Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 136743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
“Anything else on your list?”
His grin builds slowly, and then he dips his head a little closer like he’s sharing a secret. “Running the New York City Marathon.”
“For real?” I twist to face him, see him better. “You’re a runner?”
“The boys and I run most mornings. It helps them self-regulate better throughout the day.”
“You’re a fantastic father.”
“Is it sexy?” he deadpans.
I know he’s joking, but I can’t find the light rejoinder because it is one of the sexiest things about this man, and that is saying something because even his Adam’s apple turns me on. I lower my glance to my lap, tamping down the desire to straddle him.
“Should I tell you what I think is sexy about you?” he asks, his voice almost imperceptibly hoarser. I’m afraid to look up, to look at him, in case the same desire raging inside me is reflected on his face.
“You don’t have to—”
“Your resilience. The way you make me laugh when you don’t mean to be funny. How smart you are.”
Sometimes I forget I graduated with a higher GPA than Edward did. Forget the times he used my notes because they were so much better than his, and that he wouldn’t have gotten his MBA if I hadn’t drilled him, hadn’t pushed him to be better. How he would come home talking about a difficult account because he knew I would see something he had missed. I forgot so many things I was capable of because he wanted me to believe I relied on him, when actually he relied on me much more.
“I love the way you care about people,” Judah continues. “Like your friend Cora.”
I do look up then, touched that he remembered her name. The harsh overhead light in the shed hones the angle of his cheekbones, exposes the full, firm lines of his mouth. Burnishes his skin a deeper brown.
“Your ass,” he says softly, completely seriously.
Laughter erupts from me, and I flop back on the comforter, squinting up at the overly bright light. “My ass is my most noble quality.”
“Pretty close,” he says, leaning over, smiling down at me.
I can’t seem to find the will to resist reaching up, tracing the curve of his bottom lip. The shallow cleft in his chin. He stills, eyes locked with mine so intensely, I almost forget we’re in a shed in the back of an old truck. We could be in an orchard, on the side of a mountain, in a vineyard. I’d be anywhere with him right now, and the way he devours me with one hot look, it feels like he’d choose to be anywhere with me. And yet the restraint is evident in the fists clenched at his sides, in the muscle flexing in the taut line of his jaw. If I kiss him now, I won’t have anyone to blame but myself because I know I can trust him not to cross the invisible line I’ve drawn between us. Lola and Hendrix’s words echo back to me from just an hour ago.
You deserve some pleasure.
Make your own rules.
Get a little something for yourself.
Judah Cross is something for myself, and I want him now. It’s Christmas, and I want to feel like a gift, like someone to cherish. He makes me feel that way now with just a look. Imagine what a kiss would do.
I reach up, slowly in case he doesn’t want to do this, and cup his neck, drawing him down to me. His brief moment of hesitation leaves a tiny breath between our lips.
“Are you sure?” he rasps.
“A kiss, okay?” I whisper. “We can do just a kiss, right?”
He nods, sliding his fingers into the hair at my nape and pulling me close, so close our lips brush, pull away, brush again. A dance of should we, will we, and God, yes, let’s, ending with his mouth sealed over mine in a kiss that once it begins, does not hesitate. He dives in, and the desperate force of it matches my own. He said earlier that he was greedy, and the kiss reflects a deep, banked hunger that mirrors mine. Like the desire that has driven me more than once to touch myself under cold sheets and think of him has burned through him too. The kisses he trails down my throat torch my control, and my hands glide over the hard muscles of his back beneath his sweater.
He groans into our kiss. “Touch me, Sol.”
I want to so badly, and my wandering hands aren’t shy, gripping his shoulders and caressing the lean muscles at his waist. Learning his body with the tips of my fingers, I kiss the column of his throat. His grip at my waist tightens, and the tether on his self-control seems strained. He breathes heavily into the curve of my neck. His erection presses into my hip, and I know that if we don’t stop now, it will go beyond a kiss.