Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
“Morning, gorgeous. How'd you sleep?” He leans against the frame of the door, arms crossed over his bare chest. His voice is still gruff from sleep, and his hair is rumpled. He’s every woman’s fantasy, standing there looking like a sleepy, sexy god.
I allow myself a few moments to take in this beautiful man standing before me. My eyes rake over the tattoos on his chest before they come to meet his. “Like a baby.”
He grins at my response and takes a step into the room. “I've got breakfast ready, and we need to hit the road if we want to make it to the cabin before noon.”
“Do we want to make it to the cabin before noon?” I ask.
He takes a seat on the bed next to me and places his hand on my thigh. “Well, we have the cabin until Wednesday. I thought you’d want to get started on our little vacay sooner rather than later. Besides, it’s snowing there, and I want to make sure we have time to stop and get all the supplies we might need in case we get snowed in.”
“Good thing there are lots of things to do at the cabin if we do.”
He smirks. “I think we’ll be able to figure it out, gorgeous.” He squeezes my thigh and stands. “Come on, lazybones. We’ve got a honeymoon to start.”
I toss off the covers and quickly pull down his T-shirt that’s ridden up. Not that it matters. He slept with his body molded to mine. He’s felt my body. What’s the harm in him seeing it too?
“You need any help?” he asks. His voice is husky as his eyes stay locked on my bare thighs.
I clear my throat, suddenly parched. “I think I can manage.”
He nods, his eyes never leaving my thighs. “You let me know if that ever changes.” With that, he turns and marches out of the bedroom.
“Damn,” I mutter to myself. I saw it in his eyes. He wanted me to say I needed help. Hell, I wanted to say that I needed help, but I know we can’t go there. We can’t cross that line. We’ve been married for less than twenty-four hours, and the temptation to give in to this intense chemistry we have is strong already.
Pulling myself out of my thoughts, I grab some clothes and head to the shower. I rush through the process because I still need to pack. I’ve been putting it off because what does one pack to go on her fake honeymoon with her husband, who’s supposed to be hers in name only but is also the object of her every fantasy?
The struggle is real.
Since I waited until the last minute, I don’t have time to keep dwelling on what to take, so I toss in enough clothes to get me through the few days we’ll be gone. I also toss in a few additional items that the girls at work gifted me at the bridal shower they threw for me. I don’t know that I’ll be brave enough to wear them, but I want to be prepared all the same.
“Ready,” I say when I set my bag down in the kitchen.
“Your breakfast is cold.” Legend grabs the plate of eggs.
“Hey, give that back.” I take it from his hands, pick up the fork he set out for me on the counter, and take a big bite. “I love cheesy eggs,” I say once I’ve swallowed.
“I know. I was going to make you some fresh.”
“These are fine, Legend. Thank you.” I fork up another bite. There’s something about adding cheese to eggs that makes them so much better.
He takes the toast from my plate. “At least let me make you fresh toast. I know you don’t like it when it’s soggy.”
I wrinkle up my nose in disgust, and he laughs. “I’m out on soggy bread.”
“I know, gorgeous. Sit down and eat. This will only take a few seconds.” He busies himself with popping two fresh pieces of bread into the toaster.
“You know, if you keep spoiling me like this, I might not agree to give you that divorce,” I tease in between bites of my cheesy eggs. They’re cold, but they’re still my favorite.
He shrugs.
Shrugs.
What does that mean? He doesn’t care if we get divorced? He doesn’t care that I won’t want a divorce because he’s divorcing me anyway? My mind races, and I know I need to just ask him, but I’m also afraid of his answer. While I’m in my head, debating this, he places a plate with two pieces of freshly buttered toast in front of me. He leans in close and presses his lips to my temple.
“Eat your breakfast, wife.” With that, he strolls off toward the bedroom.
What just happened?
I’m turned on, heat rushing to my core. It happens every single time he calls me his wife. Why is that so damn hot?