Total pages in book: 36
Estimated words: 32998 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 165(@200wpm)___ 132(@250wpm)___ 110(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32998 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 165(@200wpm)___ 132(@250wpm)___ 110(@300wpm)
I practically race across the floor to the bed, not because I want to claim it first, but to escape his intensity for just a moment. It's like he knows exactly what effect he has on me, how he makes me want to squirm with need. And I'm pretty sure he likes it.
His chuckle rolls through the room, gruff and rusty, as if he doesn't laugh often or nearly enough. But the sound vibrates through me, anyway, setting off a swarm of butterflies in my stomach.
Instead of climbing up on the bed, I turn back to him, unable to help myself. It's like he's a magnet, drawing my gaze back to him no matter which direction I turn.
Every ounce of moisture in my mouth evaporates as he peels his shirt off over his head, revealing the body beneath. Dark hair covers his chest, leading down to a rock-solid set of abs. The ink painted across his golden skin is a tapestry of black and faded colors, each tattoo a story etched into the muscle beneath. Silvery scars intersect the tattoos, creating a map of pain and beauty on his body.
Judging by the crest tattooed on his bicep, he was an Army Ranger. It explains his ridiculous body. He's a warrior like Atlas, big enough to carry the whole world on his shoulders.
Every muscle ripples and shifts with his movements, each one honed from years of physical discipline and strength I'll never possess. He's the epitome of pure power and raw strength, and my fingers itch to reach out and trace the lines of his body, to feel that power for myself.
He kicks his shoes off and then yanks his pants down, leaving him standing in front of me in nothing but a pair of boxers that barely contain him. The front is tented obscenely, a wet spot visible on the fabric. As soon as I see it, my mouth goes dry.
I press my thighs together, fighting a whimper. All I can think about is how big he is pressing against the cotton of his boxers. And how badly I want to see what's beneath them.
I've never wanted anything like I want this. I've never hurt for anything the way I hurt right now. Whenever I try to make myself come, I'm always left unsatisfied. Something is always missing.
I think it's him. He's the ache I never could satisfy, the hole I couldn't fill. I need him to fix it. No one else can do it. Just him. I'm not sure why I'm so sure of that, but I am. I feel the truth singing in my freaking veins like an aria.
This man is my missing piece.
"I see you staring at me, little angel," he says abruptly, taking a step toward me.
"I…I'm not," I lie, blushing from head to toe again.
He chuckles again, clearly not believing me. I'm not a very good liar. "You worried I'm going to hurt you, Lena?"
"No," I whisper. The thought didn't even cross my mind, actually. Well, maybe when he first burst into the cabin like a crazy man, but not since. I've been too busy thinking things I probably shouldn't. Besides, I'm pretty sure he meant it when he promised that I was safe with him.
"Good," he grunts, glancing around the room. It looks a little like a hurricane hit it, honestly. My stuff is everywhere. "Why a cabin?"
"I had to escape my cousin and my grandfather," I huff. "They were getting on my nerves."
"Oh yeah?" His lips twitch with amusement. What would they feel like pressed to mine? I bet he'd kiss me like he was starving for my taste.
"Y-Yes." I bob my head, trying desperately not to think about his lips on mine. "They argue all the time. It's exhausting."
"So you rented a cabin, huh?"
"I tried." My shoulders drop at the reminder that this place isn't actually mine for the week. It's his. "I guess I'm going home tomorrow, though."
Dalton will love that. He's already called twice today to check on me. Gramps called this evening, too, demanding I come home. But I told him the same thing I told Dalton—that I wasn't coming home until they learned to get along. I guess the universe is going to make me eat my words, though. I'm not ready to wade back into the war zone, but I don't have a choice.
"You know you don't have to leave at all," Carver says. His back is to me, a broad canvas painted with vivid artwork. "You can stay right here with me."
"W-what?" I blink, startled by the deep rasp of his voice. There's something in it…something dark and delicious. Something dangerously hypnotic and tempting.
"You don't have to leave at all." He turns to face me again as he repeats the words. That same darkness reflects in his eyes, daring me to step closer to the edge of something forbidden. "You can stay as long as you like."