and bury my face against his solid chest. The scent of cloves and oranges is stronger now that I haven’t been near him in a while. He’s warm, strong, safe. His arms surround me, hold me secure. I sag into his embrace.
“Hey,” I say to his chest.
Dex presses his lips to my crown. “Cherry. You all right?”
No. Not at all. My eyes burn and prickle. I hug him tighter, breathe him in. “I’m just . . . really glad to see you, Ethan.”
His chest lifts and falls on a breath, and his husky voice rumbles over me. “I missed you too, Fiona.”
Dex
Despite the fact that I play professional football for a living, I’m not a violent man. I solve problems with my mind, not my fists. I tell myself this as I tuck Fi against my side while we take a cab to her apartment. She’s trembling, her delicate hand roaming over my torso as if she needs to pet me to keep herself grounded.
It slays me. The need to pound into someone, something, anything, surges through me in waves that I tap down by burrowing my nose in Fi’s fragrant hair and breathing in deep.
Women have nice-smelling hair; that’s a given. But something about Fi’s scent just does it for me. Pheromones. A basic biological lure that hooks one person to another. One whiff of Fi, and I’m both hard and utterly content.
“You’re here,” she whispers. “I can’t believe you’re really here.”
I take another deep breath before I speak in a low voice, trying to coax her out. “What happened, Cherry?”
She stiffens against me, and I grind my teeth. If someone hurt her . . . Yeah, I’ll be resorting to violence. But then she sighs and her fingers drift over my chest, finding my nipple and stroking it over the thin fabric of my shirt. I try to ignore that touch as she tells me the whole tale.
The heartbreak in her voice tears at my own heart. She bleeds, I bleed. That’s just how it is now. Worse, I can’t fight this for her. I can’t go and pummel her shallow boss or her conniving coworker. I can only hold her tight, press my lips against her head and let her talk.
“I just feel so . . .” She waves a hand as she struggles to find a word. “Angry. Hurt. Dejected. Yeah, that’s the prevalent emotion right now.”
With a sigh, she presses her nose against my chest. Her warm breath seeps through my shirt. Still, she plays with my nipple, twisting the little barbell I wear just enough to make me feel it in my balls.
My hips shift in reaction, but my mind is on trying to make this right. “Baby, I—”
She silences me with a look, her big green eyes luminous with unshed tears.
“Ethan, I know you want to fix this.” She gives me a watery smile. “Don’t look so shocked. I know you better than you think.”
“I’m not shocked.” I kind of love how easily she reads me. “I admit it. I want to take your pain and make it better.”
Stretching up, Fi kisses my jaw. My beard makes it impossible for me to feel more than the pressure of her lips. I want more. I want to imprint her on my skin. I turn toward her and lower my head.
I kiss her softly, tenderly, wanting her to know how precious she is.
Fi smiles against my lips. “You want to make it better, Big Guy? When we get upstairs, make me forget the world for a little while.”
The cab pulls up in front of her apartment. I thread my fingers through her hair, holding it secure. “Cherry, that was always part of the plan.”
Twenty-Two
Fiona
Born of the desperate need to keep our hands off each other, Dex and I stand on opposite sides of the elevator going up to my apartment. The main deterrent to any shenanigans is the fact that Mrs. Flannery, my sixty-something widowed neighbor, stands between us.
She stares straight ahead, her crimson-painted lips twitching. It’s as if she knows exactly how much Dex and I are itching to touch each other, which wouldn’t surprise me since her sex life is far more active than mine has been until now. I’ve caught her in many an elevator embrace. Honestly, the woman is my sexcapade hero.
Over her head, Dex’s eyes meet mine. The heated look he sends makes my breath quicken. But then he pushes it over the edge; he makes a total goofball—crossed eyes, pointed tongue—face at me.