Twirled Bond (Holly Woods Files, #5) Read Online Free PDF

the same day you lose your life.”
    “Ooh, big threats from a little lady.”
    He’s asking for it, isn’t he? He is. He so is.
    He pulls a beer from the fridge, uncaps it with the bottle opener magnet, and shuts the fridge door. “Nothing to come back to that? I’m—oh, there it is. The death stare.”
    I keep it up. Keep staring, staring, staring at him, injecting every ounce of annoyance humanly possible into my gaze.
    I don’t even stop when he closes his mouth around the top of the bottle and swigs. Not as he sets it down on the table with a definitive clunk and walks toward me. Not as he boxes me in against the kitchen counter, his smile annoyingly sexy, and takes my wine glass to slide it away from me along the counter top.
    Not even as he touches his lips to my neck and my skin tingles.
    Okay. Maybe now. I’m not glaring at him anymore.
    I’m definitely not glaring at him when he lifts me on top of the counter and slips between my legs, tightly gripping my thighs. Now, I’m swallowing. Hard. Especially because I can feel his cock hardening against me, and I just know that what he’s thinking is gonna burn the lasagna.
    Shit though. I’m hungry... But he’s hot.
    God damn it.
    First world problems or what?
    Drake’s lips travel up my neck to my jaw, and ultimately, he and his hotness win out. I find myself getting more and more distracted as his breath flutters across my skin, and he pulls me to the edge of the counter. I wrap my legs around his waist and touch his sides as he moves his hands up my body.
    “Yep. Feels like you don’t wanna marry me,” he breathes into my ear, cupping the back of my head.
    “I never said that.” My mouth is dry. This conversation escalated quickly. Really quickly.
    He pulls his head back so our gazes meet. “You’ve frozen up again.”
    I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I have. I wish I hadn’t, but I have. It’s reflexive, and I can’t make it stop. Whenever marriage comes up, I just...get paralyzed. Especially when the words come out of Drake’s mouth.
    “I’m not frozen.” It came out a whisper. “I’m just saying that I never said I didn’t want to marry you.”
    “Noelle, I don’t think you’ve taken a real breath for the past two minutes.”
    He thinks right.
    “I just...” I start. “Why do we have to talk about this? We’ve only been together for a year and we’ve lived together for half of it. Do we need to move any faster?”
    His lips tug to one side. “I’m not asking you to marry me, sweetheart. It’s not a fuckin’ proposal.”
    “I know that.” Freakin’ Nonna bringing this up. “I’m telling you that I don’t want to not marry you.”
    “So, you want to?”
    “Can’t you go back to that neck-kissing stuff? I liked that. I don’t like this.”
    He softly laughs. Then he brings his hands up and cups my face. “You’re adorable when you get flustered.”
    “I’m not flustered!” I’m totally flustered.
    And not just because this sudden reappearance of Nonna’s pressing me to get married doesn’t feel all that wrong. Because, after six months of living together, of Drake leaving the toilet seat up, of him complaining about bobby pins everywhere, of me moaning that I have to clean his shaved stubble out of the sink. Of him holding me close each night, of waking up to him each day, of seeing my socks pegged between his on the washing line...
    I’ve gotten a taste. Of what it could be like. To be each other’s—forever.
    Marrying Drake Nash doesn’t seem like such a crazy idea.
    “Without sending yourself into a meltdown,” he says in a quiet voice, still touching my face, still staring into my eyes, “answer me this.”
    I lick my lips, my fingers twitching at his waist. “What?”
    “One day. Do you ever see yourself marrying me?”
    I take a deep breath and look into his eyes. I’m still getting used to seeing nothing but love swimming in the enthralling, blue oceans that are his eyes. “Y-yes,”