Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 106090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
“She’s right,” Sloane adds. “Consider it payment for all the times we’ve overshared about our love lives.”
I think about deflecting, but the truth is, I want to tell someone. I’ve been carrying last night around like a lit match, and if I don’t let some of it out, I might combust.
“It was . . . a lot.” I sit on the edge of the bed, and Chloe immediately scoots closer like she’s afraid she’ll miss a word. “We were at Washington Square Park, and it was snowing, and he told me he’d been watching me for months. Following me. Learning my patterns.”
Chloe and Sloane exchange a look that I can’t quite read.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing,” Sloane says, pressing her lips together like she’s trying not to laugh. “It’s just . . . that sounds familiar.”
“Very familiar,” Chloe adds. “Cole literally moved Sloane into his penthouse and cataloged her sock drawer before their first official date.”
“These men have a type,” Sloane says. “And apparently that type is ‘women worth stalking.’ ”
“It’s practically a rite of passage at this point,” Chloe agrees. “Welcome to the club.”
I blink at them. “You’re both disturbingly okay with this.”
“We’ve made our peace.” Sloane shrugs. “Now keep going. What happened after he confessed?”
“He kissed me, and I just . . . I stopped thinking. About anything. He backed me up against the arch and his hands were in my hair and I could feel how much he wanted me, and I wanted him right back. I would have let him do anything to me right there in the middle of the park. I didn’t care who was watching.”
Sloane’s eyebrows have climbed toward her hairline. “That doesn’t sound like ‘just kissing.’ ”
“It wasn’t. I mean, technically it was, but . . .” I blow out a breath. “When we finally stopped, I was shaking. Not from the cold. From wanting more. He put me in a cab and rode back to Brooklyn with me, and the whole time I was trying to figure out how to ask him upstairs.”
“And?” Chloe is practically vibrating. “Did you?”
“No.”
“Why the hell not?”
I hesitate. This is the part I haven’t let myself examine too closely, the doubt that crept in somewhere between his mouth on mine and the cab pulling up to my building.
“Because as sexy as Knox is, I’m not sure he’s my type. In bed, I mean.” I glance between them, trying to gauge their reactions. “He’s so controlled all the time. So buttoned up. And I need someone who can . . .” I trail off, not sure how to finish.
“Someone who can what?” Sloane prompts.
“Take control. Really take it. Someone with a darker side.” I feel my cheeks flush. “I like things a certain way, and I don’t know if Knox has that in him. He seems too . . . proper. Too careful.”
Chloe bursts out laughing. “Oh honey. You might be surprised.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I thought the same thing about Jack when we first got together.” She grins at the memory. “He’s a firefighter. Boy Scout energy for days. Opens doors, calls older women ma’am, volunteers at the community center on weekends. I figured he’d be the same way in the bedroom. Sweet and gentle and . . . vanilla.”
“And?”
“And I was very, very wrong.” Her grin turns wicked. “Let’s just say the man has depths. Plural. I made a comment once about liking it a little rough, and he just looked at me with these eyes and said, ‘How rough?’ I about died.”
Sloane nods. “Cole’s the same. That cold exterior, those perfect suits, and underneath . . .” She fans herself. “The controlled ones are always hiding something. It’s like the discipline they show the world is just compression. Pressure building. And when they finally let it out . . .”
“Boom,” Chloe finishes. “Knox might be exactly what you’re looking for. You just have to crack through that military shell.”
I think about Knox standing under the streetlamp outside my building. About the leather notebook I once glimpsed in his pocket, filled with God knows what observations about me. About the way he admitted to following me for months without a shred of shame.
He’s a stalker, I remind myself. He’s not as squeaky clean as he comes across.
Maybe they’re right. Maybe there’s more to Knox Bishop than pressed suits and rigid discipline. Maybe that careful composure is just a lid on something darker, something that would match me perfectly.
The thought sends heat pooling between my thighs.
“Where’s he taking you tonight?” Chloe asks.
“Some Italian place in the West Village. He was annoyingly vague about the details.”
“The man’s a secret-keeper.” Chloe grabs her phone and starts typing. “I’m going to look up West Village Italian restaurants and make predictions about which one.”
“Please don’t.”
“Too late. Already committed.” She scrolls, nodding to herself. “Ooh, there’s one with a secret back garden. Very Knox energy. Very ‘I surveilled this location before bringing my date here.’ ”