Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 73664 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73664 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Our bed.
I toss her on it and she bounces with a laugh.
I settle on top of her, straddling her hips and my hands beside her head.
“You okay?” I ask. She hasn’t shown any signs of being afraid of me, but I always pause to check.
She bites her lip, nods, reaches up and grasps me. Her small hand doesn’t even wrap all the way around the base of my dick.
I hiss at the sweet contact.
“You okay?” she asks back.
“Baby, I’m more than okay,” I tell her. “I’m going to kiss every inch of your body before I sink into you.”
“Promises, promises,” she says on a grin.
The once shy Carly is replaced with a playful one. She’s confident and brazen.
“You want promises, baby? How about this? I love you. We’re in this together. Whatever this is, it’s you and me.”
She nods. “You and me.”
“Be a good girl and tell me where you want me to kiss you first.”
Her green eyes darken and she taps her lip with a finger.
Her mouth? I’ll happily start there.
But it moves, that finger, down the center line of her body. Between her breasts and lower to her navel. Lower still to her parted thighs. I see the scars and know that the woman beneath me is so strong. So brave.
Perfect.
“Here,” she whispers.
Yeah, fucking perfect, I think, and then I lower my head.
Epilogue
MILES
* * *
“Decide to come up for air?” I smile when Austin and Carly finally grace us with their presence at the dinner table.
Carly’s cheeks are flushed pink, and Austin’s hair is a tousled mass of brown. Yeah, they both look just fucked. Make that just fucked on steroids. They’ve been in Austin’s room since he and Carly came back this morning.
“Actually, I was sleeping.” Carly blushes further.
Right.
“You don’t owe them any explanation.” Austin gives her a pussy-whipped smile.
“As you know,” she continues, “I didn’t get any sleep last night because I was tending to your colt.”
“Which we appreciate.” Chance reaches for the platter in the middle of the table. The dishes are set out family style in brown clay serving platters. Salsa, chopped onion and cilantro, seasoned rice, and black beans. “I didn’t see either of you come out for lunch so I assume you’re starving. Louisa made chicken flautas.”
“Who? Your cook?” Carly settles in with Chance on one side, Austin on the other.
I’m across from her.
“The housekeeper,” Chance corrects. “She keeps this entire place running.”
I introduced myself when she placed my clean laundry on my bed. I’m not used to anyone taking care of me. It’s so different from New York, where no one knows anyone. We just call each other “hey” or “you.”
“Looks great.” Austin takes the platter from Chance. “I love Mexican food.”
“Yeah. Me too. The spicier the better.” The robust scent of chiles has my mouth watering. I grab my cold Mexican beer, squeeze the lime wedge into the bottle, and take a long drink. Good stuff.
I’m about to take the platter from Austin when the doorbell rings.
The housekeeper—Louisa—comes in a minute later. She’s in her late fifties with salt and pepper hair. She’s in jeans and a green top, and a gentle smile tugs at her mouth. “It’s Detective Peterson from the Bayfield sheriff’s office. He wants to speak to all three of you.”
Chance sets down his fork with the sigh. “In the middle of dinner?”
“Says it’s important.”
“I guess that’s my cue.” Austin rises and kisses Carly’s cheek as Louisa leaves the room. “Be right back, sweetheart.”
I have no choice but to follow my brothers out of the dining room and to the doorway, leaving my beer and grub behind. This isn’t wholly unexpected. A dead body was just found on our property, after all. But it’s dinnertime.
The detective is a few years older than we are. Solemn looking, with bloodshot gray eyes. He wears scuffed brown cowboy boots, dark denims, and a striped button down. He’s armed with a handgun strapped at his waist. I don’t recall seeing him as part of the crew dealing with retrieving the dead body.
“Hey, Mark,” Chance says.
He knows everyone in town. In comparison to his relationship with the mayor, Chance seems neutral toward the guy.
“Chance.” The man tips his head. “You two must be Austin and Miles.”
Austin holds out his hand. “Austin Bridger.”
“Detective Mark Peterson. I’m investigating the murder that took place on your land.”
“Murder?” I cock my head and withdraw the hand Peterson hasn’t yet shaken. “I didn’t realize it was official.”
“We’re still waiting on the autopsy,” Peterson says, “but we treat all dead bodies in situations like this as homicide until we can rule it out. That means the three of you—along with your deceased father—are prime suspects.”
“Suspects? Now wait a damned minute.” Austin closes the distance between himself and the detective. “Miles and I weren’t even in the state when that guy met his maker.”