Why Does He Do That Audiobook Novels & Stories

I was listening clearly but it seemed he was talking alone. Maybe he was imagining life ahead of him. I clicked my tongue to interrupt his thoughts. "Why are you doing that?" He asked. "And what were you talking about?"I asked back ignoring his question. "Talking! Did you hear everything?" "What did you think, that I would cover my ears not to listen to what you said?"I smiled. "Oh, no! But don't take it seriously. I was just thinking of what to add to my book since am a writer."he lied.

The fact that the voice in his head sounded just like Steven’s wasn’t helping much, either. He rubbed his hands over his face, the prickly stubble he hadn’t bothered to shave scratching his skin. At least, that bastard hadn’t been loitering outside his house when he got home last night. He should be glad for small favors. “What the hell are you doing here, dude?” Heath jumped, the jolt of hearing Timothy’s voice enough to stop his heart cold for a second or two. His panicked gaze flew to the book open on his desk. If his producer could read the spine, it wouldn’t take him long to figure out what was going on.

After a moment, he cottons on, and the silence is filled with his laughter. ‘What are you doing?’ He asks, laughing. ‘I’m doing what you do to me. I’m studying you, like a book,’ I smirk. ‘Oh really?’ He says, leaning back, smiling. ‘What kind of book might that be?’ He asks. ‘Not sure yet, but I can’t help but feel you have some kind of agenda. That there’s a reason you’re here. It’s not about the coffee,’ I say. ‘You’re right. There is a reason I’m here, and as much as I’m enjoying the coffee, it’s not the reason I’m here,’ he admits.

Now he was right back to playing the perfect, devoted husband. How long had he been polishing this act? I was too scared to even think about it. I tucked my face into the crook of his neck to hide the bitter curl of my mouth. "Nothing. I was just wondering what you two were talking about." Ethan gave me a fond little smile. "I was talking business with Henry. He's been trading with Denmark lately, so he's gotten used to speaking Danish." He must've been too busy fooling around with Sandy to remember that Danish had been my minor in college.

"Be a good girl and pay attention." It's impossible to focus on anything but him, the deep hum of his voice mingling with the electric sensations building in the pit of my stomach. "Jesus," he mutters, pausing to glance at the page. "I can see why you like this book so much. Though I'd hope King isn't unhinged enough to fuck you with a loaded gun." I laugh breathlessly. "Yeah, I don't think I'm into that."

Some generic, intellectual crap that screamed power and wealth and don’t mess with me. He still didn’t speak. God. Please say something. Yell. Question. Judge me. Just don’t sit there. Don’t make me sit in this silence like a student about to be expelled. “I—” I started, but my voice barely made a sound. I shut my mouth again. Still nothing. He tapped one finger on the armrest. Calm. Controlled. And then… “Why’d you let it happen?” He asked, voice low, cutting through the air like glass. “With Mason. When he was still with Audrey.”

she asked curiously cause she couldn't remember those letters in there. "Practice makes the man perfect and do you think watching you could help me after you left me here cliff-hanging," he smirked. " So are you reading porn in the language that I couldn't understand because I left you cliff-hanging," she stretched her lips on one side. He cleared his throat as he heard porn. "What? No..., No..., Heidi your mind is really dirty. These are astronomical books, silly," he said timidly as he showed some stars and some planets in there.

The smell of old books, the hum of the fluorescents, the way his eyes never wavered from mine—it was too much. He leaned in, voice low. “You’re wondering what’s wrong with you. Why you can’t let things go. Why you keep sabotaging good things in your life, like Jack Morrison.” My breath caught in my throat. He didn’t smirk. He just waited for me to catch up. “I don’t know who you think you are,” I said. “But you don’t know me.” “I know you better than you think,” he said, and his voice was gentle this time.

My face heated with his endearment. “Just please, give me my wallet back.” I almost exclaimed at his face. He does really find ways to make our conversation longer. He leaned a little closer again. “What if I don't want to.” God knows how much I tried to compose and stopped myself from the thought of smashing to his head the book in front of me. He is getting to my nerve. The audacity this man has on his body is overflowing. He really thought he can have everyone's neck on his hands.

Oh well, it’s partially right, or absolutely. “Well, do you?” he ask me back with his cold expression unchanging. Do I? I give him a shrug. He looks irritated by my answer, and ignored me. The book is open again by his hand and gives his attention back to the book. Okay. I did talk to him. Wait. Am I fulfilling things that the sender failed to do? I crossed my arms and stared at the back of the book that this guy is reading. Why would someone want to talk to someone as cold as him? And worse make memories?