Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 45531 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 228(@200wpm)___ 182(@250wpm)___ 152(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45531 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 228(@200wpm)___ 182(@250wpm)___ 152(@300wpm)
“You’re telling the truth,” he says.
“I know I am.”
“But it’s not the whole truth.”
I say nothing. He must be able to read my expression better than he has any right to considering how long we’ve known each other. Time doesn’t seem to matter to us. We’re closer than our time together would imply. In a different life, I’d stop fighting it. I’d tell him what I want, the visions of the future that are frankly insane.
“I’ve spent my entire life searching for the truth,” he says. “In my early days, I interviewed hundreds, if not thousands of people.”
“So what?”
I lay my hands on his chest. Big mistake. The feeling of his unyielding muscles only compels me to return to the bedroom and forget about the doubts. Even so, I dig my nails in.
“Are you saying you think I’m holding something back?”
“No.” Since I’ve let his hands go, he guides them to my hips, holding them as if he owns them, owns me. “I’m saying I know you are.”
“I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“But you did,” he says, his head dipping closer and closer.
I don’t expect a kiss, but it’s not like I’m going to turn it down. It’s better than the revelation we’re veering toward, and it feels so right, kissing this man, my man. Our lips hint at the pleasure we could share if only I would let go of my nerves.
“Where did that come from?” I ask breathlessly.
Our noses are touching, a smile forming on my lips at the sensation. There’s something so intimate about it.
“It’s impossible to go five minutes without kissing you,” he says. “I’m not saying you have to tell me your secret. Just know this. I’m not using you. I’ve never been that sort of man.”
I turn away and walk over to the window. We’re high up, looking down on the city, out of view of the other buildings. I know Jacob must’ve chosen this apartment for that reason—to ensure nobody could see us with the journalist who dropped the dog-theft story and so nobody saw us, me and Jacob, locked in throes of obsession.
My throat feels like it’s closing, but surely that’s just melodramatic craziness. I can say this. I have to, but first, I have to fix the Mom stuff. I never should’ve said that. Turning back to him, I find his eyes locked on me. He has a particular way of staring as if nothing else is important and it never has been, as if his business and the rest of the world don’t exist.
“Can you forget what I said about Mom? It’s not about that. Honestly, I have no idea how she feels. She never gets specific.”
That’s a fact, but it still feels like damage control. I should avoid this man, so I don’t bring any drama into Mom’s job, and yet I’ve done exactly that by revealing her ambiguous maybe-a-crush. Worse, I said she loved him. What’s wrong with me?
“It’s done,” he says. “I’ll pretend you never said it. So, what is this about?”
He stalks toward me. That’s what it feels like, stalking, as if he’s a jungle cat, each step languid but with dormant power contained within it.
“We both know you wanted it back there, wanted us. Maybe it’s fast. Maybe I should be a gentleman, but you’re a liar if you deny that.”
“I never said I didn’t want it. I just don’t want my first time to be rushed, you know?”
The words come out quickly. I almost stumble over them, but I have to get them out to distract from the Mom thing. He stares at me as if he hasn’t registered what I’ve said.
Finally, he whispers, “You’re a virgin?”
I thought I was getting better at deciphering him, but his tone is a mystery. It could be disgust, awe, or disinterest. Maybe I was right. He was searching for a fling, to use me as Dad used Mom, and now he wants nothing to do with me.
“Is that a problem?” I counter.
He flinches, then slowly shakes his head. “I just… I didn’t…”
“Wow, I’ve done the impossible. I’ve made Jacob Jennings speechless. I should get a prize.”
When he doesn’t say anything, I push past him, stride to the table, and gather up my things. He stands nearby, staring at me, his hands behind his back. It’s strange the way he just watches me, not saying anything.
I won’t be naïve about this anymore. Here’s the evidence he wanted me for sex and nothing else. Otherwise, why isn’t he saying anything? We haven’t discussed the next step in our story. If I have to handle it alone, fine.
“See you around,” I say.
“Wait,” he snaps, striding forward.
Oh, now he wants to speak?
He grabs me by both sides and pulls me roughly against him. His kiss starts gently, and I sink into it, but then he gets urgent, his tongue chasing mine, his manhood a solid, massive length against my belly. His hands glide from my sides around to my ass. He’s getting carried away again. Breaking off the kiss is one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done.