Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 134746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
Anyway.
Before I know it, I’m turning onto the quiet private street running parallel with the beach. I’m way too close to his comfy house with my brain blanking, but I’m here and parking and now I’ve got to face this.
We’ll start with I’m sorry and see what happens next.
The cold hits me as I step out of the car. I linger next to his G80 for a moment, shivering in my robe.
Would a pair of jeans have killed me?
My slippers make slapping sounds on the planks as I cross the water to his house. The lights in the house are dim. It’s possible he isn’t even home, and maybe Rick left the car here while August stayed late at the office. It’d be just like him.
Still.
Stomach twisting, I stop in front of the door and knock.
No footsteps. But then—
“Out here, Elle.”
August’s voice.
He’s outside, and it’s coming from around the side of the house. He sounds off.
Thicker, heavier somehow.
Frowning, I hug my arms around myself and make my way carefully along the deck ringing the house, my footsteps treading carefully on planks wet from sea spray.
It’s not until I’m all the way around the back of the house that I find him. He’s sitting on the deck outside his bedroom, with the sliding glass doors open.
August perches on the edge of the deck, with one leg drawn up and the other hanging over the side, dangling over the water. He’s shirtless in a pair of dark-grey sleep pants, the thin fabric clinging to his narrow hips and riding down low enough to bare the dimples above his ass, his thighs tightly outlined against the fabric.
His back is taut, his spine a deep canyon framed by steep muscle. The wind ruffles his hair, making it fan out in dark arcs.
One arm is draped over the railing, with a half-full tumbler of golden liquid dangling from it.
I stop where I am, watching him and biting my lip.
I’m all knots inside, confused and scared and wanting.
He looks back, one pale eye over his shoulder. Unreadable.
The moonlight gives the light-blue color impossible depths, like trying to see the bottom of a glacier.
“Nice outfit,” he says dryly.
The heat in my cheeks tries to beat back the wind blowing off the water.
“I didn’t think I’d need formal wear tonight.” I sink my teeth deeper into my lip. “Um, you’re drinking.”
He gives back a soft, cynical snort.
He unloops his arm from the railing and tilts his head back to take a deep drink, his throat working before he exhales roughly and drops the half-drained tumbler to the deck at his hip. He looks away again to where the moonlight flirts over the water.
“You drive me to it,” he says.
I flinch. That spears deep, hurting and colder than any late-winter night.
“I’m sorry.” It comes out thick, hard.
Well, here we go.
Start with I’m sorry.
Then what?
I press my knuckles to my lips. There are words building, but I don’t know what they’ll be until they tumble out.
“I shouldn’t . . . I shouldn’t be so pushy with you. Always flirting and wanting more.” I shake my head. “I know nothing can ever ease the pain Charisma left behind. I know you’re still in love with her. Or maybe the idea of her. That can happen after a death, and you said you weren’t right for each other, but once someone turns into a memory, it’s easy to—mmf!”
Faster and faster.
I’d been talking like a chipmunk because the moment I said I’m sorry, August stood, kicking the tumbler over the edge of the deck, followed by a faint sound of glass shattering against the wooden piles. He’s stalking toward me now, head lowered like a panther, this predator prowling closer with dark intent.
My pulse quickens.
God, if I don’t talk fast, he’s going to pick me up and haul me up and put me out on my ass in the sand and—
He cuts me off with a kiss.
Savage.
Deep.
Rough.
He tastes like whiskey and frustration and darkness.
His mouth is so hard on mine, almost accusatory.
Confusion swamps me, dizzying heat as he nearly tears at my mouth with a probing tongue, seeking harshly like he’s searching for something I haven’t said yet to steal it from my lips.
His fingers grip my chin, tilting my head up, forcing me open to take more of that bruising kiss, until I’m overwhelmed and my knees are shaking.
He leaves me whirling, my heart racing ten thousand miles a minute.
With an irritated sound, he rips back, still holding my chin with his thumb and stroking the line of my jaw.
“For someone so perceptive,” August says bluntly, “you’re incredibly stupid.”
“Hey! What’s wrong with you tonight?” I scowl at him. If only he wasn’t so flipping hot, the moonlight turning his tanned skin silver at the edges. “I’m going to let that go because you’re drunk, but I am not stupid.”