Total pages in book: 36
Estimated words: 33324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 167(@200wpm)___ 133(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 167(@200wpm)___ 133(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
“That’s a shitty thing to say.” A low, gravelly voice that’s attached to the new boots cuts through the chatter and twang of a Hank Williams song. “And pretty sure you aren’t my sister’s type either.”
His sister?
I start to look up when my eyes catch the shimmer of three gold-foil packets lying only inches from the tip of the deep baritone guy’s left boot.
Shit.
I snatch them from the floor, shifting back onto my heels, my canvas bag in one hand, the strip of three condoms in the other, intending to hide them before anyone can see, but when my gaze lifts, I freeze.
There’s not just the size difference in the two men’s feet, but the knees of the guy attached to the boots are a good six or eight inches higher than baldy’s. I continue my visual trek north, taking in thick thighs that fill out worn denim, while further up something equally thick has a heat wave moving over my skin as the award-winning bulge challenges his zipper.
He doesn’t shift when I stare, and suddenly I break out of my trance and look up to see dark eyes inspecting me from under a cinched brow. He lowers his hand with a click of his teeth. His face is hard lines and smoldering intensity, but there’s a softness to his magnificent lips that I want to explore with my tongue.
“Stand up, sis, you’re going to cut yourself.” He moves his tongue around the inside of his cheek, flicking his fingers in a gesture for me to give him my hand. I do, and he lifts me from the floor onto legs as wobbly as a newborn foal.
When I find my feet, I take in the rest of him. Black sort of canvas button-up shirt, open at the neck, showing enough of what’s underneath for me to appreciate he’s clearly a man that works for a living. His hand is rough, just like his low growl.
I strain to look up, taking in his face and the dark, wavy hair left to fall as it chooses. His clean-shaven angular jaw and unwavering gaze have my nipples perking up as dull contractions tighten my center.
“Your sister?” Baldy grunts, narrowing his eyes as I offer a silent shrug and a smile, because I’m not sure what exactly is going on here, but I do know I want more of it.
“My brother is very protective.” I glance at the enormous stranger, playing into whatever game this is and realize his eyes are a dark jade green, such a vivid jewel tone that it looks out of place with the rest of him. “Thanks, bro,” I manage, delivering a playful punch into his shoulder.
My knuckles are met with rock hard muscle. My throat and mouth turn to a desert while my palms turn clammy.
His eyes leave mine, centering on Baldy as he points toward the floor. “Pick up the rest of her stuff. You made the mess, you clean it up.”
He releases my hand, tapping two long, thick fingers onto the wet table-top, nailing the now confused-looking local with a glare that has him bending without a word, picking up my keys, a hairbrush and a bottle of hand sanitizer.
Then my unexpected brother turns his attention back to me, and my nipples give him a sharp salute.
“Pack it up, sis. It’s time to go.”
He dominates the space like a century old oak, with a sturdy voice to match.
In silent irritation, baldy tosses my belongings onto the table, leaving with a final muttered grumble, stumbling as he turns, trying to gather what’s left of his pride as he saunters back toward the bar, yelling for another beer.
Heat and wetness invade the seam of my shorts as my ‘brother’s’ gaze shifts, and, to my horror, I realize I’m still pinching the three pack of Trojans between my fingers. The alcohol is making everything warm and fuzzy as the flush from my face creeps down my chest.
“You have a big night planned?” He cocks a brow as my face flames.
“No, I mean, I’ve never…this is just…” I stutter. “These aren’t for me, I don’t wear them.”
Please, mouth, stop.
Tequila and whipped cream shots did this to me.
I shake my head, mumbling unintelligibly to myself as he stares down in silence, his fingers balling and releasing.
“Got it. I’m pretty sure you couldn’t hide anything from me in those.” He gestures with a nod toward my shorts, and I glance down, tugging at the outside seem in an attempt to lessen the way they are creating a definitive indent between my pussy lips. As I fuss with my shorts, his exotic eyes take a slow walk down my legs to my boots, then back up again, lingering for a beat on my chest as he shakes his head.
He snatches the condoms I forgot I was holding from my hand, flinging them toward a trash can against the wall where they obediently fall into the pile of red solo cups and empty pizza boxes.