Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 129980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
“How did you know my name?” To her horror, her voice came out small, not at all like she wanted to sound. A whisper. As if she were inviting him to be intimate with her. She never sounded like that. She might avoid men, but when she spoke to them, she was decisive.
The table was small, and he moved the chair close to her—too close. His thigh brushed along hers. Warm. No, hot. She was suddenly very aware of herself as a woman, every nerve ending springing to life. He was definitely a man.
“The barista calls your name when your order is ready,” he said simply. “I’m Andrii Federoff. I couldn’t help but notice the beautiful woman lost in her own world.”
No one called her beautiful. She wasn’t beautiful. She was…ordinary. Mousy even. There wasn’t a single thing remarkable about her. Not that she was complaining. The fact that no one noticed her helped her to disappear into the woodwork, where she could observe those around her without having to participate.
“Azelie Vargas,” she managed to get out without making more of a fool of herself. She couldn’t drink her coffee; her hands were shaking too bad. She threaded her fingers together tightly in her lap, wondering why a man as gorgeous as Andrii would choose to sit with her.
“What are you reading? It must be very interesting to have you so completely absorbed in the story.”
She tried to fight the blush but was unsuccessful. “I enjoy a variety of novels.”
He remained silent, his silver eyes moving over her face like twin lasers. He looked a little moody. Disappointed. Definitely aware she’d dodged his question and not happy about it.
She lifted her chin. She didn’t know him. What the hell did it matter if he judged her? “I enjoy reading romance. Happy endings. Stories about men and women communicating and forming families. Being faithful to each other.”
Immediately, those strangely colored eyes turned to a liquid silver, approval lighting them. The change sent little darts of fire shooting straight to her sex. Why in the world did his approval of her matter so much? It made no sense when he was a complete stranger, but her entire body responded just to the look in his eyes.
“I’ve seen you typing. Do you write your own stories?”
His voice was remarkable. She’d never heard anything like it. She felt as if he were wrapping her in velvet. Azelie nodded. He continued to stare at her with his light-colored eyes, burning right through her, exposing her every secret.
“Yes,” she whispered. “I do write stories. It’s difficult to make a living as a full-time author, so I work at a local club as a bookkeeper to make ends meet.” She had absolutely no idea why she blurted out that information, but it just came flying out of her mouth. “I’ve worked there for years, but had hoped I could quit eventually. That isn’t looking too good.”
He nodded. “You’re published, then?”
“Yes. I’ve sold three stories so far—romantic suspense—and I’ve contracted for one more. I’m hoping when I turn that one in, they’ll offer me another contract. So far, the books have sold fairly well.” She took pride in that. She wasn’t a bestseller, but she was definitely midlist. That didn’t mean she could quit her day job. She just couldn’t make enough money being an author. She understood the cost of paper and ink kept rising.
She also had tried self-publishing. That hadn’t worked out for her. She wasn’t good at marketing. On top of that, a trend had started where readers returned books after they read them, and authors had to return the money. She couldn’t pay her bills. Many authors went under. She was fortunate in that she had a good-paying day job, but having that possibility hanging over her head was daunting. She didn’t have the nerves for it. She needed the buffer of a publisher.
“I find it interesting that you work as a bookkeeper and you write novels. It’s unusual to do both.”
She nodded. “I know. I think my brain is always at war with itself.” She flashed him a small smile. “What do you do?”
“I work in security. It’s not nearly as interesting.”
His voice literally sent chills down her spine. She was grateful she was sitting because she was afraid she might not be able to keep her legs from trembling and she’d fall right at his feet. She really hoped those strangely colored eyes of his couldn’t see right into her. She’d never, not once in her life, had a reaction to another human being the way she did to him.
“In novels, the man working security is always interesting.”
One dark eyebrow shot up and his lips curved into a slow smile. No teeth, but that almost smile made her stomach somersault. “Have you ever written a hero working security?”