Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67479 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67479 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Without saying another word, I continue to eat the steak, and he sits there, staring at me with a smirk tugging at the edges of his mouth as he sips his wine.
We manage to drink the bottle of wine between us, though I’m sure I have an extra glass more than he does, and by the time the food is gone, we sit, staring at each other.
“Tell me about your family.”
“It’s probably best you leave now, don’t you think?” he replies, standing. “Let me take you home.”
“Is that a sore spot?” I ask. “I was going to interview your sister too, to see what else I can find out.” His hand tightens where it’s wrapped around the back of his chair.
“Probably best you don’t.” His response comes out cold as he waits for me to stand.
I get to my feet and push my chair in.
The wine has hit my head, and I smile up at him. “I’ve already reached out to her via email. Do you think she’ll reply?”
He clenches his teeth as he strides quickly toward the exit. My heels click on the tiled floor as I move a little faster to catch up with him. He’s silent as we get into the car, and he remains that way on the drive back to my home.
I don’t bother trying to break the silence. To be honest, I’m done for the day, and all I want is to go to sleep. Possibly play with my vibrator before I pass out.
I don’t bother thanking him for dinner as we stop at the curb in front of my home, even though my mother would chew me out for the blatant disregard of manners. I climb out and slam the door shut behind me. I dig into my purse for my keys, then unlock my front door. Just as I step inside and turn around to see if Soren’s left, I come face-to-face with him. His nostrils flare, his eyes dark and dangerous, glaring straight at me. He’s close, too close, and his gray eyes hint at some internal battle he’s fighting. He steps even closer, and I’m frozen in place, unsure about what’s happening right now.
He’s clearly trying to intimidate me, but little does he know, I am not intimidated easily, so I straighten my back and glare straight back at him, which makes something in his gaze shift at my defiance.
Somehow, the distance between us is nonexistent, and I can’t help it when my gaze strays to his lips.
It should be a crime for a man to look this good.
Fuck.
The air is so thick between us that I completely understand the saying, “You could cut the tension with a knife.”
When I manage to look away from his lips, I see that he’s staring at mine. I should back away and put some much-needed distance between us, but I’m glued to the spot and can’t move. We’re both breathing heavily, and just when I think I’ve gathered enough courage to step away finally, he leans down.
And then his mouth is on mine.
I expect him to pull back quickly, thinking it was clearly a mistake. Instead, his lips are soft and tender as they press against mine. Neither of us moves at first, and then, ever so slowly, he opens his mouth. And before I know it, I’m doing the same thing, and our tongues meet.
He’s kissing me.
And I’m kissing him back.
The man I despise.
The one I’m trying to write a story about.
The man who is standing at my front door and stealing my breath with his kiss.
Other than our lips, we don’t touch each other. I’m actually afraid of what would happen if we did. I’m pretty sure I would drag him inside right now. He seems to be aware of that fact, and we wordlessly agree to keep our hands to ourselves and leave the touching to our lips.
There’s a small voice in my head screaming at me to stop. Telling me this isn’t right, that I shouldn’t be kissing this man. Telling me I should back away and forget this ever happened, or blame it on the wine. But I can’t seem to do that. My tongue doesn’t get the memo that my head is saying this is wrong. Instead, it keeps tasting him. And he keeps kissing me.
That is, until he suddenly pulls back, seeming to realize the enormity of what just happened. And before I can say a word, he’s striding back to his car and climbing inside, not even glancing back once.
And then…
He’s gone.
Taking a deep breath, I stand there, staring aimlessly at where his car was parked.
What just happened?
Do I need to stop the story now that I’m too involved?
Maybe it was the wine, and tomorrow we can pretend like nothing ever happened.
Surely that’s the smartest way to move forward.