Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 97767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Ugh!
“You smell good.” He makes my legs even wobblier with that deep rasp and my brain scrambles for a witty response.
“So do you,” I manage, my voice soft and breathless. Wow, Austin. Bravo. For a college professor who lectures in front of hundreds of people on a weekly basis, you really have a way with words.
As he opens the door to the building for me, I catch a glimpse of our reflection in the glass—him: tall and effortlessly handsome. Me: sexy and serious and clutching the bouquet in my hand like it’s some kind of lifeline.
For a split second, I wonder if I’m dreaming.
Someone pinch me.
My brain scrambles—desperately, hopelessly—for a witty, clever something to say—as we step into the elevator for our climb to the restaurant. When those doors close, the soft hum of motion fills the space as we begin our ascent.
I glance at the glowing numbers above the door—75th floor. Of course it has to be one of the tallest buildings in the city, giving me way too much time to stew in my own thoughts.
Gio leans casually against the wall, hands in his pockets, watching me with a mix of curiosity and amusement.
“Nervous?” he asks, his lips twitching into a teasing smile.
I lift my chin, determined to be nonchalant. “Why would I be nervous?”
He shrugs. “I’m nervous so I thought maybe you might be.” He smiles over at me. “Guess I was wrong.”
That gets my attention. I glance up at him, arching an eyebrow. “You’re nervous?”
“Sure. First date with a smart, beautiful woman? Hell yeah I am.”
Moments tick by. We continue to ascend, the soft hum of the elevator the only sound filling the small, enclosed space. The air feels heavier now, charged with something I can’t quite put into words. Tension? The space around us seems smaller and smaller with each passing second, like the walls are closing in—or maybe it’s just him.
I can’t decide if I want to step back or step closer.
Turns out, I don’t have to decide.
Gio pushes off the wall, closing the distance between us in one smooth, deliberate motion. He stops just short of touching me, his eyes locked on mine, and the tension is so thick it’s hard to breathe.
He does not hesitate…
Our mouths meet.
It’s not the soft, tentative kind of kiss you’d expect on a first date.
No, this kiss is bold, confident, and completely devastating in the best way possible. His hand brushes against my waist, grazing the fabric of my dress, and I swear I forget how to breathe.
His hands grip my ass.
Squeeze.
The elevator dings, announcing our arrival at the 75th floor and we pull apart. The doors slide open to reveal a stunning view of the city skyline and when we pull away from each other—enough to catch our breath…
I’m left dizzy. Disoriented.
My hands are still resting on his chest as I try to regain some semblance of control.
“We can’t make that a habit.” I lift my chin and exit the elevator, heels clicking loudly against the polished stone floor. “It’s so unprofessional.”
His laughter booms out behind me.
It follows me as the hostess leads us through the dining area, echoes faintly as we’re seated at our table.
And our banter continues—soft and teasing—even after we’ve ordered drinks and our meal.
The view is stunning, all glittering city lights and endless horizon, but it pales in comparison to the way he’s looking at me. His eyes are warm, crinkling at the corners as his laughter finally dies down, though the smirk playing on his lips suggests he’s far from done with this topic.
“You’re so fucking adorable.” He leans forward then, resting his forearms on the table and fixing me with a gaze so penetrating it makes me squirm.
Panties = 33%
“You’re the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Cute,” I repeat, unimpressed, though my pulse is betraying me with how fast it’s racing. “Cute is for toys and hairstyles and…” I trail off, throwing my hands up in exasperation. “Ugh.”
His eyes drop to my neckline—or lack thereof. “Not sure I’d call that neckline ‘cute,’” he rumbles, sending a warm shiver down my spine. He takes a slow pull from his cocktail, a bourbon old fashioned with three cherries, the movement impossibly distracting. “Stunning.”
His eyes flick back up to mine.
My chin notches. “I like that description better.”
He chuckles softly, the sound vibrating low in his chest. “Don’t worry—you can be sexy and cute at the same time. I’m great at multitasking.”
I hesitate to ask the next question, but the spark between us is impossible to ignore and curiosity wins out, so here it goes: “What else are you good at? Besides hockey?”
He leans forward at that, his drink still in hand but forgotten for the moment, his eyes darkening just slightly. “You want a list?”
Panties = 50%
Wait, no = 52%
“Depends,” I reply, lifting my glass to my lips to cover the slight hitch in my breath. “Is it a long list?”