Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 91243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
I think about moving them. But the idea repulses me as soon as it forms.
Allie’s mine. Rosie is mine too, even if I don’t know what to do with her. They will stay with me, as close to me as possible, where I can make sure nobody else can touch them.
Especially while Medved is chewing at my borders.
I only hope I can acclimate to this soon.
ALLIE
Istir in bed and come awake as Rosie’s little arms and legs smack me in the face.
And this is why co-sleeping is such a nightmare.
She laughs and swats at me as I grumble and pull her into a hug. “Too early,” I grunt, rubbing sleep from my eyes.
The clock says it’s slightly past five in the morning.
Rosie’s always been an early riser.
I groan as she pulls herself up. The room’s dark, though dawn light bleeds around the edges of huge curtains. I work up the courage to pull myself from bed. I have maybe a few minutes before I have to change Rosie’s diaper and start making her breakfast. But I’m exhausted and still a little sleepy.
Which is how I don’t notice the other person in bed until he adjusts himself.
“Oh, shit!” I grab my daughter and leap up. I’m standing on the mattress like an idiot. Mass is there on his pillow, slowly coming awake and looking like a God as he does it. How the hell is this man so stinking attractive even first thing in the morning? “Where did you come from?!”
I jump out of the bed with Rosie in my arms. She doesn’t like that one bit. She wasn’t ready to get up, and she lets me know it by crying. I try to shush her as Mass sits up on an elbow, watching with a curious frown as I pace back and forth.
Rosie eventually calms.
“When did you get into bed?” I ask, glaring at him.
“You mean, when did I get into my own bed?” He glares right back, lips pressed into a hard line.
Okay, the man’s got a point. But I’m not about to acknowledge it.
“You could have… I don’t know… told me!” I back away, shaking my head. “I wasn’t ready for this.”
“Weren’t you?” He stretches languidly, a slight smirk on his lips, and pushes the blankets away. He sits up and my eyes go wide.
He’s almost naked. His body’s covered with a pair of tight boxer briefs and nothing else.
Holy hell, Mass is built. His thighs are like iron studded with veins. His biceps bulge and his chest heaves. I want to bite each one of his ten dozen abs.
I clutch Rosie to my chest and get out of there.
This is insanity. I’m barely holding it together. At least I find a highchair and plenty of good things for Rosie in the kitchen. Satya must have brought it for her. There’s also a note left under six ripe bananas. The guest room is set up for the little one with a very comfortable crib and plenty of plushies. If she has any preferences, please tell me. Dial 0 on the phone to reach me at any time. Satya.
“You don’t need a guest room, little girl,” I grumble as I get Rosie set up and start cutting a banana into little pieces. She happily shoves them into her mouth.
“I’d prefer not to sleep with a toddler in my bed.” Mass appears behind me. He’s in a black t-shirt and a pair of tight joggers. It’s only slightly better than the boxer-briefs.
“Like you get a choice. Give me my own room and there won’t be any issues.”
He stares at me flatly. His gaze sends shivers down my spine, and I busy myself cutting more bananas.
“We might need to discuss rules.”
“Oh, really? You have rules for your prisoner too?”
He ignores that comment and starts making coffee. “I prefer cleanliness in my space. I don’t like bringing staff in here if at all possible, which means—”
Rosie throws a banana piece on the floor and cackles to herself. I consider picking it up, but I smile sweetly at my new husband instead. “What were you saying?”
I expect him to be angry. But instead, he simply walks over, cleans up the mess, and places a new piece down for my daughter. The gesture is surprisingly gentle and not at all what I assumed would be a nasty meltdown.
“Neatness. Order. Your place is in my bed. Our daughter’s place—”
“My daughter’s place.”
“Do we need to have this discussion again? That girl is mine.”
“You don’t know that.”
He rubs his temple and glares at me. “I had her tested months ago.”
That strikes me in the gut. I step back and gape at him. “You did what?”
“I didn’t kidnap and marry you on a whim.” He continues making his coffee as if this conversation were normal. “I knew she was mine. I decided you would make an acceptable wife. We spent a good night together—”