Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 50759 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50759 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
He looked genuinely remorseful. In fact, he looked a little like that boy whose hand I’d grasped all those years ago. “It’s not personal,” he muttered finally. “My life back then wasn’t at all how it looked. You said you never wanted to come back here. Well, neither did I. But after I went through basic training, was deployed, saw shit and did shit that I don’t care to remember, I figured that a small town in the mountains was a place I could find peace. And in order for me to find that peace, I had to forget a lot of the shit I had to wade out of when I was an asshole teenager.”
I was momentarily stunned. I hadn’t expected him to be so frank, so vulnerable, especially not in front of a collection of very phallic fertility statues. I expected arrogance. Was prepared for that.
But I rallied. “I’m glad you’ve found your peace,” I replied, not knowing if I was being sarcastic or not. “But I haven’t. Not with you standing in front of me. Not with you near me. So if you’ll kindly leave me alone and let me figure out my dumpster fire of a life in peace, I’d sure appreciate it.”
He regarded me with regret but also with a tinge of that fiery hunger from Friday night. I did my best to resist it. I had always gone for the manicured men in L.A. The softer ones who didn’t have callused hands, had never held an axe in their lives and contracted out any and all work around the house. I didn’t think I was into the rugged mountain man.
Especially one in uniform.
Especially one I hated.
But it turned out I was.
Not that I’d be a slave to my baser instincts.
“You can’t hate me forever,” he said finally.
I scrutinized him, surprised at his words and glad he’d spoken them, reminding me he was the same entitled asshole he’d always been. “I can do whatever the fuck I want. That’s my prerogative as a grown-ass woman with agency and rights, so I’ll go on hating you until, I don’t know, the end of time.”
His nostrils flared, and I noted his fists clenched at his sides. “I said I was sorry.”
I threw my hands up. “Oh, he said he was sorry.” I looked upward as if I were speaking to the sky. “Well, that changes everything.” My narrowed eyes went back to him. “Let’s braid each other’s hair now and talk about our hopes and dreams.”
“Jesus, Will, I—”
“Don’t call me Will,” I snapped. “Only my old friends call me that, and if you’re anything, you’re an old enemy. I expect my enemies to address me by my full name, or Ms. Watson if you’d prefer. Which I personally would.”
He scrubbed his hand across his jaw in frustration. The gesture was not hot. Not at all.
“I don’t want to be fucking enemies, Ms. Watson,” he seethed, stepping forward, right into my personal bubble.
I did not step back. Though I most definitely should’ve. I didn’t like people in my personal bubble. I was not an affectionate person. Which had upset my small number of romantic partners to no end.
I didn’t like people standing too close to me in line at the grocery store, airport security, anywhere. Yet there I was, letting Brody Adams get up in my space.
I held my breath as his scent became stronger. More intoxicating. Up closer he towered over me, made me feel small, petite, protected … dominated.
I didn’t like any of those things. I liked being tall, not needing protection, and I certainly didn’t consider myself submissive. Yet I was almost sweating with wet panties.
I swallowed, looking down at his boots.
His hand came to my chin, forcing it upward.
I supposed I could’ve squeezed my eyes shut, but that seemed overly juvenile, and I wanted to prove to myself, and him, that I could maintain eye contact without having a reaction.
My body didn’t help me with this as my cheeks flushed, and my thighs clenched as our eyes met.
“I don’t want to be enemies, Ms. Watson,” he repeated. “I want to take you out to dinner. Then I’ll be taking you home.”
His voice, smooth and warm, hit me square in the vagina again. In a good way. In a very good way.
Until the words filtered past my animal brain to the more logical centers. My body stiffened. “How nice of you to come in to tell me what you want,” I retorted, voice saccharine sweet. “I would rather have my Pap smear done by Edward Scissorhands.” I didn’t break eye contact. “Now remove your hand from me before I file a sexual harassment suit against you and get you thrown out of office.”
I was fairly certain I wouldn’t be able to make good on my threat, but I liked the way it sounded.