Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 104037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
I’ve been swooned by, endlessly charmed, turned on, and left satisfied beyond recognition, and he still manages to leave me breathless. I kiss him, and just like at the cabin, we fall together so seamlessly and are left depleted and blissful in the aftermath.
I step out of the shower and dry off.
I’m not sure what Laird decided to order for dinner since I left it up to him, but I’m famished. So I hurry through my routine and am scrunching the towel over my damp hair hoping for some soft waves without the hassle of styling it.
“I don’t need to be alone at Deer Lake to find my purpose. I found it, and I’m back.” Eavesdropping is the worst, but I lean closer to the bathroom door that he left cracked open. “I’m going to lay low for the rest of the week and make music, sleep, maybe surf, and get back in shape, but from home.”
Back in shape?
What the . . . How is that possible?! There’s no way to improve the perfect specimen. Even with my head upside down, I grin shamelessly from the memory of what I did to his abs earlier. I’ll happily do it again, though he said turnabout is fair play. I take that as a direct threat to my vagina. Gah! He’s so amazing.
“No, Shane. Don’t come over. I want to work through a few things and figure out my next steps . . . Okay . . . right. I’ll be there. . .” The quiet extends as he paces the bedroom. His footsteps are heavy against the wooden floor, but he stops and says, “I said I’ll be there. Later, man.”
I slowly push open the door, hair hanging long over my right shoulder with a towel wrapped around me. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” he says, tossing his phone to the bed. “Never better with you here.”
It’s tempting to search his face—eyes, slick of his tongue, a tense tic of his jaw—but I won’t do that to him. I’m going to take his words for what they are. “Charmer.”
He heads for the door but stops. His muscles are showing off for me when he leans against the frame. And that smile? Mmm. So great. “Food should be here any minute.”
“I’ll be right out.”
Seemingly satisfied, he heads back down the hall. I go for my suitcase, which he has set up on an ottoman by the large sliding glass door. I’m not thrilled with my clothing options, considering I packed for a job and not to hang out with my . . . huh. Boyfriend?
I guess that’s another discussion we also failed to have on the way to Malibu. We were more distracted by traffic and what we wanted to do with the rest of our week than to figure out titles for introductions to others. Does it matter what we’re called when we’re in love? No. It’s a technicality at best. At worst, we’re whatever we want to be.
A buzz has me crossing the room to retrieve my phone from the bathroom, but I stop before I reach it and turn back. It’s not my phone buzzing. It’s his.
It’s lit up on the bed, so I call, “Laird?”
“Yeah?”
“You left your phone in here.”
“Thanks.” He returns and grabs it but stops when he sees a text on the screen. Looking at me, he asks, “Did you see it?”
“No.” I suddenly feel like I’m under the microscope, but all he did was ask a question. “Should I?” I whisper, worried I’ve just made a grave mistake. Do I want to see the barrage of texts this man, this rock god, receives on average?
Not if I want to protect my self-esteem.
“It’s my sister. Shane must have told her I was back.” He chuckles from an inside joke. “I can’t promise she won’t show up unannounced.”
“I’m okay with that if you are. Or are you thinking I should head home?”
Coming toward me, he grasps my sides, then slides his hands to my lower back. “I’m not letting you go anywhere.”
“That’s called a hostage situation.”
“I’m okay with it. I’ll happily go down for it.”
Like champagne, a giggle bubbles up to the surface. “You’re ridiculous and—”
“And you’re madly in love with me like I am you?”
“Not even a question. Just facts.”
Another text causes us to look down at his phone again. “If I’m meeting your family, I should probably get dressed.” The release is slow, the grin still wide on his face while he watches me dig through my suitcase. “I don’t have anything I’d be comfortable wearing to meet your sister. The Nikki Faris, who’s a style icon as well as famous.”
His fingers fly across the screen, and then he looks up and pockets it away. “I told her tomorrow. I’m too tired for a deep conversation.”
I pull on a tank top and boxer shorts. “Thank you and noted.”