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)
Even so, I take the moment to soak him in. God, he feels good. Solid and warm.
I’m dying to stick my nose in the center of his chest and just breathe. The ever-thickening bulge growing in his sweats is distracting and delicious. I’ve missed his gorgeous cock.
Without thinking, I press myself against it. He grunts, his hold on me tightening.
But I can’t do this when he’s touching me. Giving his meaty biceps a kiss, I step out of his embrace. Ethan frowns, but he lets me go.
“All right,” he says, running a hand through his hair, sending strands flowing around his face. “Now you’re starting to freak me out. What’s going on, Fi?”
I love that he doesn’t even ask why I’m here, just why I’m worried. I hold on to that fact as I trace a vein in the white marble countertop. “I quit my job.”
I love the way he can smile with just his eyes. And I love the tenderness I see in them now.
His big palm comes to rest near mine. “You did something you were afraid of but needed to do. I’m proud of you, Fiona.”
A shaky breath flows out of me. “Thanks. I’m proud of me too. It feels good. I’m going to start a furniture-making business, selling my work through my friends’ store in New York. And then maybe do a little design consulting on my own.”
Ethan blinks, his stoic features never moving, and I can tell he’s trying to figure out why I’m freaked if I’m happy. Because I am seriously about to freak out. A slow shake starts in my belly and radiates outward as I search for words.
He sees it and immediately steps closer, his warm, calloused hands rubbing over my upper arms. “Cherry . . .”
“I know everything is up in the air. I just quit. We haven’t been together long. But I just . . . I don’t know. Thing is,” I babble on, “I thought I’d visit you for a while. I brought some things and maybe—”
“Stay,” he cuts in, his fingers gripping my arm as if he’s going to physically hold me here. And then that isn’t enough for him because he sweeps me off my feet in that effortless way of his.
I give a little yelp of surprise and wrap my arms around his neck as he carries me into the living room in three long strides. I’m on the couch in his lap the next moment.
His eyes are wide and brilliant as he strokes my cheeks. “Stay with me.”
“Well,” I say, squeezing the back of his neck, “that was the plan. I want you for more than a sad little weekend. A month or so would be much better.”
His lush mouth tilts on a smile, but it doesn’t fully bloom. He stares into my eyes, his expression almost shy. “No. Not a month, Cherry.” The tip of his thumb touches my lower lip. I don’t miss the way he trembles too. “Live with me. Here. Make a life with me.”
His words strike us both mute. Ethan looks as if he can’t really believe he made the offer. Me? I can’t believe it either.
His thighs shift and harden beneath me, and I realize he’s holding his breath.
Maybe I am too, because I exhale on a long, ragged sigh. “You mean that?” I whisper.
His throat works on a swallow. “Wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t.”
“Ethan . . .” I can’t speak. My fingers thread through his hair, holding on. This is too much, and yet all I want to do is sink into him, rest against his strength for a good, long while. Never leave his side. “We just started going out. We’ve only been together a handful of times.”
All true and yet, even as I say it, I know I want this. I want to be with him.
“Doesn’t change the way I feel,” he says. “I’m miserable without you. I need you, Fi.”
A little sob bubbles up, and my voice breaks. “I need you too, Ethan.”
It feels like we’re saying something else. But it doesn’t matter because he’s kissing me, deep and searching, a little bit frantic as if he’s trying to convince himself this is real.
And I’m kissing him back, every bit as desperate.
Ethan holds my head, angling his mouth so he can delve deeper, and, God, he tastes good—feels good.
Gently, he touches my cheek, his fingers tracing it. “How is it,” he whispers, “that I was just fine being alone until you kissed me in that club?”
I swallow hard, my skin flushed with heat. A lump in my throat makes my voice thick. “I don’t know.” But it’s the same for me. One beard dare, and I was lost.
His fingers run down the side of my throat, then up again. “You’ve ruined me, Fiona. I’m not sure I know how to live without you anymore.”