Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 110113 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 551(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 367(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110113 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 551(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 367(@300wpm)
I’m a little breathless from trying to keep up with him. This urgency, this hunger, is ridiculously sexy.
My body lights up at the don’t-fuck-with-her vibe he gives off. A couple of guys check me out, and Sawyer glares at them, dropping my hand so he can grip the nape of my neck. He draws me even closer, practically curling his big body around mine.
My scalp prickles, the throb between my legs blaring to renewed, vibrant life. Is it wrong that I like being claimed this way? Protected?
No one, not even Dan, ever made me feel this safe, even though Sawyer is practically a stranger.
I feel safe, and most of all, I feel sure.
I have never been surer of anything in my life: this guy’s not a frog, he’s totally a prince. One I want to sleep with. Right now. All night. Because I have a very strong suspicion he’s going to be very good in bed. He’s hot, he’s funny. He likes my wild side. He’s a great dancer. And he’s a cowboy.
He’s also not a serial killer. Really, what more could a gal ask for?
My phone keeps buzzing in my bag. It’s my sisters, no doubt, freaking out—in a good way—over the fact that I’m the one going home with a guy. Especially this guy. I’ll have to thank Bee later for pushing me into him.
“You see a drugstore, let me know.” The deep, even tone of Sawyer’s voice sends a shiver up my spine. “I need to get a few things.”
“You don’t have—”
“Told you I don’t get out much.”
The fact that Sawyer doesn’t have condoms is actually kind of endearing. Makes me wonder what his story is. I feel guys who go to bars to pick up women are always prepared. But Sawyer isn’t. He did say he doesn’t get out much. Why not?
I’m tempted to ask him, but I don’t. Part of me likes how anonymous this encounter feels. I don’t know Sawyer’s last name and he doesn’t know mine.
This is a one-night stand, and I want to keep it that way. I want to have fun. And yeah, maybe forget my responsibilities for a little while. Pretend I really am this carefree and impulsive all the time.
I nod at the gleaming tower that comes into view. “Bet the hotel has what we need.”
“Let’s hope they do. Otherwise I’m about to spend a shit ton on a delivery service. Wonder what they’ll think of the sinner’s chest I’ll order?”
I laugh. “Bet they’ll think you’re a lot of fun.”
“Guess I am.” His eyes flash when they meet mine. “But only when I’m with the right people.”
My stomach dips. God this man is gorgeous. The scruff, his prominent Adam’s apple. And that mouth. It’s lush, all soft lips and white teeth.
Something tells me he knows how to use it.
Also, he just complimented me in a way he hasn’t before. Yeah, he made me feel like a million bucks when he told me back at the honky-tonk that he was turned on by my spontaneity. But now he’s saying I’m rubbing off on him—making him wild—and that just might be the best compliment of all.
That makes me feel powerful.
Alive.
I’m not dead. Getting divorced didn’t kill me, didn’t destroy my spirit, even though the process was an eye-watering expense that nearly bankrupted me.
But I’m still here, and apparently I can still be a good time. I’m proud of that fact.
Squeezing my neck, Sawyer reaches for the door. “After you.”
But a doorman beats him to it. “Welcome back, sir.”
“C’mon, Bobby, how many times I gotta tell you to call me Sawyer? And y’all don’t have a little shop inside, do you? Someplace I can grab some beers to bring up to the room?”
Bobby is good at his job. The guy doesn’t blink as he smiles politely at us, holding open the door. “Of course. The Mercantile is just past the check-in desk. It’s open until midnight on Saturdays.”
“Excellent.” Moving his hand to the small of my back, Sawyer gently pushes me inside. “Have a good evening.”
“You too, sir. Y’all enjoy.” Bobby dips his head at me as I pass.
I’m holding back a giggle as Sawyer follows me into the lobby.
“What’s so funny?” Sawyer’s hand is back on my nape. He’s squeezing it again. “The fact that Bobby knows exactly what I’m about to do to you?”
“What are you about to do to me, sir?”
His eyes flash. “Told you I got ideas.”
“I do too.”
“Oh yeah?”
I dig my teeth into my bottom lip. “Yeah.”
“But you’re not gonna tell me what they are.”
“Nope. Not yet.”
“Maybe you’re the serial killer, being all secretive and shit.”
“Maybe I am.” I wag my brows. “But think of it this way, you’re gonna die happy. You did say I’m a good time.”
“I did.” His eyes flick to my mouth. “Let’s be quick.”