Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 79275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
“But to be clear, you’re not against it?”
“No.” I retrieve my coffee and take a sip. “It would be fun to build something new with you, but I don’t have the brain space for it yet.”
“I get it,” he assures me. “No rush.”
I smirk. “Right, Mr. I Only Have One Speed And That’s A Million Miles A Second.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “I can be patient.”
“Okay, good.” I look him over, taking in his naked torso, and feel myself go just a little gooey inside.
“What?”
“You were always a good-looking guy. Even as children, I remember people saying that you were a handsome kid.”
“Okay.”
“But, damn, Wolfe, you got hot. And it’s not just because you can drive a car the way you do—although watching you shift gears does things to me.”
“It does?”
“Well, yeah. But you’re…hot. I know I said that already, but I said it again because it’s true. Handsome? Yes. Attractive? Definitely. But it’s more than that. The sexy factor is off the damn charts.”
“Sexy factor?” he asks as he calmly sets the coffee and scones aside.
“Yeah. On a scale of one to ten, you’re like a twenty-six. And I know I’m babbling, and it’s not as though I didn’t notice this before, it’s just that there are moments, like right now, when you’re sitting next to me, half-naked, and we’re just innocently talking about stuff and eating scones that it hits me.”
“What hits you?” he asks as he slowly lowers me down to my back.
“That you’re the sexiest human in the universe. And you’re here with me.”
His lips tip up into a small smile, and his eyes, so full of emotion, soften. “That’s impossible. I can’t be the sexiest in the universe.”
“Why?” It’s a whisper.
“Because that title belongs to you, sweetheart.” With his lips on mine, we forget all about the coffee and scones. Instead, consumed by each other, we let the storm surround us in a soothing cocoon as we make love.
“I’m going to run out to the B&B and see how things are going,” I announce several hours later.
“I’m headed to the garage in town,” Wolfe counters and wraps his arms around me so he can kiss me senseless. “I’ll see you later.”
“Bye.” I watch him jog through the mud to this Porsche and then wave him off. Before I can trudge over to the old barn to see June, my phone rings.
Speak of the devil… It’s June.
“Hey, I was just going to come out and see you. Want a sandwich or anything?”
“Actually, I’m not there,” she says. “I won’t make it over today, but my crew’s there, and they have everything handled.”
“Okay.” I walk back inside the house. “What’s wrong?”
“Well, I’m trying to get some things packed up because it looks like I’ll be living with my grandma for a while.”
“What? Why?”
“Mold.” She blows out a breath in disgust. “I found some mold in my basement, and I have to vacate while it’s inspected and cleaned properly. Why did I rent this shithole?”
“Do you need help?”
“Nah, I can’t take much with me. No furniture or anything because it could have mold in it.”
“I’m coming,” I reply and grab my purse and keys. “Don’t argue. You wouldn’t let me do that alone. I’ll be there shortly.”
“Okay,” she replies, and I can hear the relief in her voice. “Thanks.”
After a quick call to Sarah, I learn that she’s free today, as well, so I drive over to the garage to pick her up. I wave to Wolfe, and then Sarah and I head over to June’s rental house on Starfish Lane.
“Mold is scary,” Sarah says with a concerned frown. “It has to be from all of this rain and humidity over the past few days. It’s unrelenting.”
“I know,” I agree as I pull into June’s driveway. “There’s so much moisture in the air, I’m surprised we don’t all have mold.”
“Don’t say that,” Sarah replies. “You just take that right back out of the universe.”
“You’re right. I take it back.”
We hurry through another downpour to the front door and barge inside without knocking.
“I’m in the bedroom!” June calls out. “Unless you’re an ax murderer, in which case, I’m not home!”
“I missed her sense of humor,” Sarah says with a happy smile as we hurry down a long hallway. June’s suitcases are on the bed, open, and clothes are haphazardly strewn around the room. “Did a bomb go off in here?”
“How many pairs of jeans do you own?” I ask at the same time.
“I’m not organized,” June admits. “And I’m in a hurry because I don’t want to die from mold inhalation.”
“You won’t die,” I assure her. “What are you taking?”
“All of this.” She makes a swiping gesture with her arm. “It’s all of my work clothes and stuff.”
“Do you own anything other than steel-toed boots?” Sarah wants to know.