Total pages in book: 155
Estimated words: 151333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 757(@200wpm)___ 605(@250wpm)___ 504(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 151333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 757(@200wpm)___ 605(@250wpm)___ 504(@300wpm)
We haven’t kissed or touched, but the moments she’s spent taking care of me, and me letting her take care of me, were intimate in a way that far surpassed sex.
I never thought I’d say that.
I never thought I’d have that.
“I’m not going to have a seizure. That would’ve happened right after the accident,” I say, even though I’m still getting headaches. “I have to make sure everything is moving forward.”
“Uncle Al is taking care of things with the bar.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
She frowns at me. “I’m sure everything is fine. The doctor said you have to rest—mentally and physically. You can’t be stressed out.”
Stressed out doesn’t come close to describing how I feel. I’ve got a ton of money on the line with the relaunch of the bar, and I don’t have the clear to start resuming my daily activities until next week.
Falling through the fucking floor wasn’t exactly how I wanted to end my career. It’s my own fault, though. I was exhausted and distracted and not paying attention when I should’ve been. My mind was on a certain little blonde who I was missing, madly.
Staring out the window at the snow falling, I drink the tea she made me, which tastes like dirt and honey, but I force it down, and eye her over the rim of my cup. She’s sitting on the other end of the couch, engrossed in editing product photos on her iPad for the boutique. The way her blonde hair hangs over her face and down over her shoulder makes me want to push it back, nuzzle into her neck, and kiss her until she melts in my arms.
I resist.
I’m still fighting with the fact that just a few weeks ago, she dredged up all my fears.
Asking for a divorce.
Giving the ring back.
Leaving our home with half her stuff and a pet I grew to love.
Twice I brought my lawyer’s number up on my phone to start the divorce papers while she was in Connecticut, and twice I couldn’t get myself to do it.
I don’t want a divorce.
Skylar hasn’t just been playing nurse since I got hurt, she’s been a wife.
My wife.
I’ve been falling deeper and deeper for her, and wrestling with decisions more and more.
And meanwhile, she’s been looking at studio apartments and has plans to pick one soon.
“Are you tired?” she asks after I yawn.
“A little. I think I might take a hot bath before I go to bed. My back is sore.”
Leaning her head back against the couch, she turns to me with a wistful smile. “It’s a great night for a bath. Especially in your bathroom. Tell me you didn’t put those skylights in for a night exactly like this so you could watch the snow.”
I nudge my foot against her leg. “Aha. I knew you were in there fantasizing about my tub every time you went in there to get my pills.”
“Guilty,” she admits.
Last year I remodeled my ensuite with a big clawfoot bathtub perfectly positioned under two heated skylights. I added long windows along the wall overlooking the backyard—too high for anyone to see in, but giving me a great view of the sky and trees. It’s the perfect place to relax.
“If you want to use my bathtub, be my guest. You earned it for taking care of me.”
“Maybe we could together?” she asks in a soft, cautious tone like she would if she were attempting to lure a wild animal to go home with her.
I push my hair out of my eyes and stare at her, unsure I heard her correctly.
“Together together?”
She swallows and nods.
“I thought we weren’t going down that road anymore.”
She chews her lip and touches the necklace, gently moving it back and forth on the chain. The playful twinkle that was in her eyes seconds ago has been replaced with a vulnerable longing.
“Maybe we can make an exception for tonight?” Her words—her eyes—are infused with hope, and something else that makes my heart pound.
Love. It looks like love.
My defenses kick in to standby mode.
“We’re not light switches, Skylar,” I say softly. “We can’t just flip on and off.”
“I know,” she whispers. “I’m sorry.”
I inhale a low, steady breath. I haven’t exactly been a pillar of consistency myself. “You don’t have to be sorry. We both have things to figure out.”
“We will… but for tonight maybe we can forget about all that? Please?” A hint of desperation laces her voice. “I want to have a fun, magical night. With you. I think we both need it.”
The word fun is both sword and savior. It’s sliced the thought of love right outta my head and saved me from all the emotions, expectations, and heartache that come with it.
Besides, the temptation of getting into a hot bath with her, skin against skin, enveloped in steam, is a whole lot of yum I can’t resist.