Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 65939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Kendall’s father is a doctor, and her mother stays at home and volunteers at charities—which is the exact setup of Gwyneth’s parents, I suddenly realize.
Such a little hypocrite, condemning me for having come from money.
As she glares at me, I ask tauntingly, “Are you telling me your father doesn’t help you financially?”
She draws back, stiffening. “How do you know? You stalked me or something?”
“Emma mentioned something to Marcus about the financial help. The rest was on your social media.”
Which I do not scroll through several times a day. Not at all.
Her lip curls. “Well, aren’t you just the PI.”
Uh-huh. “And how did you learn about my family?”
“Talking to you is too tiring. I’m going to bed.”
She turns on her heel and strides away.
“Where the hell are you going?” I demand.
“I’ll take my chances sleeping in the stinky cabin.” She tries to slam the door, but the water damage makes that impossible.
Folding my arms across my chest, I stand there and wait.
If my recollection of the stench serves me right, she’ll come out in twenty seconds—tops.
Nope.
With a banshee scream, Kendall flies out of her cabin in two seconds—and to my shock, she runs over and hides behind me.
“What the hell?” I face her.
“A toad,” she breathes. “Fat, warty, and with razor-sharp fangs.”
I grin, unable to hide my amusement. “Toads don’t have teeth, let alone fangs. They swallow their food alive, without chewing.”
She shudders. “Was that supposed to sound reassuring?”
My grin widens. “You’re too big for a toad to swallow.”
She shakes her head vehemently. “That was a humongous toad. He probably grew up near a nuclear power plant.”
“So… does this mean we’re sharing my cabin?”
She looks at the evil toad’s cabin and then at me. “I’ll stay with you,” she says reluctantly. “But no more sex.”
“Sure. No sex… unless you ask for it.”
I don’t add “again,” but the way her eyes shoot daggers at me means she remembers how things went down the last time.
“And clothes stay on,” she says stubbornly.
“You can do what you want,” I tell her. “I sleep naked, and that’s when air conditioning is available.”
“Fine. Just stay on your side of the bed.”
With that, she turns toward my cabin and sashays away—which, given the thin slip that she’s wearing, gives me a view so erotic I instantly regret agreeing to the “no sex” bit.
By the time I catch up with her, she’s in bed, covered by a thin blanket.
I surreptitiously check the time on my phone.
Nine p.m. There’s no way I’m going to fall asleep so early. Then again, besides that which she said is off the table, there’s nothing else to do.
I take my clothes off, and I can feel her watching me as I do.
Getting under the blanket, I stay firmly on my side of the bed. I can smell apple and hibiscus, and just knowing she’s near is making me painfully hard.
“Sweet dreams,” I say, and my voice is more than a little raspy.
She doesn’t reply, but I know she’s awake.
Oh, well. She needs to process everything she’s learned today.
Hell, I should do that also. First of all, should I forgive her for ghosting me, given what she said?
It’s tempting. When she’s not picking a fight with me, I like her very much—and the sexual chemistry between us is out of control. But… what if she didn’t tell me the complete truth?
What if she didn’t just ghost me because of what she learned, but also because I was a lowly personal trainer?
Her breathing evens out.
Damn. That’s impressive. She fell asleep this early? She must have been tired.
My cock twitches, as if to remind me of what could’ve tired Kendall out.
Fuck. I doubt I’ll fall asleep anytime soon, especially not with such a hard-on.
Maybe I can do something about it? Not here in bed—that would be creepy. Maybe outside? No. The last thing I want is a mosquito bite on my privates.
Suddenly, Kendall rolls over and drapes her arm over my chest.
Well, then. Unless I’m willing to wake her, it doesn’t seem like I’m going anywhere. Especially not when she wraps more of herself over me, her breasts brushing my arm through her slip, and her right hand falling an inch away from my throbbing erection.
Is she actually asleep? Because if she wanted to torture me in some sort of revenge, she couldn’t have come up with a better methodology.
“Ashton,” she softly moans.
“Seriously?” I say out loud.
Her eyelashes flutter open, and her eyes widen. “Am I still dreaming?”
Fuck… “You dreamed about me?”
She looks at the tent that my erection is creating in the blanket. “I think I’m still dreaming.”
She pinches my nipple.
“Ouch! You’re supposed to do that to yourself when you’re the one unsure of reality.”
She slides her hand under the blanket, and I’m pretty sure she pinches her own nipple next—which makes my cock impossibly harder.