Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 127991 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127991 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
More time alone with Reagan Wellbridge was the last fucking thing I needed.
Yesterday evening, after Reagan overheard my conversation with January, I’d managed to work with the man for only a few minutes before excusing myself, making a vague excuse about sleeping off my headache. In truth, my throbbing head had only been part of the problem. The larger, more compelling issue had been my constant arousal, which had only grown worse every moment I was in his presence.
When I’d finally made it to the privacy of my room, I’d tried not to fantasize about Reagan’s hard body as I furtively stroked myself off… but then I’d remembered the way his eyes had rolled back in his head when I’d clasped a hand around his throat in my hotel room, and that was all it had taken to bring my orgasm screaming on. I’d thought, in that fucked-out instant, that I could simply revisit that one mental snapshot in the future anytime I needed an incredibly quick release.
Not that I would, I’d quickly amended. I was a better man than that. More in control than that.
But later that night, after visiting the truck stop in West Virginia, I’d stayed at the table long after ordering Reagan to bed, trying to ignore the gravitational pull of the man in the bunk several feet behind me. I’d gotten another snack. Then a drink. I’d pulled up financial projections and sent out a couple of emails. I’d taken some of January’s ginseng and turmeric supplements. I’d checked in with McGee. And finally, after a couple of hours, I’d called a halt to my pretense of productivity.
The strange restlessness that compelled me to change my New Year’s plans had come over me again, and when I finally made it to my bedroom, I immediately took my cock out.
As it turned out, I was not a better man.
Fortunately, my second intense orgasm helped me sleep deeply through the night as the bus continued west. But now it was morning, and my restlessness was back with a vengeance.
After showering and dressing, I made my way out to the kitchenette. Reagan was already at the table, eating breakfast while scrolling on his phone, and I wondered what sort of mood he was in today.
“Morning,” I said, rifling through the box of coffee pods to find the one I wanted. “Sleep okay?”
“Not really. McGee snores like a piece of rusty farm equipment with no muffler. I considered tossing him out onto the highway, but I figured that might be the one thing that would jeopardize my platinum job security.”
McGee’s deep grumble came from behind a bunk curtain. “You’re not so quiet either, princess.”
I tucked my chin to hide my amusement. “Good call,” I told Reagan. “Homicide is a hard limit. For legal reasons.”
“Always have to check the fine print, even on platinum job security.” Reagan sighed forlornly. “Fine. No murder.”
Charming, wry Reagan was not going to make it any easier to keep my wayward lust under control.
I finished doctoring my coffee but remained by the counter, reluctant to take the empty seat at the table precisely because I wanted to so badly. But the sway of the bus made it impossible to drink standing either.
You’re being ridiculous, Thatcher.
I slid into the seat facing the front of the bus, steeling myself against the sucker punch of his blue eyes, but Reagan didn’t look up. I found my gaze straying out the window instead to the flash of snow-dotted fields in cold winter sunshine that sped past the window at top speed as the steady rumble of the bus vibrated up through the floor.
“There’s something meditative about being on a road trip,” I found myself saying. I wasn’t usually one to share stuff like that out loud, but I blamed it on not being fully awake yet.
Reagan didn’t seem to find my observation unusual. He glanced up from his breakfast to look out the window, also, and nodded pensively. “Mmm. Nice being away from the daily routine. You can ignore your messages and blame cell service.”
“That’s trickier when your boss is on the bus and the bus has satellite,” I said dryly. “But you’re right about the routine. I know January can’t come barging in and change the direction of my day, and Merriweather from Finance can’t pop in with a quick question. There are no business lunch commitments or evening social events to attend.”
Reagan tapped the laptop he’d pushed to one side of the table. “Hate to break it to you, but there are definitely business lunch commitments and evening social events you’re going to have to attend on this trip.”
“I know.” I sipped my coffee. “But it’s not the same. I can’t say I enjoy industry events. Small talk’s never been my thing. But I do enjoy meeting people in different places. It reminds me New York isn’t the entire world the way we sometimes think it is.”