Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72586 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72586 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
"I... you..." She backed toward the bathroom. Then her eyes fell on my very much erect cock, which was outlined against my thin pants. “Why is it like that?!”
“Hey!” I said, pulling the blankets up. “I was minding my own business. If a beautiful woman starts humping me in her sleep with barely any clothes on, it’s going to stand up at attention. I’m innocent, here.”
“Beautiful wo—” she cut herself off, shook her head and closed her eyes. "This didn't happen."
The door slammed. A moment later, I heard the shower start.
I fell back against the pillow, trying to think about anything except how she'd felt against me. How she'd moaned my name.
"Fuck," I muttered, pushing my hands through my hair. And then I had the torture of laying there and trying not to picture her naked body in the shower for the next fifteen minutes. I mostly failed, which wasn’t helping the whole morning wood situation.
The water finally shut off, and a few moments later, I heard her voice come muffled through the door. “We’re seriously never talking about this. Ever.”
I couldn't help smiling. "Which part? The drooling or the grinding? Or maybe how you moaned my name? Because that raises some obvious questions about what kind of dream you were having. I mean, with the grinding and the moaning, a man would be forgiven for thinking—"
"James Carter, I swear to God—"
"I have to say, your technique was impressive, even while unconscious."
Something thudded against the door. "I hate you."
"That's not what your moans implied.”
"I'm going to murder you in your sleep."
"So you said last night. And I have to say, if what I woke up to was your attempt at murder? Well, consider me far less scared. In fact, I’d welcome any future attempts on my life.”
"Do I need to get out the PowerPoint and go over the rules again?
“For your benefit or mine? Because I’m pretty sure dry humping me in your sleep breaks all the rules, sweetheart. Then again, there’s something on my pants… Maybe it wasn’t so dry."
"I did not—" She made a sound of pure frustration. "That was an unconscious accident."
"So you're saying you can't control yourself around me?"
"I'm saying I was asleep and my body betrayed me in ways I will never forgive it for."
I watched the door, trying to imagine the look on her face right now. "If it helps, you weren't the only one enjoying it."
Silence. Then, so quiet I almost missed it: "Really?"
The vulnerability in her voice made my chest ache. "Emma..."
"No. Nope. Forget I said that." I heard her moving around the bathroom. "We're going to pretend this morning never happened. And you're going to wear a shirt to bed from now on."
"What about pants?"
"Those too!"
"But you seemed to like—"
The door flew open, catching me off guard. Emma stood there in a towel, hair dripping, cheeks flushed. "One more word about what I liked, and I'll tell Dick you're actually my gay best friend who's just pretending to date me."
I held up my hands in surrender, but I couldn’t help noticing the mirror in the tiny bathroom behind her wasn’t even steamed up in the slightest. I smiled, pointing. “Looks like somebody took a cold shower. Did it help?”
She threw her wet hair towel at my face and stormed past me to her suitcase.
“So,” I said, watching the shape of her ass press against the white towel as she bent down, one arm holding the towel from falling. “What’s on the itinerary for today?”
“I’m meeting with some vendors to iron out a few details.”
“We’re meeting with vendors, you mean?”
She glared over her shoulder. “No. You’ll screw something up.”
“We’re the happy couple, Em. I think we should probably do this together. Besides, maybe I can help.”
“Don’t call me Em. And I highly doubt that.”
I shrugged. “I might just surprise you.”
“Last time you surprised me, it was by sabotaging a wedding and my career.”
“Rule number three,” I said softly.
She stood with her clothes clutched in one hand and waved them at me. “Don’t you rule number three me, Mister.”
I smirked. “You’re adorable when you’re mad. Also… pink thong.” I flashed a thumbs up. “Great choice. Your ass is amazing, so why hide it?”
She looked down at the thong nearly falling from her hands and tucked it tighter into the ball. Then she made a strangled sound and stormed back into the bathroom.
I watched the door after it closed and wondered what the hell I was doing, exactly.
Things between us would never, ever work. That much became clear in Ireland. So why was I playing with fire? Especially when I still had to do some work investigating this Marcus Wellington guy. Depending on what I found, I might even have to wreck yet another Emma Marshall wedding.
11
EMMA
The resort's private tasting room, like every other space in this building, was stunning. Dark wood panels lined the walls, framing massive windows that stretched from the hardwood floors to the exposed beams above. Winter light spilled across elegant place settings, making the crystal glasses and fine china sparkle against crisp white tablecloths. Outside, snow-dusted pines swayed in the morning breeze, completing the picture-perfect mountain retreat atmosphere.