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)
When we part, I flip through my mail as he continues to snoop, not leaving any of the living room unobserved before he wanders into the bedroom with his overnight bag. His dark hair and large frame stand in contrast to the pale pink and white trimmed room. I have my girly-girl moments, and my bedroom is one of them. But I’m missing the serene colors of his bedroom in Malibu.
He studies the few photos I have taped to the mirror, then picks up several of my bottles of perfume to smell. “I like this one on you.”
I take a mental note as I sit at the end of the bed and watch him pry open a few drawers without permission. Since I have nothing to hide, it makes me laugh. “What are you looking for, detective?”
Reaching his full height, he pushes his hand to the ceiling. His arm is bent so it’s no great effort on his part. “I like seeing how you arrange your life and how you’re in every aspect of this apartment. The decorations, the photos, the scent in the air. It’s all Poppy.” His grin goes rogue, and he waggles his eyebrows. He’s so getting sex tonight.
He heads to the door to the balcony and looks out. “Other people can see into here.”
“If you’re in the apartment directly across the street from me—”
“Which that guy on the Peloton is,” he says, jabbing his finger against the glass.
I see that guy staring into my apartment sometimes. I’ve even caught him with binoculars. The “I’m recording you” sign I held up put an end to it. Creeper. That’s city living for you. “What can I say? We can’t all be as lucky to live on a cliff in Malibu.”
“What do you think about living on a cliff in Malibu?”
Leaning back, I rest on my elbows and laugh. “I practically do.”
He shuts the curtains and turns around. “How do you feel about making it official?”
Laird moves to sit next to me, the mattress dipping. The gravitational pull toward him is in full effect. I sit up but drape my leg over one of his. “Making what official?”
He rubs the top of my thigh and then angles to look at me. “I want you to move in with me.”
Not a question.
Not a demand.
It doesn’t even sound like he’s throwing it out there to test the waters. His tone is committed, the conviction in his eyes established. Even his hand has added pressure against mine. He’s thought this through.
My gaze drifts to the curtains behind him, to Tito’s Tacos not too far, to my favorite Trader Joe’s, and then detours to the local coffee shop I love that’s not been discovered by social media yet, as if I can see them. Am I ready to be out by the beach full time?
When I look into his eyes again, I reply, “Yes. I want to be with you.”
Kissing me before the words all exited, that pull still in effect has me pushing myself against him, needing to be him completely.
Two orgasms and a shower later, I’m happily lying in bed without a care or bone left in my body. “You’re going to have to piece me back together after that.”
Laird chuckles, coming out of the bathroom. “Happily.”
“Ever after,” I whisper to myself, feeling every bit of the bliss that ending gives a fairy tale.
With a towel wrapped around him, he digs through the bag he dropped at the entry to my bedroom, and slips on his boxer briefs. Disappearing, he’s quick to return with our glasses of water. He hands me mine but doesn’t climb into bed again, choosing to sit on the edge instead. “Do you want to keep your furniture?” He takes a drink and sets the glass down on the nightstand.
I gave up caring about watermarks years ago. “I’m not married to it.”
He opens the drawer because he’s still so curious. It’s endearing and entertaining that he wants to learn about me so much. “If it would make you feel more at home, then we can bring it. My place is—” Suddenly silent, his attention is caught by the contents of the drawer, and he bends to get a better look.
“Your place is what?” And then I remember what’s in there. Oh crap. I dive to slam the drawer shut.
“Damn, you’re going to snap my fingers off.”
Ooh, that would have been a tragedy. “Sorry. There’s stuff in there that innocent eyes shouldn’t see.”
He starts chuckling, but then his grin falters, and he cocks a brow at me. “Am I going to hell?”
I laugh this time. “We’ve already been there and back.” At least I amuse him, hopefully distracting him enough to forget that he ever saw my guilty pleasure. Though even battery power couldn’t get me over that orgasmic line in forever. Laird gets all the credit, owning every single one I have.