Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 134706 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134706 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
“Jesus, Tristan,” I whisper.
“Sorry,” he murmurs into my hair. “I had to be rude. We broke up six months ago, and she’s still calling my mother three times a week for coffee dates. Pisses me off.”
She turns and walks up the street, and my stomach drops in pity for her. “She’s beautiful.”
“She is,” he replies.
“Why didn’t it work out with her?” I ask, distracted by her beauty.
He kisses my temple and holds his cheek to mine. “Because she wasn’t you.”
Chapter 17
I wake slowly. The room is semidark, and it feels weird not hearing a lawn mower.
The faint sound of traffic in the background is almost relaxing.
I look over to the man sleeping beside me. He’s on his back. His dark hair and olive skin are a striking contrast to the crisp white linen, and his thick black lashes flutter, as if he’s dreaming. His pouty big red lips softly part as he inhales.
I’ve never been with such a beautiful-looking man before. Everything about him is out of a catalog. Tall, dark, and handsome. A rippled and naturally athletic body . . . but it’s what’s inside that calls to me.
Underneath the fancy wrapping and the Miles Media surname . . . is a beautiful, gentle soul.
The man inside of this perfect body is who I want. The rest of him is just window dressing. I smile as I inhale deeply with hope.
This is a revelation.
I’ve found a man who ticks every box, and okay, there may be some issues with my children, but wouldn’t I have that with any man I meet?
He wants to try, and God damn it, I’m giving it my best go.
I run the backs of my fingers through the hair on his lower stomach that leads down to his pubic hair.
The power of touch.
I never knew how much I needed it, craved it. And now that we’ve acknowledged that what’s between us is more, I can hardly keep my needy hands off him.
Mine.
He’s looking forward to the future, and for the first time in a long time . . . so am I.
His eyes slowly open on a deep inhale, and I smile over at him. “Morning.”
He pulls me close and holds me tight. “Anderson, you’re like a fucking rooster. Why are you awake so early?”
“Just admiring the view.” I smile as I kiss his chest.
His naked skin up against mine is warm and hard . . . perfect.
He pulls out of my arms and gets up and goes into the bathroom, and I lie in bed wearing a stupid smile. I can’t wipe it off my face.
After a while he comes back and lies on his side, facing me. His eyes are still sleepy, and it’s obvious he wasn’t ready to wake yet. “What?” he mumbles.
“Nothing . . . feeling happy.”
He smiles sleepily. His eyes drift back closed.
I lean up onto my elbow and stare over at him. “How many women have you slept with, Tris?”
“Too many to admit to,” he replies, eyes still closed.
“Oh.” I think for a moment. What does that mean? How many is too many to admit to? Jeez.
“You wore a condom, though, right?” I frown.
“Yes, Anderson, I wore a condom. You don’t have an STD. Go back to sleep.”
I roll my lips to hide my smile. “You . . .” I frown as I try to articulate what I want to say. “You didn’t wear a condom with your girlfriends, though, did you?”
“Yes, I did, actually.” He shrugs. “Well, not my second girlfriend, but she was the only one apart from you.”
“Oh.” I frown. He has spoken of this second girlfriend before. “You loved her a lot, didn’t you?” I ask.
“Is this a Saturday morning or a Spanish fucking Inquisition?” he mutters dryly.
I giggle. “I want to get to know you. I’m going to ask you questions all day long.”
“Hmm.” He frowns, unimpressed, eyes still closed.
“You ask me a question now,” I say. “This is how we learn about each other.”
He reaches over, drags my body to his, and kisses my forehead. “I don’t care what happened to you before me. I only care about us.” He pulls me tighter and kisses my temple again. “Go back to sleep, Anderson,” he murmurs, eyes still closed.
I smile. I love him like this. All sleepy and docile. “I’m not tired. You go back to sleep. I’ll keep watching you like a stalker.”
“Hmm.” He snuggles back into his pillow, unfazed by my comment. “You’re a weird person.”
I lean up onto my elbow again and smile at the resting god in front of me. I’m not even joking; I would pay good money to watch this spectacular blanket show. “It’s okay, Tris,” I whisper. “I’ve only ever murdered two men in their sleep before. You’re completely safe.”
He opens one eye. “The fact that that even crosses your mind to say is somewhat concerning, Claire.”