Total pages in book: 41
Estimated words: 37645 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 188(@200wpm)___ 151(@250wpm)___ 125(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37645 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 188(@200wpm)___ 151(@250wpm)___ 125(@300wpm)
Once we’re alone, Wyatt says, “So how did you spend your night off last night?”
I take a deep breath and blurt out the truth. “Daydreaming about our date.”
He stares into my eyes and I swear the air around us fills with electricity. “Me, too.”
Needing to change the subject before we self-combust on our shared lust, I ask him. “My sister is dying to know if Steel Pulse is as insane as everyone says?”
He sits back and takes a sip of his wine. “Worse. I once had to drag the lead singer out of a hotel laundry chute because he thought it would be ‘hilarious’ to pop out naked during a press event.” He shakes his head. “I spent ten years getting paid to be invisible and terrifying at the same time.”
“Sounds…pretty awful,” I say, before I can stop myself.
He meets my gaze, and there’s something raw there, something he doesn’t show other people. “It was.”
There’s a pause, but not an awkward one. More like we both need to let the gravity of that settle.
I breathe a sigh of relief when he changes the subject. “Tell me one secret you’ve never told anyone else.”
I stall, caught off guard and trying to find something to lighten the sexual tension swirling around us. “Wow. Uh… okay. When I was nine, I accidentally set my neighbor’s deck on fire trying to grill Pop-Tarts. I blamed it on my little sister for three years.”
He laughs, loud and real, and I decide right then that I’d grill Pop-Tarts with him any day.
“Your turn,” I say.
He doesn’t hesitate. “I once body-slammed a fan into a decorative fountain at Caesar’s Palace because he called my mom a whore.” He shrugs. “Still not sorry.”
I burst out laughing. “Good. He deserved it.”
The food arrives, and the steak is truly huge. Wyatt watches me take the first bite, his eyes hungry in a way that has nothing to do with meat. I moan a little, which is half-performance, half-orgasmic, and his jaw tightens. He looks like he’s ready to devour me whole which isn’t a bad thing.
Conversation flows as we share stories while devouring the perfect ribeyes. At one point, our hands brush across the table, reaching for the same piece of bread, and neither of us moves away. His thumb traces slow circles on the back of my hand, and I have to concentrate to remember how to breathe.
I don’t even notice how late it’s gotten until the waiter comes by to say they’re closing up soon.
Wyatt glances at me, and for a second, I think he’s going to suggest we go home separately. Instead, he says, “I’m not ready for the night to end. Are you?”
My pulse stutters. “Not even close. I want my other eleven roses.”
He throws down his Amex and leaves a tip that would make my mom faint. “They’re waiting for you at my house. Want to come back to my place and we can watch a movie and find your roses?”
“Sounds like a plan to me.” I’d agree to just about anything right now.
Outside, the air is cool, and he puts his arm around me as we walk to the car. He opens the door for me, and as I slide in, I catch him watching me with that hungry, possessive look again.
I’m in so much trouble here but I don’t care. Wyatt Byrne already owns me heart and soul. Now, I just have to hope he feels the same way.
CHAPTER 8
NAOMI
The drive to Wyatt’s house is a study in quiet anticipation. Neither of us says much, but every time his hand comes close to the center console, my entire body lights up like a pinball machine. The city fades behind us, and the houses grow farther apart, lawns giving way to stubborn prairie grass and rolling fields.
I watch him under the soft blue glow of the dashboard, noticing his strong, impassive jaw, the small scar on his chin, and the way his eyes dart to me every few seconds, as if ensuring I haven't changed my mind.
I’m not sure what I expected, perhaps music, or awkward small talk, or some kind of romantic overture, but he’s just steady. The hum of the engine and the low drone of the radio make it feel like we’re driving into outer space.
We arrive at a charming single-story house nestled behind a lush front lawn. The driveway is paved with smooth cobblestones, leading to a welcoming wrap-around porch adorned with hanging flower baskets. Glowing softly, the porch lamp casts a warm glow over the pristine wooden swing. A state-of-the-art grill sits neatly to the side, ready for a summer barbecue. The house exudes a sense of warmth and hospitality, inviting you in with its picturesque landscaping and idyllic charm.
“Your home is stunning.” I tell him.
“I spent the last week sprucing it up,” he glances over at me and shrugs, “I wanted it to be perfect for you.” Melted! My heart freaking turns to goo and I almost blurt out “I love you,” but I somehow manage to bite the words back.