Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
He shrugs. “Can’t remember.”
I’m not buying it. It wasn’t about my dad if my friends are grateful, too.
“But Natasha and Sophia messaged and asked me to thank you. What’s going on?”
He groans and stays focused on the screen. “Such bad luck on the technical. I think he’s going home. Joanne’s got this series in the bag. I’m calling it.”
“Leo,” I say. “Please tell me. Even if I did something really embarrassing, I want to know.”
His eye slice to mine. “Why would you have done something embarrassing?”
“You’re obviously avoiding telling me why we’re all so grateful to you,” I say. “Probably because you want to spare my feelings. I can handle whatever it is.”
“It’s nothing. I just… picked up your tab last night, that’s all. It’s no big deal.”
My heart clenches in my chest. “You paid for our dinner and drinks last night? How?”
He narrows his eyes. “With a credit card,” he says, like I’m a simpleton.
“I mean, how did you even know where we were?”
He shrugs. “I recognized the restaurant from the picture you sent.”
“So, you just decided to—”
“It’s really not a big deal. I called them and gave them my card number. It’s nothing.”
But it wasn’t nothing. Just like him dealing with my dad yesterday wasn’t nothing. It was a big deal. A really big deal. Not just because of the money—the money doesn’t mean much to Leo. His thoughtfulness and kindness, though? His generosity and humility? Those are the kinds of things a boyfriend—or a real fiancé—brings to the table. At least if they’re one of the good ones.
“That was really nice of you, Leo.” My voice is a little shaky. We’re not joking around, teasing each other. He did something really nice and I’m grateful from the bottom of my heart.
He must catch the difference in my tone, because he pulls his gaze from the TV and regards me. “It’s fine. It wasn’t anything.”
We stare at each other for a beat, then two. He circles his fingers around my ankle and pulls me toward him. “You’re worth it. I wanted you to have a nice time. You’d had a rough day.”
I want to kiss him. I want him to kiss me. I know he’s not the guy I’m going to end up with—I understand a man like Leo can never settle down and commit to a woman. But right now, I don’t want to think about commitment or settling down. I just want Leo Hart to kiss me.
It’s like he can read my mind, because he shifts over me, pushing me back onto the couch, his breath against my neck.
“You look so sexy right now.”
My hair is damp and I’m in a t-shirt and leggings. I’m anything but sexy. “I guess it’s all relative,” I huff out. “You’re used to seeing me in secondhand pantsuits.”
“You’re always sexy.” He places a kiss to my collarbone. Every molecule in my body stands to attention. It’s like he has some kind of code to my body that I didn’t know existed, and with just a few movements—a sweep of his lips, a press of his fingers—I’m unlocked and all his.
I feel his erection against my leg and I’m instantly wet with longing. How is that possible? I’m hungover to Colorado and back and I still want him. His hands slide up my t-shirt and he finds me braless and groans. “Fuck, Jules.” He pushes the t-shirt higher, and I help him take it over my head. He pinches and pulls my nipple between his thumb and forefinger, and it’s such painful pleasure that my back arches and I cry out.
He releases me and strips off his t-shirt. The skin on his arms and neck and face is so smooth it looks like it’s polished. As he bends over me, I slide my hands over his shoulders and down his front. His chest has a little hair and it makes me giddy—like some kind of biological switch is flicked at the sight of it.
“How’s the hangover?” he asks.
“What hangover?”
He chuckles and leans in for a kiss. He grazes his teeth across my jaw and then dips between my lips, as if he’s tasting me. It’s like he’s trying to torture me. I want his tongue, his cock, his fingers—all of him inside me right now.
I scramble for the waist of his joggers and try to push them down, but my hands find his cock and I reach for it. He twists his hips away and shifts so he’s lying behind me, one hand around my waist, another down the waistband of my leggings.
“You’re not touching me. Not until I’ve had my turn touching you,” he says. He holds me in place as his fingers slip down and between my folds. I want to be better than melting every time he touches me. But I’m not. He strips me of any self-control.