Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 134746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
Hell, why do I care if this little firecracker disapproves of my justice?
If anything, I should be angry with her.
I never meant to kiss her that way.
It was meant to be the lightest brush. Controlled and over in an instant.
Not this slow, fusing sizzle that made it damn near impossible for me to pull away.
There was an innocence and sensuality in the way she leaned against me that caught me off guard. I’m used to women who kiss with intent; whose every goal is to make me lose my head and get so swept up in sex that I’ll drag them off to bed and let them weave their spell over me.
My ex-wife was like that in the end.
Only when she kissed me, she wasn’t trying to ply my body.
She was toying with my emotions, hoping my love for her would make me surrender to her demands, even when they turned batshit insane.
Yeah. I’m accustomed to dealing with women who want something and who have zero qualms about aiming their wiles straight at my cock.
What I’m not accustomed to is a woman so skilled at it that she makes her response seem genuine, as if I somehow affect her so deeply that her cheeks flush honest pink, her breaths hitch a little too much, and her eyes flutter shut while her mouth becomes a soft, inviting strawberry, begging me to take everything.
Fuck, I almost did, losing my shit with a flirt of her honey on my tongue.
It’s amazing how much just kissing this girl feels like straight filthy fucking.
I’m almost grateful to that sleaze for stopping me before I went too far.
Then Elle moves, and I remember why I’m not fucking grateful at all.
The slight weight in my lap exhales with a sleepy mumble. I flick a glare at her, holding on to my anger and suspicion. She’s no different from any other woman. Her wiles are just a different sort from anything I know.
But as I watch her slowly waking up, holding on to that familiar resentment feels like trying to keep water in my fingers. I can’t hold on as she shifts her shoulders sleepily, snuggling into me, her eyes slowly slipping open.
Nothing but gleams of gold through her lashes. The drowsy tiger kitten yawning.
Her tongue even curls like a cat’s. I half expect to see a hand come up like a paw to rub at one cheek, or for her nose to twitch like she’s moving her whiskers.
How is this maddening woman so damned cute?
Instead of playing the cat, she blinks her eyes open, looking up in confusion.
“August?” she asks with another yawn, rubbing her pink nose.
One thing she doesn’t do is bolt out of my lap like she did last time. I suppose I’m losing any and all hope of preserving my intimidating mystique with her.
“How long was I out?” she asks, her voice still thick with sleep, giving it an enticing sigh.
I have to look away from her and take the excuse to glance at my watch. “About thirty-five minutes. Not long. How are you feeling?”
From the corner of my eye, I watch her smile faintly. “A little better. I can see, at least, and there’s only one of you now instead of four or five.”
“Thank fuck. Not sure the world could handle four or five of me, Elle.”
She laughs loudly and then winces. “Wait. Did you just make a joke, Crankyface?”
“Believe it or not, I have a functioning sense of humor.”
“Yeah? Prove it.”
I toss her a look and change the subject. “Would ice water help? I made sure the cooler was stocked.”
“You did? For me?” Elle blinks at me.
“Yes.” Clearing my throat, I avoid looking at her—even if I must press far too close to her as I lean over her in my lap to reach the silver built-in cooler between the front seats. A press of a button and it slides out, ice cubes gleaming, several water bottles nestled among them, along with a few cans of my favorite sparkling water flavors. I pluck out a water, shake off the droplets, then lean back and offer it to her. “You had me worried, woman. Just thought it would be pragmatic to prepare ahead. Do you have your meds?”
For a moment, the only sound is the cooler automatically closing with a mechanical whirr, while Elle gives me a confused look.
Yet this time, that look makes my heart feel strange and my blood slow.
This time, she’s the one who averts her eyes, gently taking the bottle from me and glancing at the sequined round shape of the violently colorful purse that’s replaced her usual oversize bag. It’s tucked into the pocket on the back of the front passenger seat.
“They’re in my purse. The outside pocket.”
She starts to reach for it, but I get there first with longer arms. I fumble with finding the zippers.