The Wrong Right Man Read online Aurora Rose Reynolds

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Billionaire, Contemporary, Romance Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 68177 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 341(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
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I slowly sit up then look down at myself and the oversized white T-shirt I’m wearing, bringing it to my nose and smelling Braxton. After a minute, I stand and walk to the open window. I’m on the second floor, judging by the view of the forest outside, and my guess is this is the cabin Braxton mentioned to me. I go to the first door I see and am grateful when I find it’s a bathroom.

I step in and cringe when I see myself in the mirror. My makeup is smeared and my hair is a mess. I quickly start up the shower then use the toothpaste and brush in the holder next to the sink to get rid of the alcohol I can still taste on my breath. I use the few items in the shower to wash up then shut off the water and get out, looking for a towel. Not finding one, I give up and put the shirt back on, leaving my panties off. Still dripping wet but feeling a little better, I step out of the room and stop.

Braxton’s idea of a small cabin and mine are vastly different. The space below me is huge with a large kitchen and living room with a comfortable-looking couch, a stone fireplace, and a pool table. The living space is nice, but what has my attention are the windows that show the world outside from the floor to the ceiling that must be thirty feet high.

I take a step, wrap my hands around the rough-cut log banister, and watch Braxton in the kitchen with his back to me, wearing nothing but a pair of sweats with his phone to his ear as he turns eggs over in a pan. Another memory falls into place, making me want to turn around and go back into the room to hide. Last night, he told me he wanted to talk, and at the time, I wasn’t looking forward to that. But hung-over me is looking forward to that even less.

“Are you going to come down here and kiss me or are you going to stand up there staring out into space all day?” His words make me smile, and I focus on where he’s now standing with his hands on the counter, leaning into it and looking up at me with his muscular torso, making my mouth water.

“I wasn’t staring out into space. I was taking in the view,” I defend myself as I head across the landing and down the stairs to the first floor. He meets me when I reach the last step and pulls me into his arms, kissing me softly before leaning back to frown down at me.

“Why is your shirt wet?”

“I showered,” I state the obvious, touching my still sopping wet hair. “There were no towels in the bathroom.”

He drops his eyes to my chest, and I watch them grow dark. “I ran them through the wash the last time I was here. They’re in the dryer,” he says, brushing the back of his fingers across the front of my shirt over my nipple. I bite my lip to keep from moaning, and his eyes meet mine as I shiver. “As much as I enjoy you wet, let me get you something to put on.” He kisses me swiftly then moves around me to go up the stairs. “I made breakfast, and there’s coffee in the pot. Help yourself, and I’ll be back in a second.”

I cross my arms over my chest and walk toward the kitchen but make a beeline for the living room when I see the coffee table that is sitting in front of the couch. The wood looks similar to his table in the city, but in the open grooves and naturally pitted pieces, there is emerald-colored glass overlaid with lacquer, making the surface of the table look like glass. It’s beautiful, and if he made something like this for his mom, I can see why she would hang it on her wall.

I turn when I hear him come down the stairs and notice he has a towel in hand along with another shirt, this one gray. “This is beautiful.” I motion to the table, and he smiles softly. “If you ever want to quit your job, you could go into woodworking.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He comes toward me then before I have time to prepare, he drops the towel to the couch and his hands are on my hips. “Arms up,” he orders, and I lift my hands up over my head as he drags the wet shirt up my body then drops it to the couch. Without a bit of shyness, I keep my hands up as he places the dry one over my head.

“Thanks,” I whisper, dropping my hands to my sides to rest over his on my hips.


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