Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 83070 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83070 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Oh. I force a swallow and try to slow the pace of my heart.
“I mean, I don’t know,” I say, stumbling over my words. “You were honest with me about your situation and not wanting a relationship, so I get that. I was honest with you when I said I don’t do feelings. I like to keep things casual.”
He nods slowly. “Okay.”
“Look, I won’t be the girl who begs you for attention. I mean, I know I was that girl today.” He laughs at the look on my face. “But you don’t have to worry about me calling you constantly or having expectations. I’ll enjoy our time together whenever that happens and go on about my life otherwise.”
Gannon’s Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he reaches for his tea. “And Tate will be none the wiser.”
“We can’t tell Tate. There’s no reason to tell Tate anything because this isn’t going anywhere. He’ll be the dramatic one in our relationship … or whatever we have here.”
He downs the rest of his drink and then rests his elbows on his knees.
“It’s late,” he says. “Do you want to sleep here tonight? Practically speaking, it might be the best move, as I have to be at the airport at nine.”
“Tomorrow is Tuesday, so I don’t have to be anywhere but Mrs. Galbraith’s around noon.”
“Wanna stay?”
I climb over the couch and straddle him, lifting his chin so his eyes stare into mine.
“Can we negotiate the terms of me sleeping over tonight?” I ask.
He grins, and I know I’ll never get used to it. It’s so rare, so special. It feels like a gift when he shares it with me.
“What are your demands?” he asks.
The unguarded look in his eye hits me in the heart. I don’t think Gannon trusts many people, nor does he allow many people access to him like this. If he did, someone would’ve married him by now.
I stare into his chocolatey orbs and try to tell him I won’t make him regret this. I won’t hurt him. Our time together will be easy and safe.
As if he gets the message, he leans forward and presses a simple kiss to my lips.
I run my hands through his hair, brushing it back and away from his handsome face. “My demands are that you carry me upstairs because my legs are too tired to walk.”
He smiles.
“Then you put me in your bed, and I want to fall asleep with your cock in me. And, if possible, I’d like to wake up the same way.”
“You’re going to be the death of me.”
He stands abruptly, taking me by surprise.
“Don’t die until you make me come again,” I say through a fit of giggles, wrapping my legs around his waist.
He bites my shoulder, making me yelp, as he races with me upstairs.
Yeah, this might be my best negotiation of all time.
Chapter Nineteen
Gannon
Tuesday
“Why, Gannon, you’re almost chipper today,” Gray says, accompanying me in the elevator to my hotel suite. “Maybe I misunderstood the type of meeting you were in this afternoon.”
The bell dings and the doors slide open.
I glance at my security guard. “Hey, Gray. Shut the fuck up.”
He chuckles as we step onto the private landing. “Dominic cleared the rooms a few minutes ago, boss. You’re good to go.”
“Thanks.”
I scan my key card and enter my home away from home for the next few days.
The room is bright, thanks to the open curtains at the far end of the space. A small kitchenette is to my left and, as I pass through the living area, doors to the two bedrooms on either side of me. I stop at the windows and take in the view. Not bad. A large pool surrounded by palm trees ripples in the Phoenix sunlight, and beyond that is the McDowell Sonoran Preserve.
I yank off my tie and remove my jacket, tossing them over the back of a chair. My shirt has felt too tight since I boarded the plane this morning. My mind has been too chaotic, too.
“You knew this was going to happen, dipshit,” I mutter, slipping off my shoes. “This is why you had rules. This is why you didn’t screw with Carys Johnson.”
It’s only been twelve hours since I last saw her, and I’m dying to see her again.
I’m fucked. I’m so fucking fucked.
I slide my phone from my pocket, my finger poised to call her.
“No,” I say. “Don’t call her. Get yourself together, man.”
My growl fills the room.
Of all weeks, this is the one I had to fly across the country. This is the only time Jacobson could meet to discuss expanding Brewer Group into new markets worldwide. The only week of the last decade that I had a reason—a desire—to get up that didn’t involve work.
“I’m willing to do whatever it takes to try to make you happy.”