Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 29429 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 147(@200wpm)___ 118(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29429 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 147(@200wpm)___ 118(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
You just met this guy, Delia Watson! My conscience screams. Stop fantasizing.
Tuning out my inner voice, I tug the helmet off. "You were right," I say, grinning from ear to ear when the engine cuts. "That was incredible. Can we do it again soon?"
"Any time you want." Dean turns back and grins, his face still pink from the cold air. "I knew you'd like it."
I didn't have much time to look at the little town on the way in, and clinging to Dean's back had me way too distracted. So I look around now and almost squeal. It's all so cute! Buildings in all sorts of pastels, and trees with leaves in the orange and reds of fall. I can already smell the food cooking in the Chinese restaurant, and it makes my stomach rumble.
Immediately, I start to wonder what spices they're using and the methods with which they cook, and I have to snap myself out of it. This is not the time to be thinking about work. Not with Dean waiting for me, his thumbs hooked into his pockets.
"I can't believe you let me go on the back of your motorcycle, Mr. Dixon," I tease, my tone flirtatious. I'm still so amped up from the adrenaline of the ride that I can't help but tease him. Dean doesn’t seem like one to smile easily, but I get a smirk out of him. Just a little one.
"I'll let you do whatever you want, princess," he promises, his voice a low rumble that sends a bolt of lust straight to my core.
I giggle. "I'm glad. I'm hungry, though, and if you're paying, I'm gonna get a ton of food."
"I'd expect nothing less. What do you want? I'll order while you decide."
I look over the menu mounted above us, tapping my finger on my lips. "Ask the cashier what she suggests. I want all of the best things. Mention a secret menu. All restaurants have them."
Dean gives me an odd look, and I just grin. "You've never worked in food service, have you, Dean?"
"Nope. Lifer in law enforcement here.”
I nod sagely, still messing with him. "That explains it."
He shakes his head. "You're something else."
Dean orders, and within 20 minutes, we have the food loaded onto the back of the motorcycle and are headed back to Dean's place. I check my phone a few times, and Brody hasn't texted me a single time. So much for being right back.
But once I've got my arms wrapped around Dean again, my head nestled between his shoulder blades as he drives us home, Brody is the last thing on my mind. In fact, the only thing occupying my brain is Dean. His evergreen scent, the warmth of him, and the memory that is burnt into my thoughts forever—him shirtless in only a towel, calling me sweetheart.
Oh, I'm in so much trouble.
"How'd we do, princess?" Dean asks, cutting the engine once we pull into the garage once more.
I unstrap the bag from the back and heft it, feeling the weight. "Well, it looks like we got about twenty pounds of food, so that should do."
He doesn't quite laugh, but his mouth twitches. "Something like that."
Dean leads me back into the house, and I put the heavy bag on the counter. His kitchen is immaculate, and while the appliances are sparse, there’s a plethora of counter space for cooking. Before I leave back for Providence, I'm going to make this man the best meal he's ever had. But for now, Chinese takeout it is.
"I can't believe you didn't even ask what they chose for you," Dean comments, getting out forks for us. "You just took their word for it."
"Who better to pick my food out than the people who work there? Plus, I like a little adventure. Some surprises in life. Don't you?"
He shakes his head once. "No. When you’re in my line of work, surprises are the last thing you want to encounter. Sorry if that makes me less interesting.”
"Oh, come on." I bump his shoulder playfully. "I think it's sweet you're a bit of a control freak."
I hear him rattling the plates as he pulls them out of the cabinet behind me. "Sweet, huh?"
I turn around and lean against the counter. “Uh-huh.”
"You've got me all wrong. Sweetness is not one of my personality traits. But you..." Dean sets the plates on the table, then puts a hand on the small of my back and leans down until our noses almost touch. "You, I think, are sweet as hell."
Something about his tone sounds off to me, but maybe I'm trying desperately to focus on anything besides how close he is. "Why do you sound like that's a bad thing?"
"Because this sweet girl isn’t mine." His voice is low and gravelly, and a bolt of heat goes right between my legs.