Crazy Love Read Online Free PDF

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Make crazy love to each other like there’s no tomorrow
    S tacie looked around the hotel room and scrunched up her face. She was draped across the full-size bed with Crawford asleep beside her, snoring softly. This wasn’t what she had envisioned when he suggested that they get together. A month, a whole month I’ve given this fool, and all he does is take me to hotels, Stacie fumed.
    â€œShit!” was the first thing that popped into her head the first time she walked into the room. It had to be one of the nastiest hotels in Atlanta. The walls were depressingly mud-colored. Two pictures of an orchard of wildflowers were slapped up on the walls in an attempt to brighten the room. They didn’t. The bedspread looked as if it hadn’t been changed in weeks. A quick glance told her that the rust-colored stains were not part of the pattern. The room’s only redeeming quality was its view: At night, the Atlanta skyline twinkled and blinked like a Fabergé egg.
    This is only temporary. Or so Crawford had reassured her when she’d asked him why he was staying at such a crummy hotel. He was quick to explain that his mansion was being renovated, and to blame his damn assistant for setting him up in a crap hole of a hotel.
    â€œYeah, I’ll blame your damn assistant,” Stacie muttered, glancing down at Crawford’s sleeping form. “It’s not your damn assistant that makes your ass see me only on Wednesdays. And it’s not your damn assistant that keeps me from seeing your mansion. And it certainly isn’t your damn assistant that keeps you from taking me out on a decent date,” she said softly, and glared down at him. Then her face softened; he looked so cute. His eyelashes were so long that they kissed his cheeks, and his light brown hair was tousled, making it even curlier. Still…
    It was only seven o’clock in the evening, but he was knocked out like it was the middle of the night. Stacie glowered at him. If he stuck to routine, he’d wake up, order room service, take a second nap, jump in the shower, dress, then they’d leave in separate cars, each going in different directions; she on her way home and he off to one of his dozens of business meetings.
    She leaned back and rested her head against the headboard, gazing out at the Atlanta skyline. “I’m so sick of this shit!” She punched the pillow, inches away from Crawford’s face, and he popped up, eyes wide open and arms flailing, as if she had punched him . After he realized what had happened, they both laughed. He sat next to Stacie, his head resting against the headboard. The blankets had slipped down and bunched around his waist, and Stacie’s eyes feasted on his chest. He once told her that he was a gym rat, pumping iron five days or sometimes more a week. And it showed. His pecs looked like Michelangelo had chiseled them.
    â€œYo, whassup? You hungry?” he asked sleepily as he knuckled his eyes.
    Stacie shook her head, then playfully ran a finger over his chest, teasing a nipple. “Crawford?” When he didn’t respond, she leaned over and flicked her tongue over his nipples; that got his attention. “How come I only see you on Wednesdays?” she asked.
    Crawford sharply cut his eyes at her and withheld the urge to snap at her. “You know my schedule, baby, it’s busier than Oprah’s. Besides, I’d rather spend all my time with you,” he said, nuzzling his face in her neck.
    She swatted at him. “But you make me feel like a piece of ass,” she admitted. “We don’t go out in public and when we do see each other, we can’t seem to make it out of bed. It just seems…” she faltered, then her voice grew stronger. “It just seems that all we do is make love—I mean, fuck,” she quickly corrected herself.
    â€œI did take you out…even bought you a dozen roses,” Crawford objected,