Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 59939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
“Not when you act like it’s a chore.”
Another sigh tumbles out of her mouth, longer this time, and lined with exasperation. “I can’t believe you. You’ve been flirting with me all night, taunting me about how it’s inevitable we’re going to end up in bed together, and when I finally give in, you back out?”
Shaking her head, she stalks past me toward the kitchen. A large window has been cut out of the wall, so I can see her every movement as she pulls the fridge door open so hard that the items on the shelves clatter against one another. I hide a grin, enjoying her visible indignation.
She’s pissed and I love it. Not that I get off on infuriating women, but this one deserves to have a few feathers ruffled. I’m used to people making assumptions about me, but Maggie is the first woman to openly challenge and criticize me. Also, the first woman who acts like having sex with me is equivalent to having a root canal—which ain’t cool. Or great for my ego.
“Why did you ask me to come here when it’s obviously not what you want?” I roll my eyes as I approach the kitchen doorway.
She pours a glass of orange juice and then sips the liquid slowly. I notice that the fire has left her eyes, replaced by a flicker of hesitation.
“It is what I want,” she finally replies.
Her expression is so glum that my ego takes another nice hit. “Don’t sound so enthusiastic.”
“You don’t get it.” She plays with the edge of her ponytail, and the vulnerability moving across her face chips away at my irritation. “I don’t have much room in my life for dating.” She gives a self-deprecating smile. “Or sex.”
“And yet our first meeting took place in a hotel room, with you getting naked and hopping into my bed.” I take a step closer, but still keep a few feet between us. “Who were you supposed to meet?”
“Tony.” Her reply comes out as a groan.
The spark of jealousy I feel at the sound of another man’s name on Maggie’s lips is not only unwelcome, but bewildering. “And who’s Tony?”
She stares down at her high heels. “Just a guy I meet a couple times a year.”
“Not a boyfriend?”
“No. Like I said, I don’t have time for dating. Or sex,” she repeats.
As understanding dawns, I give an amazed laugh. “Are you saying you only have sex two times a year, with this Tony guy?”
“Sometimes it’s three,” she says, sounding defensive.
Another laugh tickles my throat. I try very hard to swallow it back. For the first time all night, Maggie has dropped her combative attitude. The last thing I want is to spark another fight by making fun of her.
“What exactly keeps you so busy?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“Work. School. Volunteering.” She shrugs. “Relationships always seem to get in the way. That’s why I don’t understand this.”
“This?” I echo.
“You. This attraction I have to you.” She rubs her forehead, then her temples, then pinches the bridge of her nose, as if acknowledging the chemistry between us is nothing but a headache. “I don’t bring guys home. I don’t have flings. I don’t have time for flings. Especially with men like you.”
Against my better sense, a grin lifts the corners of my mouth. “And what kind of man am I?”
She glowers at me. “The complicated kind. The distracting kind.”
“Interesting. What is it about me that distracts you?” I close the distance between us and plant my hands on her waist. “Let me guess. I distract you because—much as it bugs you—I turn you on like nobody’s business. Am I right?
“No.”
I chuckle. “It’s okay to be in denial. And it’s also okay to feel disappointed.”
She pushes my hands off her. “Why would I feel disappointed?”
“Because the ship has sailed.”
“What ship?”
“The sex ship.” I cross my arms. “You blew it, Red.”
“Excuse me?” Both her eyebrows sail up to her forehead, and I feel like kissing that indignant frown off her sexy mouth.
But I don’t.
“You heard me. You missed your chance.” I poke the inside of my cheek with my tongue and fight back a grin. “I’m sorry to inform you—I won’t be fucking you tonight.”
“Wow. You are the most egotistical—”
“Enough small talk,” I cut in with a pleasant smile. “Will you be showing me to my room or should I just take the couch?”
12
Maggie
Is it possible to hate a man and want to rip off his clothes at the same time?
I’ve been pondering the question all morning, but the answer still eludes me. What remains clear, however, is that on the one-to-ten scale of sexual frustration, I’m sitting at eleven right about now.
As the sunlight streams in through the open window blinds, I slide up into a sitting position and lean against the headboard, wondering if Ben slept as horribly as I did. Probably not. Knowing him, he dreamt of kittens and rainbows all night long, unfazed by everything that happened.