Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
“As much as I ever do.”
His lips twitch a little at that, and I suck in a breath as he sets his thumb near the largest of the cuts along one of my ribs. “The cuts look pretty shallow. Do they hurt?”
“Paper cut pain,” I say, taking a sip of my coffee.
His gaze flicks up. “So, the worst kind of pain on the planet?”
I smile. “Pretty much.”
He lets my shirt drop, though I notice it takes him just a second too long to remove the finger that had been resting against my stomach. I also notice that my body is throbbing in ways that have nothing to do with any cuts from the flowers.
He reaches for his coffee mug, and I nudge his calf beneath the blankets, a silent command to scoot. I count it as a victory when he moves toward the center of the bed instead of ordering me out.
“I really am sorry,” I say softly, meeting his eyes. “About your parents. Mine drive me crazy, but to lose them … especially to lose them both at once. I can’t even imagine what that must have been like.”
He looks down at his mug. “How’d you find out?”
“Justin called this morning. Finally,” I mutter.
Colin gives a grim smile. “Yeah. He’s been avoiding me too.”
Sensing he doesn’t want to talk about his parents—and who could blame him—I shift topics. “So you haven’t talked to my brother? About the terms of the prenup?”
“No, we talked,” he says, taking a sip of coffee. “Right after I dug out the paperwork and saw what he’d done.”
“I thought he was just being a dick, but he claims that his dumbass twenty-four-year-old self had good intentions.”
“Oh yeah? I didn’t really give him much of a chance to explain himself through the cursing.”
“At least one of us gave him a solid verbal reaming. I was too groggy to do much but sputter at him, but I feel pretty good about the fact that I tattled on him to my dad last night, which means it’s only a matter of time until Mom finds out and calls Justin, and that conversation will be far more savage than any damage you or I can do.”
Colin nods in agreement. “I’m not entirely sure I want to know, but what did he claim were his good intentions?”
“Matchmaking.” I waggle my eyebrows. “Apparently, by forcing us to live under the same roof, we were meant to fall madly in love.”
Colin grunts, which I’m learning is his default morning method of communication.
“So naturally,” I continue airily, “I told Justin that we couldn’t be too mad at him for his plan, seeing as it’s worked marvelously, and you haven’t been able to keep your heart locked up, nor your hands off me.”
I’m sort of hoping to get a rise out of him, but he’s either made of sterner stuff or is just really used to me, because he merely rolls his eyes and points to the flowers.
“So, after you robbed a garden, what was your plan? Start a nursery? Build a greenhouse?”
“Oh, that reminds me, where do you keep your vases?”
“My what?”
“You know. Flower vase. The bouquet won’t all fit in one, but I can break them up into smaller bouquets and fill lots of vases.”
I don’t tell him that they actually started as smaller bouquets. Somehow, I doubt he’ll appreciate my panicked need to make an impact. Especially since said impact is starting to make his room smell decidedly feminine.
He shakes his head. “I don’t have any vases.”
I tsk. “How can you not have a single vase?”
“Because until right now, I’ve never had a single flower in my home.”
“Well, that’s just silly.”
“Feel free to survey the heterosexual men in your acquaintance who live alone, and ask them how many of them have vases.”
“I would, but that would take far too long,” I say with a sigh. “I fear my little black book filled with available men is close to bursting.”
“Is it now?” he says, and I pause in the process of taking a sip of my coffee because there’s a slightly dangerous element in his tone, something almost … predatory.
I meet his eyes, and for a single moment, they seem to darken before he looks away. What do you know? He does know how to smolder.
“Out,” he orders, kicking slightly at my hip. “I need to get up.”
I try and fail to rid my brain of dirty thoughts at the image his phrasing conjures.
“Because I may need to know at some point,” I say, standing up by the side of the bed and gesturing over him with the mug. “Do you sleep half naked, or all the way naked?”
He glowers up at me. “When would you ever need to know that?”
“You know, in case the marriage fraud investigators come knocking. As your bedfellow, I would know.”